Part 14

My tetanus patient is quite cured, is beginning to walk about.

MOBILE NO. 1, August 14, 1916.

We have had a strenuous and exciting week. It began with a visit from the King of the Belgians, who came to decorate three of my men who had fought in the trenches with conspicuous bravery. He visited all the wards and talked with the soldiers. Like all the royalty I have met so far, he is extraordinarily simple--wore no decorations or distinguishing marks of any kind. We were all presented to him in turn and shook hands with him.

The next day we got twenty gas cases and several badly wounded men--one Canadian from Ontario and two English boys, one was a policeman in London. I asked the Ontario man how he happened to get to our Ambulance, he said, "he'd be blessed if he knew," he was working on the lines which run right up to the trenches when the warning for gas was given. He started to put on his helmet and the next thing he knew he was in a "Red Cross" ambulance on the way to the hospital. He is getting on splendidly but we lost four of the gas cases. It is the worst thing I have seen yet, much worse than the wounded, and the nursing is awfully hard, for they cannot be left a moment until they are out of danger.

August 28, 1916.

I have met our boy B---- at his rest camp not very far from here. It was a joy to find him looking so well, and big and brown.

September 9, 1916.

Rain, continuous rain. The guns have been roaring without any let-up for three days and nights, and our little barracks are nearly shaken to pieces. We have had several warnings of gas attacks, but fortunately nothing has happened. One of the orderlies kept his mask on all night and everyone was surprised that he was alive next morning, they are the most awful smelling things you can imagine.

We have never seen so many aeroplanes as during this past week. This morning we counted eighteen in a row.

Mrs. T---- is going to organize another hospital on the Somme and is going to keep this one as well. She certainly has done a splendid work. We are all hoping that the fighting will be over before Christmas.

October 1, 1916.

The rain has begun, so I suppose we may expect to be under water for the rest of the winter, but things are going well for us, so we must hope on; but O! how dreadful it all is.

A stationary balloon that is not far from here, used as a Belgian observation post, was struck by a bomb from an aeroplane and we saw it fall in flames. The men who were in it jumped out with parachutes and both escaped without injury.

Broterl, the famous French sniper and poet, came the other day to sing for the soldiers. He is wonderful, and sang all sorts of songs that he had composed in the trenches. The men were enchanted, it does such a lot of good, for it makes them forget for a time.

One of our orderlies has just got word that one of his brothers has been killed at the Somme, another is dangerously wounded in the head, and a third has lost his leg--he has six brothers, all at the front.

One of the men in my ward got word of the death of his brother also. He was a stretcher bearer and was helping a German officer who was wounded. As soon as the German got to a place of safety he shot the poor man who had been helping him.

I am nearly frozen to-night and will have to go to bed.

October 9, 1916.

Our Bayard has come through the Courcelette fight safely, where the New Brunswickers did such wonders; but O! at such a terrible cost.

It has been very cold and rainy here. I am afraid the bad weather has set in.

Wish you would send me an aluminum hot water bottle for Christmas, another pair of Indian moccasins, and fill up the corners of the box with malted milk and maple sugar.

I shall never forget the poor little Breton who said when he saw me--as he roused a little when we were taking him from the ambulance, "maintenant je suis sauve" (Now I am saved).

I have just received a cheque from the Rothesay Red Cross. Since I began, my fund has never entirely given out, and I have been able to give such a lot of pleasure and comfort to the men.

If any one wants to know what to send me you might suggest Washington coffee like Lady T---- sent. It was a great success.

I am too cold to write any more, so good-night.

I wish I had some of Maggie's crullers and squash pie, but the French don't know anything about squash pies.

Our poor man with a broken back has been moved to a hospital near his home so his family can see him. We sent him on a mattress, fixed up with pillows and cushions so that he did not suffer at all on the journey.

When I have any one who is so ill as he was I bless the good people at home counting infirmiers and men that work about the hospital--they are soldiers who have been in the trenches for nearly two years, or been disabled through wounds or sickness, or exchanged prisoners from Germany unfit for military service. They call the hospital "le petit Paradis des blesses" and are so glad to be sent here. A man was brought in here the other day who was wounded for the second time, but he did not mind in the least about his wounds, he was so glad to get back. He is delighted because he will not be well enough to leave before Christmas.