American Ambulance, Neuilly, July 21, 1918.

To A. G.

This is just a line to tell you that I am too rushed to write. I volunteered out here at the American Ambulance yesterday, Sunday, and came out this morning at 7 a. m., taking French leave from the office. If I am shot at dawn for deserting I intend to look after our wounded instead of well baby clinics. I dragged all the nurses into it Saturday I could possibly lay hands on, have persuaded all the women doctors to give ether (they are only too glad to do it). The doctors are working night and day, 2,800 men passed through.

I am waiting now for a telephone message. On Saturday I went up towards the front in an ambulance to bring back a wounded nurse. We had a fearful trip, it took us three and a half hours to get back, we arrived at 1:30 a. m., the patient perfectly exhausted, but so plucky. I couldn't get a word out of her, all those hours, when sometimes she was nearly jolted off the stretcher, but "I am all right, it is nothing compared with what the badly wounded suffer." She watt wounded in the back, not seriously. When I tell you that I rode in that ambulance for 11 hours, with one half hour off for dinner and was not dead tired when I got home, you can know that I have some pep left in me yet.

I just ran out to see a battle in the air, a day raid from the Boche, but couldn't see much, just flashes.

The spirit is simply wonderful among the boys, coming and going, they are always cheerful, smiling and joking all the time; every one is crazy about them, and now they are all so excited and eager to get back, as every little while news of victory comes in, if we can only keep it up, pushing back steadily. But we must be content with every gain and not expect to keep up this big effort, all of the allies except ourselves are to exhausted, I fear. The men say that a number of Hun women have been captured, one a Captain, it seems incredible, but one believes almost anything, it is all so impossible.

Later.

The wounded continue to pour in night and day, it is impossible to handle them properly. I am on duty in the receiving ward (a big garage which holds about 100 stretchers, packed so closely together you can't step between). I try to make the men a little more comfortable by feeding them and poking little pillows under aching wounds to keep them off the iron bars of stretchers, bless those foolish little pillows, nothing gives more comfort. We never hear a complaint night or day, just smiling thanks, it is so wonderful, a big Red Cross man told me their smiles made him cry; many are only looked over and sent on. We can't keep any but serious cases, an amputated case, if in good condition is not considered serious.

(The writer of the following is the nurse from Waltham mentioned in Miss Ashe's letters.)

July 22, 1918.

My dear Miss Ashe.

If we continue to have as interesting a time as at present, we shall all be completely demoralized as far as going back to Paris is concerned. Did you know that our Beauvais formation split in two sections a week ago---one-half to stay there and the other half to form a flying squadron to go wherever the need was greatest? I was fortunate enough to be assigned to the half that was flying, and we have had the most interesting time; We took equipment enough, even to a chef, to start a hospital and came by camions to Chantilly, where we joined a French auto chir and although we are off in our own corner, we work along with them.

We are to stay here as long as the blessés come in from this front and when they stop we are either to go back to Beauvais or to move on where the work is heavier. It's a wonderful experience and we love the sort of gypsy life we lead. With this heavenly weather it's a joy to work out under the trees and practically live out of doors.

The wards are under canvas and we have put up a small portable operating room. We bought the equipment from Beauvais and it is the cutest place. It rocks and shakes like a boat when we are working there, but "ça ne fait rien"---for the boys are being rushed through with real American speed and we know that the doctors have saved a great deal of gas gangrene. The first cases we did were nearly all infected with g. g. because they had been lying out in the fields for several days up at the front. But now they are getting them down quicker, and by keeping at it every minute we keep up with the procession and the boys do not have to wait around all day before getting attention. We are on eight-hour shifts, and everyone is keeping remarkably fresh and fit. Twenty nurses came down from Paris and joined us and fifteen more went to Beauvais to take our places there, for after we left they had a large convoy come in. I have done nothing but anesthetizing ever since I joined Dr. Moorhead's formation, and it is a wonderful experience, although a bit out of my line.

Have you been up to Chantilly? It is quite the prettiest town I have seen in France and the Chateau de Chantilly is a beautiful place. The park surrounding it covers miles of forest and the vistas through the bridle paths and walks are the work of a genius. But you can't get away from the war even there for there are several auto chirs on the open fields and ambulances are chasing in and out every minute. Also, thousands of German prisoners march through every day or so, and some have come into us as patients.

Our boys are elated over their success and their stories are thrilling. I rather hate to see them so blood thirsty, for the height of their ambition is to get a Boche, but their enthusiasm can't help but be infectious and the French love it.

Very sincerely,

ELMIRA W. BEARS.

Paris, July 29, 1918.

To A. G.

Yesterday being Sunday I didn't have a moment in which to write you even a line, this nursing business is fatal to Sunday letters. I leave so early in the morning that letters before are impossible, and by night I am so dead tired that it is a physical impossibility. But yesterday I had a very pleasant change, the work was not nearly so heavy as all of our corridor patients were evacuated and an aide was sent to help me. So I left early in time to be able to have a hot restful bath before going to dine at Colonel Cutcheon's apartment, where he keeps house most luxuriously with three other men. Colonel Cutcheon is one of Mr. Byrne's partners, the whole firm (also Mr. Carl Taylor, a very fine man), calmly packed up and came over, leaving the law business to get on as best it may. Walter Damrosch was there at dinner and I don't know when I have had such an interesting time. We discussed all the problems of the universe. Helen and I were the only women, it was a real treat to hear those interesting intelligent men talk freely of fundamentals. I decided not to go to the hospital this morning, as Dr. Lucas returned Saturday and there are important matters which must be taken up with him.

There is one comfort about things over here, it shows people up in their true colors and if one only has patience, the dross is swept away in time, for the men at the head are very fine types and don't stand for what is not right.

Dr. Lucas was welcomed with open arms and such a sigh of relief. He looks splendidly and has told me so much about home and you. He was delighted with his lunch on the Hill and says Armand de Lillie was much impressed by the Farm. Barbara writes me that you are going to abbreviate the children's clothes for the sun treatment,---it really should be done, the results from that are quite wonderful. I want to go into it really scientifically when I return. I hope to be able to visit the famous Switzerland place where the children are practically naked in the snow. I was very much interested in all you wrote about the Lucas' visit.

He was very much impressed by the work being done on the Hill and thinks it would be all wrong for Miss Johnson to leave it. I feel quite sure that the military necessity has not come yet for her and I doubt if she could stand the strain. Of course her value would be in giving ether, but the strain in that work is terrific, they have to work at times several days and nights without rest and it is so harrowing. I find the work perfectly exhausting, the men suffer so and it is so difficult to give them any relief whenever a limb is either shattered or badly wounded. I have a boy who has a compound fracture of tibia---wounds in both legs, both above and below the knees and has been burned by mustard gas over the greater part of his back, which is raw---he simply has to lie on his back on account of his arm which is suspended by a frame; there are hundreds of this type of case in the hospital; one nurse has charge of 65 patients with 3 aides to help her. I have really been taking the place of an aide as I am too uncertain to be put in charge of a big ward or floor. I did manage last week to get my 15 patients bathed, which was a relief as they had not had a bath since before the battle. I just couldn't stand it and made a herculean effort which nearly killed me, but I feel well repaid, it was too dreadful to have those filthy men in bed. But I feel as if I could never more complain of any physical pain after seeing what the men suffer in silence, of course there is always an occasional one who complains and does not bear it well, but the others have so much contempt for him that he is soon reduced to silence; they don't hesitate to express their opinions in forcible language, brutally frank. Some poor weak fellow will be groaning and moaning and he is told to get a bottle with a nipple and suck it or some such comforting thing.

I feel awfully sorry for the man with little grit, he does not have an easy time.

Mary Eyre comes out to distribute cigarettes, she seems to like her work. I saw Masie Hammond and Sarah Cunningham at Juilly when I went for our wounded nurse, they both seemed well and doing good work. Everyone says that the aides I have trained are the finest workers in France. I am awfully proud of them, because I have always made a point of getting into the closest possible personal relations with them and impressing on them the fact that the whole aide situation would be judged by their conduct; they do whatever they are told to do without question and I think are a very remarkable group of young women. The nurses are a little jealous of my interest in them but I felt that I must make a great effort to prove their value.

Paris, August 2, 1918.

To E. S.

Such a good letter come from you yesterday and I hasten to answer it as I have an unexpected half hour this morning before going to the hospital. As Miss Griffith has told you I have an erratic way of suddenly leaving my bureau at the call of the wounded and appearing unexpectedly at the hospital, at the critical moment, where I am greeted with open arms. Then I come back so dead tired at the end of a week or so that no one has the heart to scold me. But to sit in that office dictating letters, knowing that those poor boys are actually suffering for the most rudimentary care, is beyond my powers of endurance. When Dr. Lucas returned Saturday, I was not there and the first tale of complaint he heard was of me. But of course being a big-hearted red-blooded man he said "that's fine, it's just right." I must say I was relieved because one hates to appear insubordinate and irresponsible. Now that I have his sanction I can really do both things better. I try to get to the office for an hour or two every day, which keeps things moving very smoothly. My secretary is a brilliant jewel---only twenty-one years old and so clever and attractive.

One of the doctors has just come in to tell me that a train-load of wounded came in last night which means that 350 men have been brought to the hospital and are lying in all stages of discomfort over the floors, lawns, corridors and in fact wherever they can find floor space for them as they have to be undressed, fed and many things done for them before they find rest. They usually arrive on the stretchers without pillows, their heads resting on the iron cross bars. The suffering these poor fellows go through absolutely without a complain is heroic beyond words. I can't get used to it, it is all I can do to control myself as I kneel beside them tucking those little pillows under their poor shattered bodies.

I must tell you of a remarkable incident which occurred here last week when the big offensive began. A number of Red Cross workers were at the station receiving the wounded---giving them water and comforting them as they waited to be moved to the hospital. Mrs. Bacon was leaning over a boy helping him, when she heard a feeble voice behind her call "Mother" and turning she found her own boy lying there. I am sure that meeting started a wave of homesickness through these fallen ranks. Mrs. Bacon went to the hospital with her boy, left him there and returned to her post for the rest of the day.

I really must go to the hospital. Please thank Mrs. Heller again for the money, some day soon, I am going to have Miss Byrne make out a little statement of some of the people we help. I hope people will not mind my very erratic way of helping, but I give at the time when I feel the need is greatest, most unscientifically. I feel sometimes like Mr. Bender who said once that he looked first up the street to see if Miss Felton was in sight, then down for Miss Pexiotto before giving a man a quarter for a meal!

