"Ho, ho!" he said with a smile, "I have meet you one time in Chicago; then I have meet you in Paris; now I meet you here. Perhaps the nex' time it may be at the Nort' Pole that we meet"; and with a friendly slap on the shoulder he passed on. He had been very courteous to me in Paris, but had not given me the position that I desired so much. In fact I had found myself sometimes wishing that the French authorities had given me less politeness, but more opportunity to be of service.
In our spare hours of the day we watched the shells bursting in our neighborhood. By night we often sat and smoked in the dark while we watched the flashing of shells and guns and the flares sent up in the lines to prevent surprise attacks. We often saw aeroplanes being bombarded as they sailed to and fro along the lines directing the fire of the artillery. One soon got to recognize by ear the puff, puff, puff of the anti-aircraft shells bursting about the planes. Why the enemy did not shell our institution I know not, for we were well within range.
In passing, it may be mentioned that no Red Cross flag flew from our roof, and when I inquired the reason I was told that it would only serve as a target for German shells.
Our work alternated, as it always does on the battle front, between days of strenuous labor and days of ease. When the work was heavy all went to it with a will. In the hours of leisure the ladies, who in civil life knew nothing of danger and strife, begged and sometimes vainly insisted on being permitted to go with the ambulances as far as the trenches. We were all civilians and knew little of discipline and our lack of it at times was troublesome to the French military authorities, and some irritation arose because of it. For example,—lights were ordered not to be shown in the windows after dark till all the shutters were closed and curtains drawn. This rule was occasionally so carelessly obeyed that the military would at times sneeringly call our hospital "the lighthouse."
One afternoon there drove up to our entrance a cream-colored limousine, and out stepped an English society girl, saying that she had come to nurse. Some of those who were already there were friends of hers, but the authorities decreed that we had enough assistance and that she must return to Paris the following morning. In the morning she started in the limousine, ostensibly to return to Paris, taking the sister-in-law of Lord Something-or-other as company for a short run.
When outside the grounds she told the chauffeur to turn toward the lines instead of toward Paris. With the military pass which she had obtained through influence in Paris, they passed sentry after sentry till they were only a few hundred yards from the trenches. Here they were overtaken by a pursuing military motor cyclist who ordered them put under arrest, and they were taken before a high-up officer who told them he was forced to confiscate their automobile and send the ladies under arrest to the rear.
But beauty in distress—and one of them was a real beauty—made him relent. They were allowed to proceed rearward after a severe reprimand and a considerable fright. A few weeks later I met the lady of the automobile in a train near Paris and she told me that she had just sent up a big box of real cigarettes—not French ones—to the officer who should have confiscated her car, but didn't. I did not inquire how she had obtained his address!
There was another occasion when a plot was hatched to duck a disagreeable officer in the artificial lake at the lower end of the grounds. Fortunately the saner heads prevailed and averted any further complications. And "it would have served the creature bally well right, for what right had he anyhow to insist so strongly on his old rules," as one of the hotheads expressed it.
It was a trifle irritating at times to have a nurse, in reply to your order to give such and such a patient massage, say that she would do it presently, as she was just going for a short tramp in the grounds.Mais, que voulez vous?as the French say with that delightful shrug. Were they not paying to be there, and should not that fact have given them some rights over those horrid rules of discipline? And we men were the same on occasions, for discipline cannot be had outside of the trained army.
But the breaches of discipline were small in comparison to the really excellent work that the hospital was carrying on, so they were overlooked, and, as they occurred only at wide intervals, they but served to give a touch of humor to the life which was monotonous enough at times. The French realized full well the sacrifices that were made daily by these aristocrats who had given up their luxurious homes, their autos, their servants and their money, to live in the servants' quarters of this old château, and to wait hand and foot upon wounded poilus, with at any moment of the day or night the chance of a shell coming through the roof and stirring things up. No praise is too high for the self-sacrificing work of these men and women, all voluntary workers and untrained in this type of labor. The women were members of the V.A.D., Voluntary Aid Detachment, which has been the target at times of coarse jibes and criticisms, spoken by those who do not know whereof they speak. I have worked with members of this corps of women workers in hospitals in England and France, and I know that, taking it all in all, their work is beyond praise, and their nobility of character beyond estimate. This is vouched for by many a lonely, hard-hit common soldier, sick in a strange land, far from his home and his loved ones.
