Public-domain ebook
by Agnes Warner
Language: en397 downloads on Project Gutenberg
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In: Biographies·History - European·History - Modern (1750+)
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #24368.
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"MY BELOVED POILUS"
THESE HOME LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN GIRL, DAUGHTER OF A RETIRED GENERAL OF THE U. S. ARMY, GIVING HER TRAINED SERVICES, CARING FOR THE WOUNDED IN FRANCE AT AN ARMY AMBULANCE AND SUCCORING DISTRESS WHEREVER SHE MEETS IT, ARE PUBLISHED BY HER FRIENDS WITHOUT HER KNOWLEDGE. SIMPLY AND SOLELY TO RAISE MONEY TO AID HER IN HER WORK WHICH BEGAN ON THE 4th DAY OF AUGUST, 1914.
EVERY DOLLAR RECEIVED FROM THE SALE OF THE BOOK, LESS BARE COST OF PRINTING AND EXPRESS CHARGES, GOES TO THE FUND.
St. John, N. B. BARNES & CO., Limited, PUBLISHERS. 1917
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The Assistance of all Booksellers and Stationers is Solicited in Pushing this Work. Price One Dollar. Single Copies by Mail Postage Paid. Address "Poilus," Box 163, St. John, N. B. Hospital Contributions will be received and acknowledged by A. C. Skelton, Manager Bank of British North America, St. John, N. B.
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Copyright.
Canada, March 2, 1917. United States, March, 1917.
First Edition, March 15, 1917. Second Edition, April 15, 1917.
Engravings by F. C. Wesley Co., St. John, N. B.
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PREFACE.
When Florence Nightingale began her great work in the hospital wards at Scutari in 1854, she little realised how far-reaching would be the effect of her noble self-sacrificing efforts. Could she to-day visit the war-stricken countries of Europe she would be astonished at the great developments of the work of caring for the wounded soldiers which she inaugurated so long ago. Her fine example is being emulated to-day by hundreds of thousands of brave women who are devoting themselves to the wounded, the sick and the dying in countless hospital wards.
All too little is known of what these devoted nurses have done and are doing. Some day the whole story will be given to the world; and the hearts of all will be thrilled by stirring deeds of love and bravery. In the meantime it is pleasing and comforting to catch fleeting glimpses of a portion of the work as depicted in this sheaf of letters, now issued under the title of "My Beloved Poilus," written from the Front by a brave American nurse.
Two outstanding features give special merit to these letters. They were not written for publication, but for an intimate circle of relatives and friends. And because of this they are not artificial, but are free and graceful, with homely touches here and there which add so much to their value. Amidst the incessant roar of mighty guns; surrounded by the wounded and the dying; shivering at times with cold, and wearied almost to the point of exhaustion, these letters were hurriedly penned. No time had she for finely-turned phrases. Neither were they necessary. The simple statements appeal more to the heart than most eloquent words.
These letters will bring great comfort to many who have loved ones at the Front. They will tell them something of the careful sympathetic treatment the wounded receive. The glimpses given here and there, of the efforts made by surgeons and nurses alike to administer relief, and as far as possible to assuage the suffering of the wounded, should prove most comforting. What efforts are made to cheer the patients, and to brighten their lot, and what personal interest is taken in their welfare, are incidentally revealed in these letters. For instance, "The men had a wonderful Christmas Day (1916). They were like a happy lot of children. We decorated the ward with flags, holly and mistletoe, and paper flowers that the men made, and a tree in each ward."
How these letters bring home to us the terrible tragedy that is going on far across the ocean. And yet mingled with the feeling of sadness is the spirit of inspiration which comes from the thought of those brave men who are offering themselves to maintain the right, and the devoted women who are ministering to their needs. Our heads bow with reverence, and our hearts thrill with pride, when we think of them. But we must do more than think and feel; we must do our part in supporting them and upholding their hands. They have given their all. They can do no more, and dare we do less?
H. A. CODY, Rector St. James Church.
Author of "Rod of the Lone Patrol," "Frontiersman," "If any Man Sin," Etc., Etc.
St. John, N. B., February 19th, 1917.
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The writer of these letters, a graduate of McGill College, and the Presbyterian Hospital, New York, left New York in the Spring of 1914 with a patient, for the Continent, finally locating at Divonne-Les-Bains, France, near the Swiss border, where they were on August 1st, when war broke out. She immediately began giving her assistance in "Red Cross" work, continuing same until the latter part of November, when she returned with her patient to New York--made a hurried visit to her home in St. John and after Christmas returned to again take up the work which these letters describe.
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"MY BELOVED POILUS"
Divonne-les-bains, France, August 2, 1914.
The awful war we have all been dreading is upon us--_France is Mobilizing_. At five o'clock yesterday morning the tocsin sounded from the Mairie (village hall) and men, women, and children all flocked to hear the proclamation which the Mayor of the village read. It called upon all of military age--between twenty years and fifty years--to march at once, and inside of twenty-four hours five hundred men had gone, they knew not where. The bravery of these villagers--men and women--is remarkable, and not to be forgotten. No murmuring, no complaining,--just, "Ma Patrie," tying up the little bundle--so little--and going; none left but old men, women and children.
We have started teaching the women and girls to make bandages, sponges, etc., for the hospital which will be needed here.
Divonne-Les-Bains, France. August 23, 1914.
Your letter came yesterday--twenty days on the way--but I was fortunate to get it at all; so many of these poor people, whose nearest and dearest have gone to fight for their country, have had no word from them since they marched away, and they do not know where they are.
From this little village 500 men left the first day of mobilization; there is not a family who has not some one gone, and from some both fathers and sons have gone, as the age limit is from twenty to fifty years.
I am filled with admiration and respect for these people. The courage of both the men and women is remarkable. There is no hesitation, and no grumbling, and everyone tries to do whatever he or she can to help the cause.
I do not know if I told you, in my last letter, of the poor lady who walked all night through the dark and storm to see her son who was leaving the next morning. All the horses and motors had been taken by the Government for the army, so she started at eleven o'clock at night, all by her self, and got here about five in the morning--her son left at seven, so she had two hours with him. While there are such mothers in France she cannot fall. There are many such stories I might tell you, but I have not the time.
The "Red Cross" has started a branch hospital here, and I have been helping them to get it in order. It is just about ready now, and we may get soldiers any day.
I have classes every morning and find many of the women very quick to learn the rudiments of nursing. Every one in the place is making supplies and our sitting room is a sort of depot where they come for work.
If my patient is as well in October as she is now I am going to stay and give my services to the "Red Cross." If I have to go home with her I will come back--I would be a coward and deserter if I did not do all I could for these poor brave people.
October 25, 1914.
Another Sunday--but this is cold and rainy--the days slip by so quickly I cannot keep track of them. We have only two soldiers left at the hospital--they tell us every day that others are coming. The country all about is perfectly beautiful with the autumn coloring. We do not see any of the horrors of the war here. If it were not for the tales that come to us from outside, and for the poor broken men who come back, we would not know it was going on. There are very enthusiastic accounts of the Canadians in all the English papers.
PARIS, about February 15, 1915.
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