Paris, August 5, 1918.

To A. G.

Yesterday I had a day off, the first in many weeks. I went to the hospital as usual at 7 a. m., but found I was not needed, as twenty nurses had most unexpectedly appeared. I was glad as I was pretty tired, and besides wanted to go to the anniversary service at the English Ambassador's church. I gathered up quite a party to go with us, including Helen Cheseborough. It was a wonderful service. I like the service always at that church better than any service I have attended for years---it is so hearty---generally more men than women, who lift up their voices and pray and sing as if they meant it. They all sing through the entire service, even the Te Deum.

Well, yesterday the church was packed and when those men sang "Onward, Christian Soldiers," after a splendid sermon from an army chaplain who always goes over the top with the boys, the roof nearly came off, and cold shivers went up and down my back. You should have heard them shout "On to victory!" If you could have had any doubt of the ultimate result, then and there it must have been dispelled---those grim looking men never mean to stop until they have triumphed over the powers of darkness!

The chaplain was a wonder---he actually swore several times, but made me take an oath never again to express the slightest doubt but that complete victory would end war for all time among civilized nations. I will in future hold to that thought even if I know it can not be.

Coincy, August 10, 1918.

My dear Miss Ashe.

I was so pleased to receive your letter this morning and to seem to get in touch with you once more. I am so sorry not to have seen you in Paris, for I think this last move is a more permanent one, and unless our boys keep up this wonderful chase and leave us miles behind, we are apt to "rester ici" until fall.

This last move has been quite thrilling. We came across country in camions---about 30 miles and the ride was a continuous change of "war scenery," starting through the villages which the Germans invaded in 1914, the ruins being covered now with vines and flowers, and the inhabitants taking up the old routine of life once more in a protected corner of their homes,---and passing on to the district that the Germans have made their homes for months,---through miles of screened roads, acres of barbed wire entanglements, trenches and dugouts---and finally into the region where the Americans have swept all before them these last four weeks. We were so covered with dust that under ordinary circumstances we should have been cross and uncomfortable, but I felt much more in tune with my surrounding, with my face stiff and my beloved (?) blue coat a beautiful grey. Only my eyes were free and I saw to it that there was no obstacle in the way of my "seeing history." We stopped long enough to inspect the most wonderful dugouts---long underground passages and tiny rooms, all solidly built and fine examples of German thoroughness, but the last occupants were Americans.

We found one group of 25 graves, all Massachusetts boys, who were buried within two weeks. The roads are covered with unexploded hand grenades and shells, and you truly "watch your step" when you are sight-seeing.

Chateau Thierry is a pathetic sight---a city completely ruined but simply teeming with life,---the American army. Everywhere in this region it is a rare sight to see anyone but an American, except the French troops leaving this front for another, and even though we read the papers and know that our boys are pouring into the country we simply can't believe our eyes, for we have seen them pass for hours and hours both ways, and every nook and corner is filled with them. We have an ambulance corps of 110 men with our formation, all from the South. We talked with groups all the way up and our Massachusetts men are all around us, so I shall not be surprised to see someone I know only I hope he won't be on a stretcher, with bullets and éclats to be hunted for.

We ran to one side of the road once to allow four of our boys, all mounted, to pass with a long line of German prisoners. It was a wonderful moment, we couldn't cheer for it seemed too impressive, the boys were so characteristically American and so proud of their job and they solemnly saluted us. It seemed so significant of what the near future surely holds for us, our lively young Americans, full of life and vitality, can spell but one word to these stolid, tired German boys, and they looked as if they fully realized it.

We shall still be some days organizing, but we are putting up a tent hospital for 800 beds and most of our personnel is here and will be reinforced at once, of course. We still have a small group both at Beauvais and Chantilly, but this will be a small city when we are fully equipped. We are only 12 miles from the front and at night we can see the flash from the guns and the artillery signals. The guns always seem loud at B----- -but they actually keep us awake up here, and we find ourselves getting all stirred up and unable to sleep when we know it is our Americans who are up there a few miles beyond hammering away.

This field we are on was a battle field not more than two weeks ago and we came here in time to see some unmistakable signs of a hurried retreat, loads of ammunition, two beautifully camouflaged machine guns, some forgotten Boches and horses and all sorts of souvenirs-helmets, bayonets, guns, etc.

Yesterday p. m. three of the girls took shovels and actually went up on the hill and buried one unfortunate---or perhaps fortunate Boche, and even put up the regulation cross over him. The roads and country are simply peppered with shell holes and there isn't a whole house for miles. Some of the houses have been utterly wrecked, even the faces cut out of the portraits.

We have a heavenly view from our hill, miles and miles of rolling country, with long roads like ribbons winding in and out among the hills, always in motion with long lines of troops and supplies, blue coming down and khaki going in. The boys from an aviation camp near start off in squadrons, go over the lines and in a few hours we count them as they come back. It is just as well that we have a few days here to get our equilibrium or we should have a sad time trying to work and not miss anything at the same time. Our ambulance boys are inside the tent we have been leaning up against, entertaining us with Southern songs, accompanied by a mandoline and sometimes a violin. They are great and we are between hysterics at their camp songs and tears at some of our old home songs. It's a bit distracting for my letter but it seems so good to be "all-American" once more. What a change from last year is the present routine life and business of our nation!

Last night some of us walked over a few miles to see one of the placements where "Big Bertha" held forth for a while. It is a marvelous piece of work---exactly like a railway turntable, with a well built track up to it, and it is so heavy that their attempts to blow it up before they left it only curled up the corners. Everything about it was well camouflaged and there is a guard over it. About 100 of our boys arrived about the same time we did and among them was one who came form a mobile unit near us and he said Miss Evans was here. Dr. Woodroffe will remember her last winter at the Royal on her way South on account of chillblains. I am going to look her up this evening.

Signed E. B.

Paris, August 12, 1918.

To A. G.

This has been a very quiet, uneventful week for me, although "Big Bertha" has kept things a little lively. I spent one day inspecting a very interesting place for delicate children near Paris at Hachette. It is really four places, a hospital for children where they are kept for ten days before going either to the convalescent home or the hospital, and then a big place with 150 beds for convalescent or delicate children. The latter is being run by Miss Dabney. She is doing well at Hachette. She is a very fine capable woman and I am glad she is there.

But I must tell you about Mrs. Post, who is here from Morlaix. She has developed her work wonderfully since I was there last year, and quite cheered me by telling me that I had been a real help. She tells me that she carried out all my ideas even to pruning the trees. You see, I arrived just as she was about to build expensive shelters for the children when I showed her how she could get splendid results with her plant just as it was. She quickly took the idea and says it has worked ideally. She has even introduced pottery at my suggestion. This had become a lost art. She is having the tubercular women make it, and says it is a great success-that they make lovely shapes. I was really awfully pleased about it, as although I enjoyed my trip to Brittany more than anything I have done since I have been here, I felt that it had been a waste of time. Mrs. Post has seventy children in her day camp. She says that the improvement in them is marvellous. She also has a hospital, and dispensaries scattered all throughout Finisterre.

I am going to start out Toulght on a tour of inspection, and expect to travel pretty steadily this next month. I go today to Blois, and Friday to Sermaise, which is not far from Chalons.

Yesterday I had a very quiet, restful time; we got an old fiacre, took a guide book, and spent the afternoon sightseeing in a leisurely manner. I think it did us all good . It is just one year ago today since we arrived in Paris. Of the original group who came, only Dr. Lucas, Miss Gilder, Dr. Baldwin, and I are left. Dr. Baldwin leaves for home in a day or two.

Last night I dined with Mr. Macdonough; I do not know if you remember him---he is a great friend of Mr. Eyre's. His son had been here only about a week or two when he was killed in his first engagement. Helen Byrne knew him well, he was a fine fellow.

I fear the loss of life among our men has been very high, but let us pray that their over-zealousness may have given such an impetus to the retreat that the Huns won't stop until they have crossed the Rhine. I cannot help hugging to my heart the hope that the fruit of the sacrifice our boys have made of their young lives will be victory in the near future, not another year of war. Let us pray.

 

FOREWORD

The work for the children of France had as its basic idea, cooperation with the French, the use of every French agency to carry on the fight to save the French children. It was not possible physically for America to solve the French civilian problem. We could only help by acting through the French organizations.

The attitude was that of an old, proud nation that was suffering acutely in a terrible war, toward a young, vigorous nation just entering the conflict with the biggest budget, the biggest army, the biggest this and that. France wanted our help, needed us, but she feared us not a little. It was quite natural. We are not a quiet or contained nation. We make a great deal of noise about our accomplishments, and that noise had been heard in Europe; and one felt that France had stiffened in this resolve, not to allow her need, terrible as it was, to force her into an "Americanization" of her home problems. She was giving too much on that Western front to protect her from Germanization to permit American aid to go too far.

The children's work began, therefore, with the real friendship with the French physicians---five or six men in Paris, children's specialists all---who had worked for the children of France. These men, Marfan, Letulle, Guinon, Triboullet, Mery, LeSage, are all men over sixty years of age. They were doing again the heavy hospital work they had long ago given over to their assistants. Their assistants had gone, all of them, and these men were carrying, single-handed, the entire staff service of great hospitals of four or five hundred beds, besides all the practice outside that could be crowded into their twenty-four hour day. They were courteous to the American doctor and the American offer of help, and they were very tired, so tired that they might have allowed us to do almost anything, you would have thought. But no. We learned that tired as they were, they were still vigilant. The American Red Cross Children's Bureau saw that, and it was the guiding star in all the work. "You are tired out, you have carried a terrible burden alone; how can we help you to go on with the work, to enlarge the work to more adequately meet the situation as you sec it? What do you want us to do?" It took time to make that convincing. We must have seemed very fresh and strong and well-fed to those dauntless people, and we bustled about with efficiency sticking out all over us.

But our men and women won their confidence. They made them believe that they meant what they said. They had not come to preach to them, nor to reform their methods, nor to teach them how. The men and women of the Children's Bureau knew well what American medical men owed to France in the protection of child life. The first children's clinic was in Paris; the first milk station was in Paris. The French knew what they wanted because they had created some of the ideas thought to be so thoroughly American. So that group of Paris physicians came to be the advisory board for our bureau, and wherever our physicians went in France they always asked the doctor what he wanted them to do.