A field telephone line ran from the château up to the rear trenches. The cases were brought out of the trenches to a sheltered spot and one of our ambulances was telephoned for. One of us medical men accompanied the ambulances on these journeys, and they were often very interesting. On one of the trips on which I accompanied the ambulance we came to a ruined village, Gury by name, from which the civilian population had been sent away. It was occupied by French soldiers not in the front line. This village had just been shelled rather heavily by the Huns, one hundred and fifty shells having been dropped into it. After the first shell, which hit one of the houses but injured no one, the soldiers took shelter in the cellars and when the smoke had cleared away, just before our arrival, it was found that the only damage done was the killing of a cow and a pigeon! The soldiers were hilariously laughing at this waste of shells. An officer showed us the remains of a brass bed in a wrecked house, saying that he had been sleeping in that when the shelling began.
We were then taken to see a battery of the famous .75's—soixante quinze—perhaps the finest field gun on the western front, with which they said they were going to pay back the Germans for their audacity. They were like so many boys at play! The guns were set up in a cavity in the ground, a roof built over them on which sod had been placed in such a manner that from enemy planes it appeared like the surrounding fields. Dugouts led down from the gun position so that the artillerymen could come up from their disturbed slumbers at a moment's notice and send across a few rounds of their death-dealing shells. Round about were laid out flower beds with the flowers forming in French the words:
Gloire aux Allies—Glory to the Allies.
Honneur aux Soixante quinze—Honor to the .75's.
Wherever man lives he must have something to care for and to love, and these flowers gave the poilus an outlet for their affection.
Every few miles away from us in all directions except the north were other hospitals of the same type as our own. One very good example, ten miles away at Fayel, was under the direction of Countess H—— G——, a cousin of King George. She came sometimes to visit some acquaintances in our institution, and I spent a very pleasant afternoon on her first visit showing her our grounds, trenches, gun positions, wire entanglements, and other things of interest. She was as kindly mannered and democratic as anyone could desire, though she was King George's cousin and wore a number of ribbons for previous service in South Africa. Since that time she has served with the Italians in Italy and has been decorated by King Victor Emmanuel.
In Compiègne was another very interesting hospital presided over by that wonderful Frenchman, Alexis Carrel, of the Rockefeller Institute of New York. Here he has done research work that has made his name familiar in every scientific circle the world over. And here in Compiègne, in this newer field, his researches have brought forth new methods of treating wounds which have been adopted in hospitals throughout the war zone. His hospital was a government institution, not one of the voluntary ambulances of which our château was an example.
At the time of writing, two years from my period of service at the Château de Rimberlieu, it is still doing good service as a hospital, though now it is entirely directed by the French military authorities. But a number of the original people are still there, performing the same generous deeds which they performed in my time, though they are performing them many miles from the scene of fighting, for early in 1917 at this point the French happily pushed back the invaders for many miles.
Since the war began and the Germans undertook the drowning of women and children by the submarine method I have crossed the Atlantic four times. Two of these voyages were on troop transports. Traveling on a transport is really a pleasure voyage, except for the military discipline, always a bit obnoxious to the Anglo-Saxon of the North American continent—but absolutely necessary if an army is the thing desired, not a mob. On a transport the food and sleeping quarters are all that anyone could desire in a time of war, and they satisfied all, from the veriest batman to the highest military officer whose duty it is to maintain discipline.
On my first transport experience we took the ship at an Atlantic port some days before sailing, and no one knew the date or hour of our intended start except the first officer of the ship, who received his orders from the admiralty. Our crowd was an immense one, made up of men from all the different departments of the army, and women who were either trained nurses, or members of the Voluntary Aid Detachment, going overseas to do their bit in the hospitals or the convalescent and rest homes in England and France.
Until the boat started on its voyage, dances were held nightly on the main deck, but once we put out to sea, the ship traveled in darkness. No one was permitted on the decks at night except the guards, and they were forbidden to smoke for fear of attracting attention that was not desirable.
