Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 118, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 May 1916 — SUBLIME COURAGE AS IT IS SEEN IN THE HOSPITALS BEHIND VERDUN [ARTICLE]

SUBLIME COURAGE AS IT IS SEEN IN THE HOSPITALS BEHIND VERDUN

Unconquerable Spirit of the French Soldier Is Manifested at Receiving Stations, Where Stir of Battle and incentive to Brave Deeds Are Lacking—Day With Wounded Described in Graphic Letter From Noted Writer.

Paris. —The unconquerable spirit of the French soldier, as manifested in the field hospital to which the American ambulance among others hurry the seriously wounded from the relief stations in the immediate rear of the lighting lines at Verdun, is told in graphic fashion by a noted French writer, A. Volllis, as a result of a trip which he was permitted to make in the fifth week of the great battle. “On the previous day,” he writes, “the great guns had been roaring unceasingly, with a hoarse, thunderous noise and with formidable explosions of fury which made the windows rattle and caused the last of the snow to fall from* the roofs. On this morning the silence is almost complete. ‘“lt is a sign that the infantry is attacking,’ says the sergeant in charge of supplies, who is something of a strategist. ‘We are soon going to be busy.’ “Very soon the dull roll of the ambulances is heard. It can be recognised among the bounding and tearing noises of the ordinary wagons. “The bell rings three times, which means that there are three wounded men, and the litters are hurriedly brought out into the yard. “The stretcher is always the cause of a special touch of emotion. Will they be able to save the wounded man? Is it life or is it death? Glad to Be Alive. "In the case of the two first comers there is nothing serious to fear. They are two sublieutenants, two boys, and they have become acquainted on the way. Although their looks are still full of astonished stupefaction, they try to laugh, happy at having fought well

and at being alive, even merely alive, although a thigh has been broken and a lung pierceij. One of them has his helmet tightly pressed on his breast. " ‘No, don’t take it away; don’t take it away,’ he pleads. ‘I shall take it to bed with me; it is my friend, my savior,’ and he points to an enormous slash in the blue steel. ‘To think that I came off so easy! With only a damaged leg.’ “The other smiles gently as be breathes heavily. He is blond, with a light down on his cheeks and his eyes are blue, and his whole appearance boyish. »‘T,lf>ntena.nt.’ savs the attendant who is emptying his pockets, ‘you have a military card and letters which are not in your name.’ “The young man raises his eyebrows. “ ‘Oh, yes, 1 remember,’ he says suddenly. *1 had just been hit, and they placed me against the bank; I was nearly frozen and my teeth were chattering. In the neighborhood a company was about to start to the attack. Then one of the soldiers, an old fellow with a big mustache and kindly eyes, leaned over me and said, “You are cold, poor boy.” He took off his coat and threw it over me, and then I saw him running in his shirtsleeves to' catch up with the others.’ “ ‘Here is a photograph of his wife and children,’ said the attendant, ‘and also his purse.’ “It was a worn leather purse, with a gold piece, a few cents, and three cigarettes in it, the entire fortune of the poilu. “ ‘What a good fellow,’ sighs the little lieutenant. ‘I don’t know him and it would not be easy to find him now; it will be a case for the special bureau.’ “ ‘A major and a captain,’ announces an ambulance driver. The Dying Major.

“The major's gray head shakes with the movement of the carriers. His eyelids are like dark cavities in a face frightfully discolored. His purple lips continuously murmur words in a spasmodic and touching way: ‘Quick —Telephone—They are holding—More munitions—Ah, thS 4 fine boys!—They have gdt there —Fine!’ “Someone raises the covering, and from the neck to the feet the great body of the major is revealed wound up in reddened bandages, like a mummy in rusted strips. At the first relief post they had not spared their pains in dressing his wounds. “ ‘Are you suffering, major?’ he 1b asked. “His eyelids slowly uncover the already dimmed pupils. His distant look turns to the fresh face of the attendant and to the white cap of the nurse, and then, with a peculiar accent of gentleness and exhaustion, he says: * 'No, my boy; no,-my little girl.' “His eyelids drop suddenly, closed forever. “ ‘Madame,’ an attendant says to the chief nurse, ‘please tell the captain that he is not reasonable, lie wants to get into bed by himself, and a fragment of shell in his side.’ “The captain is a young officer of chasseurs, slender, vigorous, with his cap on his ear. Seated on the stretcher, he is making efforts to rise, and a little grimace twists his mouth. «‘Madame/ he says, % present my compliments. I don’t want to be carried. I am not a little girl. What would my chasseurs Say? Ah, madame, the fine boys, the fine boys! If you had seen them climb out of the trenches to attack the flood of Germans, andv they fell; I saw them fall;

my sergeants, my lieutenants, my .orderly—and he was Buch a good boy; but the others kept on running forward. It was magnificent. And then this wretched piece of shell caught me in the ribs, and how those boys looked after me. They carried me in an overcoat, and when a shell exploded they lay down on me, they actually covered me with their bodies. And to think that I left them out there all alone, my chasseurs, my boys!’ “ ‘My boys,’ sounded strange from so young an officer. “ ‘Yes, madame, I promise you I am going to be calm. I have now plenty of time. What, help me to undress?. Ah. no, thanks; not that.’ “.‘W’ell,’ said the nurse with a sigh, ‘that means 104 degrees of fever this evening.’ “Gradually the beds are filled. Each little room has its share of suffering—of silent suffering. The seriously wounded do not complain much. “The chief surgeon and his assistants come along. He has just left the operating room; his linen coat is stained with blood and he holds his hands, cqvered with rubber gloves, high in the air. Under his white cap his face, crossed by a thin mustache, appears thin and hollow, with the strained, sharp expression evoked by a day of work at high pressure. "He stops before each bed, consults the chart, makes a brief examination and pronounces a few brief words. No time to lose,'for there will be operations all night long. The Battle With Death.