Perhaps the most lasting work the American Red Cross has done for the children of France has been in the stimulating and helping to develop the district nursing work as we know it in America. That was the one new contribution to the French situation---the trained public health nurse, who would go into the homes and help the mothers to care for the children.

The French were very quick to see the far-reaching educational value of such work, and they were eager that their French women might be trained to help in the great problem of saving their children. The American Red Cross Children's Bureau was wise in making French organizations the training centers for these courses. French doctors gave the lectures and the American public health nurses gave the practical work to the French students in French hospitals and clinics. These courses established at Paris and Lyons enabled the Red Cross to keep the children's clinics and hospitals running when the American nurses and aides were called to military duty in the spring and summer.

The above paragraphs on the work in France were written just before the war ended. I would like to add that in all the aims and ideals of the Children's Bureau in France, Miss Ashe as Chief of the Nursing Service gave her ardent and splendid support. Upon her sympathetic co-operation in and intelligent grasp of the plans, much of the permanent foundations for nursing service left in France was built.

WILLIAM PALMER LUCAS.

Washington, D. C., July 12, 1917.

Very unsatisfactory interview today with Miss Noyes---found her unsympathetic with the idea of sending Public Health Nurses to France. Military necessities fill her thoughts. It is a somewhat subtle idea, that in saving the babies of France, we are helping the morale of the French soldier. It is not likely that Major Grayson, head of the American Red Cross Commission in France, would have cabled for pediatricians if he did not need them.

July 19, 1917.

Spent afternoon at Red Cross---being fitted out with uniforms which are hideous, with the exception of blue capes, lined with red. Found Miss Delano most sympathetic and attractive, but I certainly did get off on the wrong foot with Miss Noyes, when I received my appointment through Dr. Lucas. The nurses are very jealous of their right to make their own selections. The chief nurse who sails with us is peculiarly fitted for the task of supervising the nurses assigned to Military Affairs by a nine years' service in an obstetric hospital. I hope her experience won't be valuable to her in that line.

Before parting, I asked if I should send any reports. The answer was: "No, the work doesn't interest me."

S. S. "St. Louis."

We were roused early this a. m. by the sound of knocking on the door, followed by a voice announcing, "Submarine, Miss!" We clad hastily. After dropping and locking Rosamond Gilder in the life preserver, with which the Bourns supplied our party, I hastily proceeded to don my costume of black knickers, long green sweater and skirt with one hook. Rosamond declares I discussed the relative becomingness of a green or yellow sweater but it is not true. Within five minutes all the passengers were in the saloon.

The "sub" did not submerge, it was too far away, but shots went all over and around us. I expected to be scared most to death, but the roar of guns and smashing glass seemed to make something rise within me, a throw-back to my fighting forefathers, I think. I wanted to seize a gun and fight. It shows how primitive we are under the veneer of civilization.

Just then the bell hop appeared before Mrs. Lucas with half a grape fruit. She was locked up in one of those superior life preservers which made her look like a frog. Her indignation with the boy for offering her food at such a time was so comical that my anger was turned to laughter. Every one in the saloon was calm. We managed to run faster than the submarine. The British convoy picked us up in the afternoon.

My English stewardess tells me they are all filled with admiration for our 1200 soldier boys who stood at attention all through the bombardment four decks below. I asked, "How did you happen to be there?" She replied, "Oh, I went below for a bit of tea." The English will risk life for a cup of tea.

We are making for Liverpool.

Liverpool, July 25, 1917.

I had some difficulty in landing. As we all filed by the inspector, I was picked out of line and told to go into a stateroom and undress for special examination. It worried me a bit but a very sensible English woman looked me over, told me not to undress, and after delaying me for a few minutes, passed me on. It was strange as my papers were in order and I was wearing the R. C. uniform.

London, August 2, 1917.

Wrote a long letter home telling of our interesting visit to Baby Welfare Centers. The mothers work in munitions; in fact, so many women work in munitions, I think they are expecting to blow up the world. The place that interested me the most was a Babies' Hospital in a poor neighborhood, to save the babies whose mothers would not send them to far distant hospitals.

Paris, August 12, 1917.

Here we are at last-just three weeks from the day we sailed.. I find the situation is this: Dr. Lucas is head of the Medical Civilian work and Dr. Lambert of the R. C. Military service.

Toul, August 17, 1917.

This is a fascinating old town surrounded by a wall and moat.

The drawbridge looks very medieval. Mrs. Lucas and I spent the evening in the bar room---no drinks passed! It is our first test of the smell of gunpowder. The bombing of the big guns is heard all night from San Michel and Verdun.

We are taking over an old army barrack which was turned into a refuge for women and children by the American Fund for French Wounded. It is filthy, simply alive with vermin. It takes courage to clear it up, some would rather face big guns.

Mrs. Slemmons, wife of Dr. Slemmons, a nurse, has volunteered to stay on the job.

White Road to Verdun, August 12, 1917.

Mrs. Lucas and I accompanied the doctor today within the second line trenches. Visited several demolished villages. Women work in fields at night to avoid shells; children cling to their skirts wearing gas masks. A certain war routine has been established. There is a settled look about everything, as if it were expected to continue indefinitely. Babies are born in the underground rooms where people rush for safety when the bombs fall too thick. The normal state of mind of the women is asToulshing---no hysterics.

After a mad dash under fire we reached the second line trenches. Colonel and men surprised---first women to visit them.

Extract from report of Children's Bureau,

August 15, 1917, the A. R. C. received an appeal for help from M. Vernes and representatives of the French Red Cross for Nesle and the villages, seven of them, in the immediate vicinity, in which about 1,200 children are practically without medical facilities of any kind. Dr. John C. Baldwin of Johns-Hopkins was sent from the Children's Bureau, and in company with M. Vernes and the military authorities went over the ground.

The story of the villages is most poignant. These villages were retaken by the French in the latter half of March, 1917. The Germans in retiring systematically looted the country. From the little country farm the enemy took away or destroyed all the furniture, all the bedding, all cooking utensils, so dear to the heart of the housewife the world over, and all farm implements. The systematic destruction of the farm makes one rage; the same piece was removed from plough after plough so that no patching together of a whole instrument was possible. Isolated houses were burned or bombed, and in some villages, notably at Matigny, Croix and Molignaux no house remains intact and from these villages the little children and the old and sick people were driven forward to meet the advancing French, while the strong and able-bodied ones were sent to work in Germany. In Mesnil St. Nicaise about seventy native children were found and twenty from nearby totally destroyed villages. A most miserable looking group, none actually ill but all suffering from ringworm, impetigo, scabies and blepharitis. In Rouy-le-Grand about forty children crowded into the few habitable houses and all were filthy and infected with skin diseases. They looked stunned and sullen---no smile could be teased from those kiddies. In Voyennes, a larger town, of formerly about 900 people, now 450, the Mayor and the school teacher gave most graphic accounts of their village and they begged for help. The Mayor wanted bathing facilities. During the German occupancy each civilian inhabitant had been required to take a shower bath once a week and since March they had been unwashed.

To meet the needs of these scattered villages a Ford truck was turned into a traveling dispensary. A seat on one side could hold a nurse with a sick child. Over the seat a rack held supplies. There is room for a portable shower bath. The outfit is carried into a house where the water is heated; the nurse scrubs the child while the doctor pumps the water. Fame of this work soon spread. A call has come from Amiens to establish like work in that vicinity.

Paris, September 3, 1917.

Dick appeared suddenly on the scene. He is seeking his release from the American Ambulance service to join our army. He is disgusted that Pyatt Andrews does not make it easy for American boys to do this obvious duty.

FRENCH ARMY GENERAL ORDER
No. 594

In the bitter struggles which are going on at this time, the American personnel won, as in the past, the admiration of our officers and men.

Always ready to go forward first into the sectors swept by the enemy's fire, the Americans exposed themselves voluntarily in order to save and bring in our wounded. Worthy sons of their great country, they showed initiative, boldness and the calm courage of their race. In the name of their French brothers-in-arms, the General commanding the Division thanks them and congratulates them.

September 5, 1917.

Tried to find some toys for Toul children. Nothing to be bought but dolls and lead soldiers---the idea being to develop maternal instinct in the little girls to bear and rear boys to be drilled in war.

Morlaix, September 6, 1917.

Spending a few days with Mrs. Post. Have visited the five T. B. dispensaries which she has established with the help of a Presbyterian Hospital nurse Miss Maxwell sent her. It is the most thorough piece of Public Health work I have ever seen. Their motto is not to teach the second lesson until the first is learned. They know, through a card index, just how much the patient has learned. For instance, one card might read: Care of sputum-Yes. Fresh air-Yes. Value of rest-No.

Our method has been to try to teach too much at one time and then feel discouraged at the result. Violet Ray treatments and sun baths are given daily.

Paris, September 26, 1917.

We are desperate for nurses, although France is full of idle Public Health R. C. nurses in Army units. Red tape ties them there. There are available R. C. nurses in America who speak French but we cannot get them.

Evian, France, October 12, 1917.

Met refugee train at 6 a. m. As it pulled up in France the band played patriotic airs, and the train windows were crowded with shouting and weeping people. "Vive la France" filled the air. Swiss flags were waved from the windows. The Swiss never fail to provide flags and toys. An extra convoy of 568 Belgian children arrived in wretched condition. They are underfed, under weight and under developed. Children arrive weak and exhausted. Food given en route insufficient.

Paris, October 24, 1917.

Dr. Baldwin left today for Nesle, accompanied by Miss Culbertson, nurse and two American aides, Mrs. Goodale and Miss Miller.

Dr. Baldwin reports as follows:

On October 26th the little hospital at Nesle was opened with twelve beds. The difficulties there from the beginning were great. It was in the British War Zone and the restrictions were so severe that it was almost impossible to get the nurses passes to enter it. For instance, one of the nurses contracted diphtheria and it took a herculean effort to send a nurse to her. The place was constantly in danger from air raids, the nurses being obliged to retire to the cellars night after night, often with desperately ill children in their arms. It was bitterly cold, the house being only partially heated by small stoves, which the staff spent half of its time stoking. These were just a few of the troubles at Nesle before it was evacuated in March, when the doctor, nurses and aides, carrying sick babies in their arms, fled to Arnicas to escape the enemy, who took possession of the town on the 23rd.

November 1, 1917.