We were not long away from land till a fairly heavy swell made some of the uninitiated sea voyagers feel all the pangs of that nauseating illness,mal de mer,—seasickness. One of the nurses sitting in a deck chair, looking away off over the swelling billows, said languidly: "If the Germans torpedoed us now, I wouldn't even put on a life preserver." And another traveler, a Tommy with a markedly Jewish cast of countenance, as the ship took a more pronounced dip than heretofore, exclaimed loudly:
"My God! She's a submarine!" The usual sympathetic roar of laughter was the only solace that he received; but one of his pals who saw him leaning over the ship's side, giving an excellent dinner to the fishes, stepped up to him and, giving him a resounding slap on the shoulder, said:
"What's the matter, poor old Ikey? Are you seasick?"
"Am I seasick?" Ikey roared, glaring at him. "What da hell do ye tink I'm doin' dis for? For notting?"
We had not proceeded far on our voyage when a cast-iron order was issued that all must wear their life-belts at all hours of the day. And shortly, life-boat drill became a daily occurrence at irregular hours. A bugle call to drill would be given, a call that might be real for all that anyone knew, and each company, section, and unit took its apportioned part of the deck, to be inspected by the higher officers. Life boats were kept conveniently hanging over the side of the ship for emergencies, and certain officers were detailed to each boat whose duty it was in case of mishap, to maintain order during the loading and launching of that boat. Before long this drill was carried out with the most exact precision.
There were a few other parades daily for the different sections. A sick parade was held each morning, and a hospital established for those too sick to stay up and about. The medical officers and nurses were detailed in turn to do duty in this institution. But nothing of a very serious nature turned up on the voyage.
Otherwise time was whiled away much as usual on shipboard. Some of us took to the gymnasium, trying out all the exercises from throwing the medicine ball to riding the horse, at which some of the cavalry officers would give that excellent piece of advice to those beginning to learn to ride:
Keep your head and your heart up,Your hands and your heels down;Keep your knees close to your horse's side,And your elbows close to your own.
The regular stewards, who were serving on the ship as in peace times, amused themselves by telling tales that they were supposed to have heard in confidence from the wireless operator, and which they would whisper into your ears in a supposedly friendly manner at any and every opportunity. They were tales to the effect that just ahead of us last night such-and-such a ship was torpedoed and sunk by the Germans with all on board, "and not a soul was saved." They would add that the Germans had a most intense desire to get our boat; why, it was common talk in New York, so a friend had written to them, that a sub would get us this trip; "as a matter of fact, sir, betting is five to one that they will sink us." What a ghastly sense of humor some of those stewards have!
However, the days slipped by, and no one seemed to be at all worrying as to his or her safety. The last couple of days out from England the guns, fore and aft, were gotten ready for business, in case the Hun dared to show the nose of his periscope in our neighborhood. Eyes looked in all directions searching for the tell-tale trail of a torpedo, and, though many were called out, few chose to materialize. Suddenly one morning someone spied out a couple of those fast, dangerous-looking torpedo boats which swung about, and crossed our bows, and thenceforth accompanied us like a pair of faithful bulldogs accompanying their master on horseback.
Though no one had expressed a word of fear of the submarines, and no person, man or woman, on board had seemed to worry in the least as to the possible dangers from torpedoes, it was noticeable at once that a pressure or tension had been withdrawn. In the smoking room the hum of voices rose to a much higher pitch than it had attained during the previous twenty-four hours of the voyage, during which we had felt that a danger might lurk unseen about us. The gayety on deck became appreciably more merry. These torpedo boats accompanied us till we reached the safety of the harbor; and as we once again placed our feet upon the soil we felt that in war as in peace the end of a voyage is often the most welcome part of it.
But was it the end of the voyage? Ah, no, it was but the beginning; because for the men there are many hard roads to travel ere they reach that which they set out to attain—a goal of peace and liberty for the small and the large nations, protected by the democracies of the old and the new world. And the women who accompanied us will soothe many a poor boy's pain or ease his troubled mind, and will write many a letter of comfort to his loved ones at home, ere they join us at that peaceful goal we all desire to reach.
