Part 11

You must not worry about me, for I am really very well. The cold and simple life is very healthy, even if it is not always comfortable. I seem to be as strong as an ox and the more I have to do the better I feel.

It is joyful to hear that I am to have some more money. St. John people certainly have been good. A box came to-day from Trinity, it had been opened. There is the ambulance, I must run.

February 6, 1916.

We are so busy here that we scarcely know where to turn. It is just a procession of wounded coming and going all the time, for we have to send them off as quickly as possible in order to make room for the new arrivals. Thirty-eight went off last Tuesday and fifteen on Friday, but the beds are filled up again. The last ones we have been getting are so badly wounded that I wonder who can be moved on Tuesday. We have had wild wind and rain for the last week, but to-day is cold and clear and for the first time in weeks it is quiet--the cannonading has been incessant.

Two English aviators were brought in yesterday whose machine fell quite near here; fortunately they are not very badly hurt.

The box from the high school girls came to-day, and it was like having Christmas all over again,--such a nice lot of things there were. I shall have a fine time distributing them.

Here comes the ambulance. One poor man died in the receiving ward and the other two went to the operating room at once. They both have symptoms of gas gangrene, and I am afraid one will lose an arm and the other a leg.

In spite of the cold and wet we keep extraordinarily well.

Four new nurses have come, much to our relief, for the work was getting rather beyond us. Two of them are Canadians from Toronto. They know ever so many people I know. They sailed from St. John at Christmas time and saw so many St. John friends of mine--they said everyone was so good to them.

We do not get a minute during the night and some days have been up to lunch time.

February 22, 1916.

There have been two big attacks and we have had our hands full. Since Sunday the cannonading has gone on without ceasing. It seems to be all round us. At night we can see the flashes of the guns quite distinctly, in fact the sky is lit up most of the time. It is like the reflection of a great fire--it would be very beautiful if one could get away from the horror of what it all means.

The aeroplanes were almost as thick as the motors--one came down in a field near the hospital yesterday--the wings were riddled with bullets, but fortunately the aviator was not hurt. We often see taubes, and Zeppelins have gone over us several times, though I could not recognize them, but the noise was unmistakeable. The wounded are nearly all brought in at night so we have our hearts and hands full. The other night twenty-three came in at once so we had to call up the day people to help us; seventeen were operated upon and all are getting well but one.

From the twenty-third July, 1915, until the first January, 1916, seven hundred and fifty patients have been cared for here and sixty-six have died. I have had over one hundred wounded come in at night this last month, and as they all come directly from the trenches you can imagine what it means.

Such a fine box came from Mrs. S---- and F---- containing bandages, socks, etc., all most welcome.

The ground is white with snow to-day but it will not stay long.

It is very difficult to get nurses here as a command of the French language is an essential.

The guns are still at it, so there will be much to do to-night.

March 6, 1916.

We have had snow several times this week and it is snowing again to-day. It is very pretty for a little while but soon melts, and the mud is worse than ever.

I feel that I can never be grateful enough to the people who have enabled me to do so much for these poor men. I am going to order some more pillows, they are things that we need very much. All the lung cases have to sit up in bed and need a great many pillows to make them comfortable. Strange to say we have not lost a lung case and we have had some pretty bad ones. There is one in now who was shot through the lung, and yesterday they took out a long sibber bullet from under his rib; he will be able to go home next week. When he came in he was in very bad condition and he could not speak for a week. The treatment is to sit them up in bed and give them morphine every day to keep them perfectly quiet, the hemorrhage gradually stops and they get well very quickly. We have had a number of deaths from that awful gas gangrene; there is not much hope when that attacks them.

The bombardments have been so terrible lately that those who are wounded in the morning cannot be taken out of the trenches until night, and then they are in a sad condition.

One day last week, just as I was getting ready to go to bed, some people came out from the village to ask if we could help a poor girl who had been burned. Mrs. Turner and I went at once with all sorts of dressings and found her in a terrible state--her whole body burned--so of course there was no hope. She only lived three days. I went in the mornings to do her dressing and another nurse in the afternoon. She was burned by lighting a fire with oil.

Things are too heavy now for me to get my holiday.

March 12, 1916.

Only ten admissions. All the efforts are being directed against Verdun. The defence has been magnificent, and if only the ammunition holds out there will be no danger of the Germans getting through; but what a terrible waste of good material on both sides.

Mrs. Turner has been obliged to go to Paris and has left me in charge of the hospital. I hope nothing terrible will happen while she is away.

The snow is all gone and we are having rain again.