Met a most fascinating woman today, Madame Gilet-Motte, who organized the work at Evian. She is beautiful and gracious. Madame Gilet cares for all the orphans who arrive, or those who are separated from their parents. There are twelve hundred unidentified children under her care. Last week diphtheria developed in one house, and seven children died. All of the good medical men are in the army. Dr. Lucas will organize her medical work. Madame Gillet's old parents are hostages of war in Lille. Lyon, November 10, 1917.

Bad news from Italian front. Five thousand Italian wounded are expected here tomorrow.

Paris, November 10, 1917.

Glad to get back. Found Lyons a doleful city---atmosphere black and grimy like Chicago. Missed a visit from Loyall Sewall which was a bitter disappointment.

Evian, November 17, 1917.

At present we have several cases of scarlet fever of a rather severe type and have had during the week severe diphtheria. The stopping of these cases here, even one or two, might easily be worth the work and expense to which the Red Cross has been put in protecting whole communities all over France.

A splendid system has been established for the examination of all refugee children in entering Evian. A French doctor reported to the Government:

"Thanks to this new system, the little invalids are separated from their families without difficulty, for the relatives, seeing so well organized and so well established a system, do not dare offer any real objection to their children being taken in to the American Hospital

Further, the interest which is shown in these poor women when taking their children to the dispensary, talking to them sympathetically before, after and during the medical inspection, leads them to believe in, and follow, the intelligent advice which is given them.

As for the rôle of the nurses, it can be very extensive or very restricted, according to whether they make use of the influence of the moment and follow the mothers concerned with their know!edge and their hearts."

Letter from R. A. McLaren,

Somewhere in France, December 8, 1917.

Dear Alice.

Please excuse this very late Christmas letter. It may arrive by New Year's Day, in which case it will read Happy New Year. We are now in winter quarters, according to official despatches, and are settled as comfortably as possible under the circumstances. Owing to the many airplanes' activity it was impossible to put up tents or barracks, so the men have had to shift for themselves and are sleeping in hay lofts, woodsheds and about every kind of shelter. A little "Valley Forge stuff," as one of the men wrote his family. The officers are billeted in the town's finest spare rooms, which are very comfortable, and in most cases have been adopted as one of the family, sharing the fireplace and the dinner table, if they don't have their own mess. The favorite stunt in my billet is for the little old lady of 79 years to hobble upstairs every night with a hot rock wrapped up very carefully and put it in my bed. The only trouble is that she has begun to relate the first seventy-five years of her life in a big serial story, and there is no way I can think of to get her to skip a few years.

During the day we are kept on the jump---dismounted, mounted and gun drills all morning and officers' school in the afternoon. At night we have to study and also figure out data for gun-drill problems. On paper we have killed every German in Europe. But we have done a little better than paper and hope we brought the war just a very little closer to an end.

We have been hearing rumors about an early peace and that Wall Street is betting on an armistice this year, but I can't make myself believe it. I am afraid it is some more German work to get people's hopes all up and then depress them. How can we hope for peace with the recent German victories in Russia and Italy? Also it looks as if Roumania is done for. None of these events have been so disastrous in themselves only that the Imperial Government can kid the people along that much more. It was only a few weeks ago when we were at the front, a German prisoner was taken by our troops. He was confident of a German victory and added: "You can't fool me; I know you are English soldiers dressed up like Americans." So it's awfully hard to make an impression on them. By this time they have pretty good reason to know better. Elizabeth and I correspond pretty regularly, her letters arriving often and mine seldom, but c'est la guerre.

Affectionately.

DICK.

Diary---Paris, Christmas Day, 1917.

Waking before dawn, as usual. I eagerly opened my one Christmas package from home and found it contained six cakes of carbolic soap, but I have twenty-five letters from home to read so I should have a happy day. Snow has temporarily stopped the slaughter.

Evian, December 23, 1917.

We have had a death this week. The child was brought in from Samoëns, a distance of 70 kilometers, suffering from laryngial diphtheria. The child was moribund on arrival but an intubation was done, and also a trachaotomy, but the child died within the hour.

Evian les Bains, December 28, 1917.

The children here had a wonderful Christmas, thanks to the American ambulance boys who were en permission. They brought in a huge tree which they cut from high up on the mountain-side. The boys and girls from Evian brought in holly and mistletoe and the village curé brought his boy choir to sing carols at the entrance of the Hospital. I wish that I had been there. Christmas in a hospital is always so lovely, it seems as if the Christ Child hovers over His sick children.

Evian, January 1, 1918.

The hospital is filled to overflowing---160 beds filled. Dr. Lucas has arranged with Lyons Committee to open a villa where orphan children can be kept through a period of incubation, cultures taken and vaccinations done. Contagious diseases were being spread all over France through Evian. This measure even protects armies. Miss Bigelow, nurse in charge, very capable.

The aides should not be sent where there is so much contagion. Hannah Hobart has contracted scarlet fever.

During the week ending December 22nd, 2,330 were examined at the dispensary.

The convoys stopped December 22nd.

Paris, January 13, 1918.

Such an exciting thing happened today. In the middle of the morning General Leonard Wood accompanied by his staff paid me a visit at my office, 4 Place de la Concorde. I was overjoyed to see someone from home. He asked me to lunch with him and, although it was not according to Hoyle for me, a mere private to appear in public with a Major General, I accepted with alacrity. Had a wonderful lunch at Marguereys, where, of course, we ate sole. He attracted so much attention by his chest which was literally covered with medals that I felt quite embarrassed. Finally, a Frenchman could not restrain his curiosity. He walked up to the General and asked him what they were all for. General Wood good naturedly explained them the best he could in French.

His aide tells me that Loyall Sewall has been transferred to the tanks, the most dangerous branch of the service; it is too dreadful.

January 14, 1918

Had a regular Christmas surprise this a. m. One of the newly arrived aides brought me a suit case filled by Miss Maxwell and the P. H. nurses. It contained all kinds of goodies, sugar and candy, as well as useful articles and one thousand pencils for the soldiers. This remembrance of me made me very happy. If I am of any use in this crisis it is because of the training and experience I had at the Presbyterian Hospital.

Paris, January 23, 1918.

Visited Saint-Etienne to take part in ceremony of opening of new children's hospital.

Extract from First Annual Report:

"There has been no better work done in France than at St. Etienne under the direction of Miss Smythe who was assigned to duty there in October, 1917. Miss Smythe was an efficient Public Health nurse but did not speak a word of French. Very soon after her arrival she made an appeal to the Normal School in St. Etienne for help. Twelve young women responded, all of whom spoke English. They became Miss Smythe's pupils and devoted assistants. She organized a splendid nursing service in this big manufacturing town which was overflowing with refugees from the north. The people of the town became so interested in the work of the Red Cross that when the necessity, of a hospital for children was put before them they responded generously to the call. We had the pleasure on January 21st of being present at the opening of this hospital of one hundred beds. It has been equipped by the Red Cross and the system of nursing on the American plan is being instituted by Red Cross nurses. This is a permanent institution and, as the tablet in the hall states, will be a lasting souvenir of the happy relations established at St. Etienne between the townspeople and the American Red Cross."

Paris, January 25, 1918.

We arrived in Paris August 12, 1917, five months ago, and I am just beginning to feel settled and as if I belonged here a little bit. Although the weather has been very cold, the sky gray, the trees leafless, still the city has more charm to me now than it had in its summer brightness; it does not seem so artificial. The cold and dampness too has driven the poor maimed and crippled men indoors. We do not see the pathetic strings of blind men led by some kind friend into the sunshine for an aimless walk. Those sights were so heart rending, when we first arrived in Paris.

But the atmosphere is very tense now. The great German offensive is daily expected. All preparations are being made to meet it. The small towns near Nancy are being evacuated of women and children. At least, as many women as can be persuaded to leave; but most of them cling to their bit of soil as for their, very lives and will be parted from their children rather than leave it.

We are looking for buildings capable of housing 8,000 children under the ages of eight years. It is appalling. They can only be herded together like cattle and cared for en masse.

A telephone came from M. Mirman to stop our hospital unit leaving for Luneville. I suppose the town will be evacuated.

January 27, 1918.

Cabled today for thirty-two more nurses and twenty-five aides. Received a letter from Dr. Franklin of the National Council of Defense, asking my opinion on the advisability of sending aides to France. He stated that doctors and nurses are very much opposed to doing so. I replied to the effect that I thought it inadvisable to do so at present for Army service, but thought they should be trained for it. My idea is to send aides to us to use in the Civil Service and then to transfer the most reliable ones to the Army, if necessary.

Read the letter to Mrs. Monroe who superintends the aides at the American Ambulance at Neuilly since 1914. Mrs. Monroe would like to have charge of the aides in France. They should be controlled by the R. C. nurses.

January 28, 1918.

Miss Warner and Miss Allen, both Presbyterian Hospital nurses, had tea with me. Miss Warner has been here since the beginning of war. Told thrilling tales of her experiences. Her hospital was bombarded twice. She had to retreat with patients. One nurse lost her hand. A French doctor told her of his capture by Germans. They lined up his male nurses, shot them, and they shot the patients in their beds. Sounds unbelievable. He was then taken to a hospital where he took care of French prisoners. As I understand it, they only shot the Grand Blessés.

Miss Warner had just returned from the wedding of a poilu who had lost both of his hands. He is now a clerk at the Bon Marché and writes beautifully. I gave her $25 for his wedding present to help start housekeeping.

Miss Allen told the story of the murder of Rasputin by the Russian nobles, as told her by an eye witness. They thought that he led a charmed life and were awfully afraid of him. Prussic acid tablets were put in his food at a banquet, warranted to kill him in half an hour, but did not phase him. Then he was enticed downstairs to look at a picture and was stabbed in the back and left for dead. The man who did it rushed off to call his companions to see the corpse and when they all returned to witness it, he had escaped. They really believed him to be charmed but took another chance---rushed out in the snow after him and all discharged their pistols at once. Not being satisfied, they took his body to the river and threw it in to be absolutely sure.

Miss Warner told a pathetic tale of a young wounded German prisoner who was brought to her hospital. All the poilus begged her not to put him in the bed next to them. One man consented if a screen be put between. The young fellow, who had his arm amputated, won all their hearts by his sweetness and courage. One day a French officer unthinkingly shook hands with him and then was furious with himself for having done so.