To sneer at decorations is often much easier than to earn them.
It is true that more decorations, from the Victoria Cross down, have been awarded in this war than in the hundred years before it. It may be stated that for each of these distinctions given a man, ten others should now be wearing the bit of ribbon which signifies the award, if justice could only be done. Many a high-minded chap is lying out there, with only a small wooden cross to mark his last resting place, who, if the truth were but known, earned the finest that we had to give. And thousands of gallant others there are with naught but their khaki to distinguish them as soldiers of liberty, who have, with a smile on their lips and with no thought of awards or rewards in their minds performed feats of the noblest courage and self-sacrifice.
It was an inspiration of genius that made Napoleon institute the Legion of Honor. By that act he proved himself a student of human nature, as well as the greatest military leader of perhaps any age. For most men who are normally constituted would rather receive a decoration honestly earned for gallantry on the field, than accept a reward in money for the same deed. While it is true that:
Ambition has but one reward for all:A little power, a little transient fame,A grave to rest in, and a fading name;
a large proportion of humankind are so constituted that for "a little transient fame" they are willing, aye, even anxious, to risk getting only "a grave to rest in."
The difficulty lies in deciding who is most worthy of these coveted awards, for in the excitement of battle courageous acts are common, and often unobserved. For the occasional man who has unjustly received an award, there are thousands whose bravery should be rewarded, but who, for one reason or another, are overlooked. All who show courage and resource cannot be chosen for the bit of ribbon, so the attempt is made to choose the most conspicuous examples. And in this choosing it is inevitable that fallible human nature must often err, but the erring rarely goes to the extent of recommending someone who is wholly unworthy.
Someone has sneeringly remarked that the surest way to a decoration is to court the favor of one's commanding officer who usually puts in the recommendations for award; but there must be few officers commanding units who would be so unwise as to alienate the loyalty of their men by picking favorites in this manner. And men are not so depraved that there are many who would desire the recognition of the multitude without at least fair grounds for that recognition and praise. You might suppose that at the base or at home, where recognition is given rather for general good work than for special acts of honor, favoritism is more common. But it may safely be stated that decorations in all fields are usually honestly earned.
The saddest mistake is when a man has performed some lofty, noble, self-sacrificing act, yet receives no reward but his consciousness of duty well done.
I was one day assisting Colonel B—— to hold a board on a disabled soldier to decide the amount of his disability and his right to pension. His left arm was missing, and Colonel B——, in his sympathetic manner, asked him how he had lost it. The facts were that he and his officer, being one night out on a scouting trip in No Man's Land, were both wounded by rifle fire, the officer the more seriously. The private put his officer on his shoulders and carried him through a shower of machine-gun bullets to a place of safety in a shellhole near their own parapet, one of the bullets smashing the man's arm on the way. In the morning both were pulled in by comrades, and sent to the hospital. The officer died on the way without regaining consciousness, and the private's left arm had to be amputated. He alone knew the details of his heroic work, and he received an ordinary pension for a V.C. deed. He told his story at the colonel's request, in a quiet, modest, uncomplaining manner which gave it the stamp of truth. His case is one of many like it where no adequate reward has been given for great heroism; but their total avoidance is impossible.
Sergeant-Major D—— took part in the Battle of the Somme, and did such excellent work under dangerous surroundings that he was recommended for a decoration, which recommendation was approved. In the usual course of events it was published in divisional orders that Sergeant-Major D—— had been awarded the Military Medal. But then the powers bethought themselves that he, being a warrant officer, should have been given instead the Military Cross, and as a result the whole order was cancelled, and he was given nothing. However, at the Battle of Vimy Ridge, he was a Lieutenant in our battalion. Some months previously he had been given his promotion, really against his own desires as he said that he could do better work in the junior position—a not very common form of modesty in the army. After this battle he was chosen for courageous and able work, and was awarded the Military Cross. Thus he at last came into his own.