“ ‘Send this one to the operating room at once. Yes, captain; it will be a quick affair. Send that one next. Give him 800 centilitres of serum in the meantime. Give that other one camphorated oil; maximum dose.’ “It is the bitter, determined struggle against death, which is eagerly on the watch. "There is a more lengthy delay at the bed of a lieutenant who has just been brought in. His stiff hair is curly and his face is like a sculpture in clear bronze. His eyes are of a bright, clear color and they look sharply at the faces that bend over him.

“‘All right!’ says the surgeon at last,'in a gentle voice. His eyes wandered to the bed table and he observed an open letter in a graceful feminine handwriting, on which the three words, ‘I love you!’ stand out sharply. He covered up the wounded officer and tucked in the covering around him quite tenderly. “ ‘We shall not touch you tonight,’ he adds. ‘You are not suffering too much? Good, you will have a sedative. Rest well and good-night.’ “As the surgeon leaves the room he makes a gesture across his abdomen from one side to the other and whispers: ‘He is lost; cut right across. He has no pulse and he will hot live till morning. And what a magnificent boy; such courage and such a brave look. It’s dreadful to feel that one can do nothing.’ “ ‘Madame, the lieutenant with the

curly hair wishes to speak to you,’ says ano attendant. The nurae returns to the room on the tips of her toes. * “ ‘Madame,’ the lieutenant says calmly, 'I ask for you because I am lost.’ The Great Sacrifice. “‘You lost! Why talk such foolishness?' “ ‘Thanks, madame, but it is useless to deceive me. I am lost; I feel it, and I know it; Oh, I am not complaining; so many of my comrades are gone. It was my turn; that’s all. Besides, I have the immense Joy of knowing that I die for something. They will not get to Verdun and they are wearing out. Only (and he turns to the darkening window), only I would have liked to see the sun again. Madame, I have some letters here and a photograph. Will you do me the favor to burn them?’ “The bronzed hand reaches out and seizes the papers on the table and presses them over his breast, which rises in a sigh. For a brief moment his fingers tremble and his mouth contracts. Then he holds out the papers. “‘Take them. Thanks.' “He is silent. His sacrifice has been consummated. Tears fall from the nurse’s eyes on her white bodice and on the love letters, which she presses tight. “ ‘My mother,’ begins the lieutenant again. “ ‘Do you wish to dictate a letter for her?’ “There is a pause. ‘No; I am not strong enough. You will tell her. You will know best how to tell her.’ “His eyes close, and then all at once they open again. “My notebook. All my war life is inscribed in it, day by day. I have entered the date Of my wound. When all is over, will you please add the day and the hour.’ “The nurse nods her head affirmatively. “ ‘Thanks once more, madame; yon are kind. You must not cry. Go back to the others, who need you more. Good-night, madame.’ “The courage which has not as stimulus the fever and intoxication of battle, the call of duty or the example of a superior, courage naked and sublime, is the courage on the hospital bed.

Reminiscences of the Day. x “The wounded continued to arrive. There are hardly any beds unoccupied. Some young officers who can be moved —broken arms, bullet in the shoulder and general wounds —will be sent to the rear in the evening. They are seated around a fire in their muddy uniforms, which are torn and stained with blood, and they chat in low tones, for there are three comrades in bed near them. They are talking of the recent fighting and their movemeifts are feverish and their eyes shine. “ ‘How funny you looked, old man,’ says one to another, ‘as you ran forward, with your hair in the wind and a bagful of grenades on your stomach like an opossum.’ “ ‘Did you see Lieutenant X —-7-? After the first attack he waved his yellow gloves and said in that mincing voice of his: “Is not this shelling ridiculous? Those poor Boches'have no sense of art.” ’ > “ ‘All the same, with his gloves and his funny voice, X is more reckless than all of us together.’ “ ‘Oh, for reckless bravery— ’

“Another stretcher shakes the stairs. At the top there is a pause. Then a gentle voice is heard: 9 “ ‘Macjame, it would be awfully good of you if you could find a little eau de cologne for me. A few drops would do. I am really ashamed to be brought into your presence in such a dreadfully unclean condition.’ “The tones are soft and clear and just a trifle affected. No Sympathy Desired. “The three officers rise and dash forward. “‘Why, it is X !’ “‘Here I am,’ he replied. ‘A littlq late, but I was occupied.' “ Where are you wounded?’ “The young man, very pale, lifts the covering and raises with an effort the stump of an arm. “ ‘You have lost an arm? Already amputated! ’ “ ‘Yes, it was a very ugly bruised mess and disgusted me, so we had it off.’ “ ‘Poor old chap!’ . “ ‘Nonsense. With a nice little artificial hand with a glove over it, no one will tell the difference. Besides, it’s cleaner for some purposes. You fellows used to make fun of my gloves. I was just practicing.’ “‘X , you are wonderful. And how were things going when you left the front?’ “ ‘Fine, marvelously. The Boches were falling like tenpins. And not an inch did they gain, my boy, not a single inch.’ ”