I think one of the only encouraging phases of human nature in this war is the fact that men cannot hate for all time. I believe that love is more natural than hate to mankind. The English have had to teach their men to hate by rule although they know the horrible things that have been done. But one of our poor little Belgian orphans at Le Glandier says he hates his baby brother because he is "a Boche."

An attack is expected daily on Nancy. Every effort seems to be made to destroy that beautiful plaza with the statue of Stanislaus in the center, which tells on its base of his great benevolence. It is a relief to see a statue other than military, although France always honors her poets and scientists.

I called on General Leonard Wood who was in a French Hospital, having met with a slight accident, caused by an exploding mortar. Seventy-five men were killed by it. He only expects to be in France a couple of weeks more.

En route to Toul, January 31, 1918.

Last night all Paris was roused by the sirens announcing an air raid. Half the world took to the cellars and the other half to the streets, I being among the latter. It was a thrilling sight. The clear moonlit night made it perfect for a raid. The sky was filled with planes. They looked like huge electric balls. We could see the bombs dropping and exploding. They seemed to be far from us but one French plane fell, landing quite near our hotel in the Place de la Concorde. It was sickening to think of the young life snuffed out under it. Toward the north the sky was red with the light of a fire. It was all lurid. The exploding bombs sounded like the cannonading of guns. I went to bed at 2 a. m. as I had to be up at 6 a. m. to catch the train for Toul.

Bar le Duc, 2 p. m.

From the window I see many low buildings, the roofs camouflaged. It is hard to distinguish them from the green fields. I am so surprised to see the hills so green. It looks like California.

Mrs. Dixon is on the train. She came over from America to start day nurseries and when she got here, found they were not needed. I begged two of her nurses to help us out in an emergency, but could not persuade them to do so.

We are having trouble at Toul, due to the fact of a social distinction being made between the nurses and other women workers.

Dr. Ladd is from Boston.

Toul, Meurthe et Moselle, February 3, 1918.

Found conditions much improved.

Mr. Raeder, orphan asylum expert, had taken hold of the refugee problem and has done much to improve conditions. The hospital has been well run by the doctors and nurses but the well children's care not understood.

The probable evacuation of Nancy was the all absorbing topic. M. Mirman expects to send 10,000 people out and has asked us to look out for their medical needs. They will be sent to Northern France. He has asked Dr. Ladd to double the capacity of his hospital and to open a maternity hospital outside of Nancy for the women who cannot leave. A little family of five arrived this morning from Pompey where a shell had destroyed their home. Most cordial friendly relations have been established between the Americans and French.

This afternoon a French military band 'played on the parade ground for the children. Toul presents a fascinating picture. The town itself is so picturesque with its moat and drawbridge, old gates and beautiful cathedral. The narrow streets are thronged with troopers of all nations (except Boche), three thousand Italians, Moroccans, Africans, Mongolians, Americans and French---their uniforms all so different. The Moroccans wear bright red fezzes which adds color to the scene.

The Y. M. C. A. have opened canteens here and now the R. C. limping slowly along after them proposes to do the same thing. This stupid rivalry is so annoying and wrong at this time.

I talked to many boys on the streets. They are hungry for the sound of American women's voices. One of them asked Miss Warner if she would mind if he read his mother's letter to her.

I learned that Dick was near here in the trenches. Our men have been in the trenches now for two weeks. The Boche are expected to make a big drive before spring, when help from America can be hoped for.

The cause of the trouble at Toul among the nurses is that Dr. Ladd not only has a separate dining-room for them while other women workers eat at his table, but he sends the chauffeurs of his guests to their dining-room. I tried to persuade him to have his chief nurse at his table but he was very stubborn about it.

I talked to the nurses very seriously about the high mission they had to perform and the necessity of putting aside all small issues for the great cause. They responded wonderfully to the appeal and did not make a complaint of any kind to me, although I think they have been treated with little consideration.

Paris, March 9, 1918.

Last week I went to Evian for a few days, stopping at Dijon on my way back to Paris. Before going I had made very careful assignments of duty to the few nurses who had come to us on the last steamer. Alas, only three, when we expected twenty! Upon my return I found my nurses all scattered in the wrong directions to meet emergency calls. One thousand children had been sent out of Nancy, which is being shelled daily. They were accompanied by one of our doctors and nurses. They were sent to Dinard. It will be only a matter of a week or so when this entire group of children will develop every contagious disease in the catalogue---it is always so. They are put into trains in masses. Some few are sure to be developing something. All are exposed and the result is disastrous but inevitable.

A bomb exploded in one of the maternity hospitals. The patients were immediately transferred to our sanctuary at Toul where a baby was born the next morning with true Sloan asepsis. We have at Toul now, besides the refuge for five hundred children who have been taken from their parents to save them from the gas attacks, a children's hospital of 200 beds. Three nurses wasn't many, was it, to supply a maternity hospital and nursing care for 1000 children? In this instance we transferred the French nurses with the patients, but as the nurses in France engaged in that type of work are as a rule uneducated domestics, they are not much help to our doctors. The high class intelligent women are mostly engaged in war work, although I am gradually adding to our staff fine French women who wish to be taught. Every day we are receiving calls for help from French Baby Welfare Stations, begging us to send American nurses to teach them Infant and Welfare work. We simply can't begin to supply the demand. It is a wonderful teaching opportunity.

Miss Noyes writes me that she has great difficulty in supplying me with suitable aides for work with the children. What they all wish for is military duty. I can't understand this, though, as it seems to me that anyone who is sincerely desirous of helping the great cause would be willing to go wherever she is needed. Much of our work can be well done by aides under the supervision of nurses. One nurse, with several good aides under her who speak French, make a very good working force.

Paris, March 12, 1918.

Another air raid last night. It is really an awful bore to be routed out of bed every other night. I always have to rescue Miss Gilder, who hates to get up. We went down to the Lucas' room on the second floor, which is said to be quite safe. The sound of the cannonading and bursting bombs for a while was terrific---the hotel shook. I am sure some must have dropped quite close to us. As the hotel Vouillemont is only half a block from the Place de la Concorde it is in quite a dangerous position.

Miss Gilder remembered that our filing clerk, Miss Sullivan, was working last night, so she went over to the office to get her. I could not go with her as I had no clothes with me. A poor woman with a white tragic face applied to us for help to get her little boy out of Paris. The child was so terrified at the last raiding explosion that he has been trembling and screaming ever since.

Miss Byrne, my secretary, spent the night at the Gare de Lyons, where she went to meet fifty children who had been sent from a bombarded town to supposed safety in Paris. The first thing the children asked on their arrival was if there were any bombs here. They had hardly been reassured when the firing and explosions began. So many children are nervous wrecks. It is particularly hard on girls maturing. They become very hysterical.

The Ministry of War received three bombs. A fire was started there but very quickly put out.

March 19, 1918.

Tried to get supplies for the sufferers at La Courneuve, the town where the big explosion took place yesterday. I promised the mayor to send help for the five hundred families without food or shelter, but an Associated Charities worker from Boston refused supplies until the families had been investigated.

I got an emergency order from Headquarters. Helen Byrne and I drove out in a camion laden with blankets, bedding, corned beef, chocolate, prunes, condensed milk for the babies and biscuits. Families whose roofs had been blown off by the explosion were sleeping on hay piles in big horse stalls.

The number of American Red Cross workers wounded by flying shrapnel or injured by broken glass while taking out the victims of the disaster is not known. I am wondering what would be considered an emergency in Boston.

Paris, Saturday, March 23, 1918.

At 8 a. m. the alert sounded, quickly followed by explosive sounds at regular intervals during the morning about every twenty minutes. We were all very much puzzled as the usual answer from the Paris guns was lacking. News came that the Gare de l'Est had been struck and later we heard that the Hotel de Ville received a bomb. Crowds were on the street discussing the mysterious affair. I got a few photos.

We worked all day in the office. It was not till late in the afternoon that the news spread about that it was not a raid but long distance German guns, which were doing the damage. I am surprised at the calmness of the Parisians. "Clear" was sounded at 4:30 p. m. There is something very thrilling about this. A motor fire engine rushes through the street, the truck painted bright red, firemen in shining bright brass helmets, with a bugler playing a very gay air.

Sunday, March 24, 1918.

Although the alert sounded early this morning, Loyall Sewall, who is here on permission for a week, and I went to the American Church. Loyall was very much impressed by the fact that no one even turned around when there was a terrific explosion in the middle of the service. Mrs. Lucas has surprised me by taking the whole affair humorously, although she always retires quickly to safety.

March 25, 1918.

An "alert" at 1 a. m. We all got up and scrambled into our clothes in the dark. It is too annoying. I then fell sound asleep on the top of the bed in spite of the booming of cannons, dropping of bombs, etc. The big "Boche" drive is on, the English have been pushed back; in fact, the news sounds pretty bad, but no one talks of it. The general feeling is that no doubt as to the result must be expressed. I worry about Dick all the time. I can't bear to think of him.

March 28, 1918.

Easter approache--s-it is Maunday Thursday. The terrible slaughter continues. Barricades are made of the dead to protect the living. Whole companies of the British are wiped out to a man. The enemy is steadily advancing but at a terrific price. Great relief was felt yesterday when news came that General Foch had been given supreme command. National jealousies had almost lost the battle for freedom. I cannot help but feel that those Germans who are sacrificing their lives by hundreds of thousands must actually believe that their fatherland is in danger. It is not conceivable that a low motive would bring forth such courage.

Dr. Baldwin and the three nurses have returned from Nesle and Amiens. They fled without a garment, except those on their backs. Miss Potts carried an eight-weeks-old baby for two days. It was so dirty and wet at the end of the time.

Nesle is said to have been taken and lost seven times since they left. The Red Cross agent failed to destroy our warehouse before leaving. Chalons is under shell fire. So far the Friend's Hospital has not been struck. Feel so worried about the maternity hospital.

I spent the day yesterday organizing emergency teams of nurses both for Paris and the front, to go in ambulances with the doctors. The nurses are all eager to go. Haven't seen one show the white feather. We sent nurses and aides last night to the Paris railway stations, where thousands of refugees arrive night and day. Hundreds of our men have been sent to Paris suffering from gas attacks. Dr. Lucas is ready to turn over the whole force to the military. There is a big spirit in him. He always rises to an emergency. It is terrible in the midst of the world crisis to have to stop and argue and contend with petty medical jealousies.

The nurses have risen splendidly to the occasion. We have twenty-nine here in Paris now. Miss Byrne got off to Italy most reluctantly and Frances Webster from Boston is doing well in her place.