The Blank Highlanders held the lines to the right of a certain Canadian battalion. They planned to put on an important raid, but, being short a certain necessary section, they asked the loan of an officer and twenty men of this section of the Canadians on their left. The Canadians were glad of the honor of aiding this well-known Scottish unit in their raid. Twenty men gaily joined them, but for some reason the men were sent in charge of two officers, the regular officer of the section and a subaltern. The officer in charge remained at the Scottish H.Q., while his subaltern took part in the raid. So effectually did the Canadians aid the Scots that the latter were very high in their praise of the Canadians, and put in a recommendation that "the officer in charge of this Canadian Section be awarded the M.C. for gallantry," intending the award for the subaltern who had assisted them on the field.
But the "officer in charge of the Canadian Section" was he who had remained at the H.Q. By some twist in this recommendation he received, and accepted, the M.C. which had been meant for his junior who had really done the gallant work for which the decoration was given. The subaltern did not get even a mention in dispatches, and at a later date he was killed while fighting bravely.
The Canadian battalion to which the two officers belonged were so annoyed, and so ashamed of the decorated officer, that no word was said of the mistake to their Scottish friends. The officer was allowed to wear without comment his unearned award, but his stay with his battalion came to an abrupt end shortly afterward.
But it may be repeated safely that mistakes such as the above are very, very rare, and that most of those who win recognition on the field may wear their ribbons with pride and without shame.
Just before the great Vimy Ridge offensive a crowd of us stood on a small hillock beside our camp, which is in a wood six or seven miles behind our lines, to watch the "earthquake" that was to open on Thelus at 3 p.m., and of which we had been told by brigade. The "earthquake" was to take the form of a bombardment of Thelus,—a small town one mile behind the German lines, opposite our front, and which, from the lines, we could see very distinctly with the naked eye,—by every gun of ours that could throw a shell into it. As guns here are much more numerous to the square mile than they were even at the Somme, and as others are going forward day and night, some so large that it takes eight or ten horses to pull them, and as ammunition goes forward at the rate of three or four hundred motor lorries full daily for each mile of front, this means indeed an earthquake.
We stood on the hillock at the "zero" hour, and on the stroke of three, shells began to burst on the skyline. Some, high explosives probably, caused those immense black upheavals of earth which, except for their color, remind one of nothing so much as the spouting of a whale at sea. Others bursting higher in the air, shrapnel very likely, left large, white, fleecy clouds just above the skyline, and a third type burst with a flash of flame, and left brown clouds of smoke in their wake.
Higher in the air, all along the front, some near, some far, some ours, and others the enemy's, hung nine immense observation balloons; and soaring in and out among them were twenty-one aeroplanes by actual count at one moment. Some of them were being shelled, for fluffy clouds of smoke were about them showing the bursting shells from anti-aircraft guns, and while we watched two machines engaged in one of those ever-interesting air duels, out of which one of them came nosing down into the earth. Whether it was our machine or an enemy we could not tell at the distance.
Even the sights on the earth were of interest. The tall Gothic towers on the hill at Mt. St. Eloy were silhouetted against the blue of the sky, on our right. On the extreme left was an emaciated forest, standing out against the horizon; and between these two land-marks were countless acres of cultivated ground, just about to give forth the first sprouts of the hoped-for harvest. Here and there the white walls of the limestone farm houses, with their red-tiled roofs, broke the monotony; and about the center of the picture a group of them with the shell-shattered spire of a church in their midst formed the village of Villers aux Bois. To the left of this latter place lay a peaceful cemetery with some two thousand graves of British, French, and Canadian soldiers who had given up their lives on the blood-stained soil of France in the cause of liberty. Distinctly we could see through glasses a padre saying prayers for the dead over the bodies of some of the allied soldiers which were being laid in the newly-dug graves.
Beyond the cemetery a road twisted here and there, and along it hurried from time to time motor ambulances, with the large, red cross on their sides; motor lorries, full of food and munitions; limbers, painted in vari-colored patterns, and looking like a calithumpian procession, to make them inconspicuous against the earth to the German aviators; large guns drawn by strings of horses; pack mules with their burdens of shells; and motor cyclists hurrying forward or rearward with messages.
And all this in the cause of the great god, Mars!