I have been furnishing money out of my emergency fund, supplied by friends, to mothers to send their children south to safety. I am also using it to buy nurses' uniforms for refugee French girls who are coming to us as aides. We have a good many with us now. The incessant raids and cannonading of Paris last week was very hard on the nerves of the little children, especially girls of twelve years.

Easter Sunday, March 31, 1918.

Another horrible week has passed, a week of agony. Millions of Christian men engaged in a life and death struggle within a few miles of us. Can we ever live normal lives again? The Big Bertha boomed on Paris discharging its death message every twenty minutes. Hurry calls constantly coming for ambulances and nurses, thousands upon thousands of refugees from burning and captured towns arriving in Paris by train and on foot, laden with their most precious belongings. Sublime courage of the French people inspires us all. I am down on my knees before them---such poise, such quiet serenity. Shells from the big guns drop on churches, factories or any big gathering place. They seem to know just where the most damage can be done. Through it all, with the shrieks of the wounded in their ears, they smile with the calmest assurance and say, "Our army will never let the Boche through to Paris." And we have faith that they know their men. I am glad that I have had the privilege in my life of being in close touch with a great people at this supreme moment.

April 1, 1918. 4:00 a. m.

The "alert" was sounded at 3:30 a. m. and the defending guns began immediately. We dressed quickly and came over to the First Aid Station at the R. C. to be on duty. It is a fairly safe place. This afternoon I collected a lot of toys and took them to the Gare de Lyon for the weary children, many of whom wait there all day. The French directress, a charming woman, was so delighted with the toys. She insisted on my distributing them myself. They were all put in a big hamper and the children had a grab bag. The poor tired refugee mothers were so pleased and relieved for a little while to see their children happily playing. I talked to one woman who had eight children clinging to her skirts. She has been here evacuated from her home twice---lost everything. I expressed my admiration of her courage. Her answer was, "Victory is sure!"

April 2, 1918.

I am thrilled by the news that General Allenby has taken Jerusalem. I was so excited that I could talk of nothing else at the lunch table. Mlle. de Montmort, who is a very highly educated woman, was surprised at my deep interest. She said: "But, Miss Ashe, it is so far away!" Parisians don't know of a world that exists outside of Paris.

April 4, 1918.

The British continue to lose ground, the apprehension is great. They have all been told to be ready to leave Paris at a moment's notice. I have money in my emergency pocket. I am glad I have seven pockets. Alice hates to see them stuffed but now she might approve.

April 5, 1918.

Many mothers with babies in their arms were killed in the Maternity Hospital where a shell exploded. Children are being sent from Paris as quickly as possible. The English are fighting desperately, giving their life blood for the cause---whole battalions going down as one man. Now that Foch is in supreme command everyone feels encouraged.

Paris, May 6, 1918.

Things are quieter now. The huge gun has been silenced by the French Artillery but since Paris has been declared in the war zone it is difficult to get passes to leave.

I met a man from Dick's regiment. He is in the trenches where the worst fighting is oil. I feel so worried; haven't heard from him for two weeks.

The horse chestnuts are in bloom. I am homesick.

June 3, 1918.

We are told that Chateau Thierry has been partly taken which means that the Boche is eighty-three miles from Paris, but everyone has confidence in the French Army. The Big Bertha booms by day and nightly air raids disturb our sleep.. A shell from the gun struck a saint in his niche behind the Madelaine and cleanly decapitated him. No other damage was done. It was on a fête day. The children were receiving their First Communion. The Pope had asked that all attacks on cities cease while this service was in progress. The English agreed and ceased their raids on Cologne but the Boche went on.

The news from our army is heartbreaking. We hear that the whole first division is destroyed and very little left of the second. Our troops are really guarding Paris now, being banked up directly behind the French army. The medical end has been horribly mismanaged. No one has looked ahead even twenty-four hours, although it is known that this terrible battle is raging. Nurses are not sent forward until it is actually known that the men are lying in the hospitals without care.

Paris, June 4, 1918.

Miss Potts writes: "That boy of nine years whom we treated for four months has made a wonderful recovery and now walks, much to his joy. A boy was brought in suffering from a severe attack of the nerves brought on by fright. We may have to leave the town as the big guns of the enemy are becoming more active daily. At first, when a bombardment took place, the whole hospital staff and children were retired to the cellar, but at night it was so bitterly cold that we have decided to die warm in our beds, if must be."

June 6, 1918.

Quantities of army nurses are idle in hospitals far from the front and men dying for lack of care. It is too terrible and ghastly---I nearly go mad at the thought---but am powerless to do anything, being in civil affairs no one listens to me. I have gathered up all possible nurses from the by-ways and hedges. I have drawn into the service many nurses belonging to different organizations who are not over here as R. C. nurses, not being registered at home. One protested at coming in, saying she had not had obstetrical experience!

I have turned over our graduating class of French girls as Health Visitors to the stations to look out for the refugees who pour in by thousands.

A shell from a French "75" took the two top stories off one of our dispensaries in an effort to get a Boche plane. Thirty people were killed by Boche bombs that came right near the dispensary. More hellish every day.

Mrs. Smythe, an aide, gave a thrilling account of their race for life on a train from Sermaise, which was laden with wounded and refugees. Planes hovered over, trying to get them. The bombs burst on every side, but they came safely in. I fear many of the nurses we have sent to Beauvais will never return, as the town, which consists of little but hospitals, is being shelled. Two of our ambulance drivers were killed before the door of the hospital. The nurses arrived in the pitch darkness. The hospital was without light or water. The wounded had been lying on stretchers three days without care. Some Smith girls in the town fed them and gave them bed pans. There were about 280 men. The nurses went to work the moment they arrived without even putting on their uniforms. As there were no lights, the doctors operated by the light from their little bullet hand lights. I have since seen many of the men from Cantigny---mostly gas cases. These fellows have a hard time. Their lungs become inflamed and many have pneumonia.

On Sunday afternoon I visited the Val de Grace where I am interested in a devoted English girl who has been nursing the blind there since the beginning. The rush of work there is appalling. I talked to a badly wounded Englishman who suffered greatly from thirst. His mouth was in such bad condition that I made an effort to clean it for him. It was difficult to find gauze and water. The poor fellow was so grateful he said: "I have been wounded for seven days and you are the first person who has washed me."

Things are pretty bad at the French hospitals, as many women have left Paris on account of the bombardment who used to go daily to the hospitals.

American Ambulance, June 12, 1918.

The Marines fill the place to overflowing. The hospital increased from 600 to 1500 beds overnight. The medical staff was overwhelmed with the task. Volunteers were gratefully received.

I have taken two weeks leave from the Children's Bureau. The men show splendid courage. I questioned a boy, a mere lad, whose leg was amputated above the knee; he looked so young and helpless. He was from Texas. He told me he had volunteered in the Marines, age sixteen; that he got solid with the sergeant, who let him in on the fight. I looked at his poor stump and said: "Now, my boy, aren't you sorry you didn't stick to your drum?" He replied, "No, ma'am, this ain't no time for music."

Paris, June 15, 1918.

Spent the morning interviewing twelve aides, just arrived from America. Good material. Have to question each one as to what contagious diseases she has had. Assigned some to convalescent homes which does not overjoy them. But nurses are not immune either. Miss Potts has diphtheria at Nesle. No chance of sending help to Nesle for a week, as it is in war zone and passports difficult to obtain.

Tomorrow repatriés will begin to arrive at Evian at the rate of two thousand per day. Our hospital is increased to two hundred beds. We are very short of both nurses and aides. I cannot understand why the Washington Nursing Service is so slow to send them.

Leave tomorrow for Le Glandier where we have 680 Belgian children in our care. A measles epidemic has broken out. Our two nurses had thirty children to care for until I rushed aides who had had measles to the rescue. They were working eighteen hours on a stretch. The nurses are splendid.

(Note: When the children returned to Belgium at the end of the war the Queen of Belgium asked that Miss Hower be released from the R. C. to enter her service.)

June 19, 1918.

The nursing situation has been dreadful and inexcusable, as there are plenty of nurses in the army idle (more red tape). Our nurses have borne the brunt of this first big drive. It has paralyzed the work of the Children's Bureau and all the doctors resent it. The chiefs call it an emergency, but this offensive was just as much of an emergency as the birth of a child at the end of nine months' pregnancy. After the six months' winter, rest, army activities---a foregone conclusion.

June 20, 1918.

I am back in the office today. All my patients cared for in wards. Paris is almost at the front these days. Between Big Bertha ranged on us and air raids, one can almost smell the smoke of battle.

A number of the aides have just returned from the hospital at the front, from which they were evacuated. I feel as if they were my children. They had hair-raising experiences. I am so proud of them.

Loyall Sewall is in the trenches and Dick McLaren near Amiens.

Expecting Miss Maxwell daily. She is a wonder---over seventy years old. She is coming to inspect the Presbyterian Hospital Unit at Etretat.

An amusing letter came today from one of our nurses who writes from a refugee camp:

"I feel sorry for these refugees, but their fleas are awful. Today I sewed moth balls in my underclothes and hope the smell will keep them away.

"You know I have been raised a strict Presbyterian and now I don't know what I am. First you sent me with the Friends, now I am with the Catholics and I suppose next you will be sending me with the Jews to Jerusalem. However, I am more a Catholic than a Friend---no Pacificism here. Mr. Hopkins and Count Beauchamp are both wonderful men."

June 27, 1918.

I have been talking to our boys at the American Ambulance.--the Fifth Marines who fought so bravely at Chateau Thierry and really saved Paris, as the French were retreating when they arrived. Even the engineers who were working on the road threw down their picks and shovels, took the bayonets which were thrust into their hands and fought like veterans. It was like the boys of '76. Their vigor and young enthusiasm put new life and force into the French who shouted as they sprang forward, "We will follow." The retreat was checked and Paris saved. It was wonderful to hear the boys tell about it right off the battlefields. They did not seem to know what fear was and such mere lads as they were, the majority between the ages of seventeen and twenty. I would say constantly to these youths, "But weren't you afraid?" The answer always came: "Why, I'm a Marine!" as if the thought of fear with that of a Marine could not be coupled.

I was terribly shocked when I heard that. they took no prisoners. Men threw down their bayonets and put up their arms and were shot. I was horrified. The men explained their feeling about it to me. They said: "If a man fights with us hand to hand in fair conflict, if his bayonet is taken from him by force, then we take him prisoner; but if he throws down his arms before he fights he is a coward and we don't want him---good riddance." It is all so primitive and savage. I asked the men how they felt when they first killed their fellow man. The answer generally was revenge so filled their hearts after seeing some of their friends killed, that they went madly into it without another thought. They were so wonderfully brave and patient at the hospital, so sweet and fine---the flower of our nation being sacrificed at this altar of lust and hate. It is all too terrible, but I do believe that as a nation, we will be purified and come out triumphant, the right prevailing.

Last night we were again routed out of bed by an air raid. The noise was terrific for about an hour. I have never heard the planes so distinctly. They must have flown very low. It all sounded so near that I felt sure it was not far from our hotel, the Vouillemont on Rue Boisy d'Anglas.

June 28, 1918.

The bombs struck the Place Vendome last night causing a good deal of damage.

July 5, 1918.

This morning I am feeling exhausted after the emotional strain of yesterday. It was quite different from any other experience of my life. When we assembled at the Trocadero my thoughts were centered on Miss Maxwell who, at my side, carried aloft the Red Cross banner---the emblem of mercy. She stepped out so firmly, her fine erect carriage denying the seventy years her snow white hair proclaimed. I felt so privileged to be at her side. But when we fell in line beside the Marines, the heroes of Chateau Thierry, and the band played Dixie, the crowd cheered, "Vive 1'Amerique," threw flowers and with reverence tried to touch the flag, an exalted feeling took possession of my being. I lost my personality and, proudly carrying the flag on high, forgot all in its glory.

July 20, 1918.

Extract from First Annual Report:

MILITARY CALL

The strain on our nursing force has been very severe since March when the first call for help came to us from Military Affairs. At that time our Army became a part of the French Army and, there being no American base hospital in the sector after the fight at Cantigny, our wounded were taken to the already overcrowded French hospitals where they were treated with every kindness but were most unhappy because they were unable to make themselves understood. Within the following two weeks forty nurses and aides were loaned to the Military Affairs. A hospital was opened at Beauvais, the personnel of which is entirely composed of nurses from the Civil Affairs.

In July we were again called upon to help when the advance of the enemy to the Marne for a time entirely disrupted the medical service of the army and the Red Cross came to the rescue of the wounded and rushed nurses to the front. A hospital was immediately established at Jouy, again with a personnel of almost exclusively infant welfare and Public Health nurses and aides.

The adaptability of these nurses to war needs has been a surprise to everyone. Their training in the poor homes, where they have been obliged to make the best of what was at hand, has been valuable to them here, where, in this emergency work, they have been obliged to do without most of the things that a regular hospital nurse is accustomed to work with. We feel very proud of them and very happy that, in the time of need, the Children's Bureau was able to make such vital contributions to the care of our wounded.

American Ambulance, Neuilly, July 21, 1918.

Here I am at the American Ambulance again, having forgotten to return to the office after a visit to the hospital. Twenty-eight hundred men passed in and out of this place in twenty-four hours. They are lying on stretchers all down the corridors, lawns and even the big garage is packed. I am working in the receiving ward. The men never complain. Only serious cases are kept. An amputation to the thigh is not considered a serious case.

July 22, 1918.

All we can do is to make the men a little more comfortable before passing them on. There is a Chinaman here from California (a native son). I feel drawn towards him.

The men are fearfully tired after their long trip in the ambulance. They lie in stretchers on the floor. We try to help them. They are generally clinging to some prized personal possessions which we put into Red Cross bags for them. They adore these bags---act like children about them. They lie so close together on the floor it is difficult to get them undressed and washed a bit.

Our women doctors are splendid. They get in and do anything, washing the boys' faces, bathing their eyes, giving ether all night long or operating.

Medical etiquette prevents the doctors in the Civilian Service from volunteering. One of the men said to me today: "Your strength gives me courage." He shows a courage in bearing pain which, I feel sure, I would not have.

American Ambulance, July 23, 1918.

Men coming in directly from the battlefield tell thrilling tales of victory. They are so excited they do not seem to feel pain but it makes my blood run cold to hear of brutal killing. They go over the top shouting like mad men and rush forward exalted without thought of danger. Their spirit is magnificent. They fight the Prussian Guard like veterans.

August 2, 1918.

When Dr. Lucas returned Saturday, he was met with the tale of my desertion from the empty office to nurse the boys from home. He lent an unsympathetic ear to complaints. Said, "good for Miss Ashe, I'm glad of it." He sees all around a situation---understands cutting red tape.

August 3, 191&

Transformation of Asile Caserne de Luxembourg to Military Hospital. Report:

The medical staff went to work with a will to put the hospital in proper shape for the wounded. The little cribs were removed somewhat tearfully but everyone was eager to do something for "our boys." Within a week a wonderful transformation had taken place. A military hospital with a capacity of 1,500 beds stood ready to receive the wounded. Within three days it was filled to its full capacity and the nurses proved immediately that their handling of the babies had taught them how to handle more carefully the mangled limbs of the boys they so longed to serve. The entire nursing staff, with the exception of the chief nurse, was incorporated into the military establishment and the Children's Bureau saw them no more until after the Armistice was signed.

August 5, 1918.

"Big Bertha" has begun again. A number of people were killed on the streets yesterday. Our boys seem to be moving straight on to Berlin. They come into the hospital elated with victory and forget their pain in telling of their triumphs. They are fighting for an ideal but at the time of actual battle all such thoughts are lost sight of. Their one idea is to kill, kill, kill. They always advance shouting madly and all goes down before their terrific onslaught. I was surprised to find among the last, wounded men who had only been in France one week. They were in the 165th Infantry. They fought and routed the Prussian Guard, those untrained boys. It seems like a miracle.

One of the nurses told me that she had quite lost control of herself that morning when a boy coming out from ether, discovered that his hand was gone. She tried to console him with the thought that it was his left hand, but he, sobbing, said: "It is for my mother I grieve. My two brothers have been killed and I will return to her like this." The nurse cried with him.

Imagine my horror when I was told that the men would not hesitate to kill any officers in time of the excitement of battle who had treated them badly. It seems to be the practice in all the armies.

The Red Cross is being reorganized by Mr. Gibson, the new chief. The medical and nursing sections are to be entirely separated from military and civil affairs. It is a much needed change. Professional jealousies disturb our harmony. Even face to face with death egotism prevails.

Neuf Chateau, August 22, 1918

To A. G.

On Wednesday I left Paris with two nurses, very unexpectedly, for this place, where our army has its headquarters. The Red Cross has a civil hospital here, which is not under the direction of the Civilian but of the Military Affairs, so I have nothing to do with the nurses. Army orders came to vacate our Children's Hospital. The well children (about 600) to go to Lyons, where we have a big refugee camp for children.

I hear that the blind develop a natural instinct in the care of chickens. I am going to make a study of this while here, and even if I cannot do the work, I will be able to help those who are in a position to do so. Of course, my plans will all depend upon Mr. Bothin's co-operation and your approval. I think the Government will take up this on a large scale but there are always people who do not fit into the Government machinery, and these misfits are the ones I want to look out for.

I had a little talk with Mrs. Littleton, who is at the head of England's Land Army of Women. I will try to see just what the English women are doing. The Red Cross has several similar colonies in France for the French disabled. I hate to speak of them as "mutilés" as they are called here. I feel less depressed since I have had this hope of being able to do something for these men in the future. Just to see all of this destruction going on without any constructive thought in relation to it was almost unbearable.

Of course there is a big constructive idea behind it all in the League of Nations, but that is about as difficult to visualize every day as to get daily comfort out of the thought of immortality. Being a very mundane and material person, I need something more tangible to let my thoughts dwell on except in moments of supreme exaltation, which are rare, but never so frequent as in the midst of this terrible battle, murder and sudden death, from which the good Lord deliver mankind soon.

Dr. Lucas is getting in the saddle again. He leaves his nursing problems, which become more complicated every day, entirely to me, but as we both agree that the only solution of them is through the training of the French themselves to do the work, I am making every effort to secure teachers from among the nurses and hope when our courses begin October 1st in Lyons, Marseilles, Bordeaux and Paris, we will be able to have sufficient enthusiastic teachers speaking French to at least give these French women a vision of our ideals. We have graduated about fifty so far, who are all employed in dispensaries, milk stations and places of that type. The majority are doing very well, and where they continue to work under our direction are getting a supplementary training which is invaluable. I am sure many will be real missionaries. I do not begin to touch on all I would talk to you about.

The following extract from my First Annual Report best tells the story of the Traveling Exposition.

TRAVELING EXPOSITION

The Traveling Infant Welfare Exposition is another vital phase of the Infant Mortality Campaign and the nurses have taken an important part in this effort to bring before the French Nation a living picture showing the vital necessity of conserving life of the child at the time of national calamity. The crowds of enthusiastic visitors attending these expositions have surpassed all our hopes and expectations and no one exhibit has received more attention than that of the nurse who bathes the baby in a glass cubicle and puts it to bed, carefully extinguishing the light and opening the window before she leaves the room. If this one lesson could be taught it would make the exhibit worth while. After the demonstration the nurse is always surrounded by anxious mothers and many fathers, seeking instruction in the care of their children. This eagerness of the fathers to be taught is most touching as they are always disabled soldiers who now have to be the home-makers while the wives go out into the world to struggle for the daily bread.

Owing to the scarcity of nurses we have not been able to assign one to the moving picture show which is conducting a barnstorming campaign throughout France, aides having been selected for this very satisfactorily to demonstrate the bath and proper dressing of the baby, a doll being used for the purpose.

Written by a soldier after watching the playgrounds of the A. R. C. Child's Welfare Exhibition, Lyons:

Sunday, August 25, 1918.

To A. G.

It was not possible to write on the train, although it apparently moved slowly enough. I left Neuf Chateau at 2 p. m. and arrived in Paris at 12:30 a. m. Fortunately I found a Red Cross car, which brought me and two other stray nurses, whom I picked up en route, to our hotels. The Red Cross cars meet all late trains, which I think is a fine thing, as no taxis are to be had and it is really dangerous to roam these black streets at night, hunting hotels.

Our Toul Hospital has to be turned over to the Military. Dr. Ladd and our nurses will organize it, and then turn it over to the army staff. Dr. Ladd has founded a small hospital in the vicinity which he can use later for a Children's Hospital. In the interim the children are being sent away. Poor little things! How they are ballied about from pillar to post. Fortunately, they love the Americans, and weep bitterly when they leave even our hospitals. I wish you could see the men in the towns going about with the children, earnestly conversing with them. Tiny French boys are perched proudly up beside the drivers of great trucks. The French children are very attractive---such sweet manners.

I created a sensation when I appeared at Neuf Chateau and literally ordered them to vacate their Civilian Hospital to make room for our children. It certainly did seem unreasonable, but when I pointed out the fact that all of their patients had homes to go to and that ours all lived in "caves," as they call them here, they became more reasonable, and by 5 p. m. all possible cases were landed safely in their homes. The district nurses will look out for them.

Miss Maxwell left without my saying good-bye to her. She went up to the front before leaving, and I hear had a thrilling trip. She triumphantly, returned with a German helmet.

Letter from Dr. Margaret Farwell:

Corbeil, August 25, 1918.

Dear Dr. Lucas.

Replying to your letter of August 3d. The conditions in Corbeil when the dispensary opened did not differ greatly from those found in many parts of France since the beginning of the war, owing to lack of medical care, bad food, general nervous strain induced by four years of war and over-crowding. In addition to these things we found upon investigation that practically nothing had ever been done specifically for the children of Corbeil and the vicinity.

Soldiers on permission are obliged to come to the Bureau de Place which occupies the first floor of our dispensary building, and they frequently take the trouble to come upstairs and tell us how much it helps the men at the front to know that their families are being cared for by the Red Cross. They often ask for our literature to take to their own families who have not yet been to see us, or to their comrades at the front. Whenever we register a family which has someone at the front, we send them word that we are caring for those left at home, and as a result have had many experiences of satisfaction from men at the front.

We are trying to build up conditions here which will survive after we have left and the French people have returned to normal times. We are going to meet with some measure of success in this, due to the great help which we derive from the American training which the French aides receive through the Children's bureau.

I have talked with them and we have agreed to press three things home to the people of Corbeil in our dispensary talks, and in home visits, namely: Windows open day and night, and why. 2. Daily attention to bowels on the part of every member of the family. 3. A bath at least once a week. In the case of the babies we have enthusiastic help not alone from the aides but also from the mothers and Nourrices. As a matter of fact, we consider the help we get from the Nourrices a great triumph. Every Nourrice in Corbeil brings the babies in her care to our baby days. We are here trying to teach but one thing more than the three outlined above, and that is regular feedings. They all, mothers, Nourrices and aides co-operate with us in this, and we have made great headway towards better and more healthy babies.

Hoping this in some measure answers your inquiry, I am,

Yours very respectfully,

MARGARET W. FARWELL.

Paris, September 1, 1918.

To L. McL.

From the point of view of military interests I have had a very uneventful week, but it has been one full of real satisfaction to me, as I have been busy planning with Dr. Lucas our winter infant mortality campaign. Courses of four months will be given in Paris, Lyons, Marseilles and Bordeaux to begin in October. The sixty French girls whom we have already graduated have done so splendidly that everyone is enthusiastic now over the educational work, and we can take our pick of the nurses to teach the courses. These nurses must have the special teaching quality, so are difficult to find. Although the course is very short, it really gives them a start and the instruction is continued for months afterwards by the nurses and doctor with whom they work. I say a good deal about this as I feel that it will be the most lasting and real benefit that America will bring to France. In years to come when the Great War will be at first only a horrible nightmare, and then we hope just a curious study in history of how the world went mad, the band of visiting nurses, whom we are training now, will have become a mighty army carrying their banners marked "Hygiene" into every home in France.

Speaking of French homes, it is curious to watch our boys in relation to them. When they first come over, they are so horrified at the unsanitary condition of the villages in which they are picketed, that they can see no good in France, but in a short time they accept it as a matter of course and begin to appreciate all the wonderful qualities of the French. The spirit among the Allies is better now than it has been at any time since the beginning of the war. General Foch gets a good deal of the credit of this. Our men admire him immensely. Since he has had command the pull together has been perfect.

But to go back to my own work about which I can write more intelligently than about the affairs of the world:

I inspected with Dr. Lucas two institutions for the care of infants. Porchefontaine is a most remarkable institution from our point of view. Two hundred and fifty infants are taken care of there. Unmarried mothers come with their babies and each nurses another motherless baby. Unfortunately, these motherless babies have often a perfectly good mother who puts it in an institution of this kind to get rid of the care of it at such a troublesome age. They are taken home at eighteen months. Can you imagine 250 infants housed together, all looking white, pasty and solemn. We have been in charge of fifty of these for four months, having the complete direction of two cottages, and have made such a success of it that we have been asked to take over the direction of the whole pouponiere, as it is called. It is a big undertaking, but when I see the difference between our babies and the others, I am eager to undertake it. It is really a nursing triumph, as the medical direction has not been changed.

I received a nice visit from Farragut Hall. He was in Paris trying to get information about young Urguart and Joe Mellen. The former he found had died of wounds in a hospital, and the latter is a prisoner. Farragut is a fine boy. Cousin Loyall Farragut would be very proud of him. The other Mellen boy is in his regiment. He is a captain---Farragut I mean. The possibility of Porter coming over has stirred me all up. I do hope he will land here and not in Siberia. I received such a nice letter from Loyall McLaren. His baby must be a dear. I think his photos are fascinating.

The news is so good that everyone is full of hope. The English certainly have retrieved themselves, and I am so glad for them. Even apart from the help their victories have given, it did seem too bad that after all the splendid work they did for years that all should be forgotten because of a temporary slump. In those dark days, I found myself quite violently British and discovered that blood was thicker than water. Their big trouble is that they are too self satisfied to be able to learn anything from others. The Americans came over and frankly said: "We know nothing about the art of war---teach us," and they have been learning like mad. The British, who are good fighters, also knew nothing of the art of war, but they wouldn't acknowledge it and blundered along until Foch was put in command, spilling their blood and treasure but not getting anywhere. Now this is the general consensus of opinion over here, not original.

Paris, September 1, 1918.

To A. G.

As an afterthought to my letter, I want to answer your inquiries re the Duryea Society. That woman you mention did bring over here thousands of pounds of dried milk, which she is probably distributing with more or less intelligence; but I feel that those sporadic efforts are of little real value and just discourage the generous who are always being called on. The Red Cross is well able to handle all situations of this kind and is doing it well. We give away tons and tons of milk and every other kind of food. I have written you so often about the Fatherless Children of France. It seems useless to repeat it. Their money, according to all our ideas, is simply being thrown away as a dollar does not go so far in France now as a dollar at home, and you know how far $3.00 per month would go in helping a family. Their supervision of the families is practically nil. At one time I did think it valuable in cementing the affection between America and France, but now that effort is just a drop in the bucket in relation to all that is being done personally. Every soldier has his pet child. The money of the Guthrie Society has been turned over to the R. C. and they are using it for scholarships. A very good plan is worked out and I will send it to you.

Paris, September 5, 1918.

To A. G.

Count de la Lande has just paid me a visit to investigate a case, where he thought that the Red Cross had given money to a woman who did not need it. I soon explained to him that we never gave individual relief. After much investigation, I found that the money was given by the French Army in the name of the Red Cross. I think a lump sum was originally given them to distribute.

We are all of course very much excited over the advance of the British and our own offensive. Would it not be too fine if we took Metz? Madame Götz says she would die of joy. We must not hope for too much, but our imaginations will work.

Sunday, September 8, 1918.

To A. G.

My letter did not get finished. The week has been full of interest, the work having been galvanized into life by Dr. Lucas, who is so able to go ahead without annoying difficulties.

So many people come over here and are doing unaccustomed things. Yesterday I went to the warehouse to investigate layettes. A fine, vigorous, middle-aged man displayed them to me, explaining the difference between the French and the American layette most intelligently. He seemed so out of place that I made some remark as to strange things one did in war time. He said very simply, "Yes, I am a copper miner by trade."

I am enclosing you a report written by one of the few real friends I have made since my arrival. You know I do not make friends very easily, although this year has been very prolific. She has a heart of gold, is most able, and has a real social instinct. She has really done more than any one person over here to influence the community in which she is working. The priest himself gave her a special dispensation to be Godmother to a child.

One of my nurses doing military duty writes: "Formerly I have always loved the babies, and hated to nurse men, but these men are just like babies." All the baby nurses feel the same way about them.

I have been trying to get off to Toul for two weeks, but passes are slow these days. Now I expect to leave on Thursday.

Report on Camouflage Day Nursery.

One of the most important features of work undertaken by the Children's Bureau was the organization of a Crêche or Day Nursery for the babies of the women employed at the American Camouflage Factory at Dijon. The difficulty of getting women to do this work was great until this Crêche was provided for their babies. It was a simple affair, just a series of barracks but made wonderfully attractive for the children by the camouflage artists who donated their Sunday rest to the decoration of the walls with marvellous Mother Goose pictures.

The American boys stationed at the Camouflage factory took the greatest pride and interest in the babies and were joyful whenever a case of tiny garments or toys arrived, which they handled with the most loving care. The Crêche was running at its full capacity with 150 babies, when influenza developed in the camp. This necessitated closing the Crêche to the babies and filling it with the men who were taken care of by the nursing staff of the institution. Before it was reopened for babies the Armistice was signed and the factory promptly closed.

Dijon, September 8, 1918.

My dear Miss Ashe.

Yesterday the babies' clothes came from Paris, and when the boxes were undone it was really a joyful sight---everyone was happy. The nurses were delighted at getting some new things for the little ones, and our boys, who helped us to unpack, said it was just like Christmas, and every new little garment that appeared seemed to them prettier than the last.

The babies have had so few clothes that they could scarcely be brought to the Crêche, and when we dressed them up, their mothers were so pleased that they cried for joy. Even the little things themselves seemed to know they had on something pretty, for they too beamed. One of the boys said it was a pity the people at home could not see the happiness they were giving, as it would repay them for all their work.

The Camouflage, which it seems cannot turn out the necessary material fast enough, is in great need of women to work for it. They already employ nine hundred, and are going to have six hundred more. They have organized a tram service to bring them in from the country. In consequence of this influx to the town, we are preparing for a large number of babies. "A little child shall lead them." The women come here to work because the babies are cared for.

(Note: The women were employed to tear hundreds of bolts of burlap into strips, which were then dyed green and wrapped around barbed wire entanglements to simulate green fields.)