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 There are several inconsistencies in spelling and punctuation in the original. A few corrections have been made for obvious typographical errors; these, as well as some doubtful spellings of names, have been marked individually in the text. All changes made by the transcriber are enumerated in braces, for example {1}; details of corrections and comments are listed at the end of the text. 

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MY WAR EXPERIENCES IN TWO CONTINENTS

by

S. MACNAUGHTAN

Edited by Her Niece, Mrs. Lionel Salmon (Betty Keays-Young)

With a Portrait

[Illustration: Camera Portrait by E. O. Hoppé. ]

LondonJohn Murray, Albemarle Street, W. 1919

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED, IN ACCORDANCE WITH A WISH EXPRESSED BYMISS MACNAUGHTAN BEFORE HER DEATH, TO

THOSE WHO ARE FIGHTING ANDTHOSE WHO HAVE FALLEN, WITH ADMIRATION AND RESPECT, AND TO

HER NEPHEWS, CAPTAIN LIONEL SALMON, 1st Bn. The Welch Regt. CAPTAIN HELIER PERCIVAL, M. C. , 9th Bn. The Welch Regt. CAPTAIN ALAN YOUNG, 2nd Bn. The Welch Regt. CAPTAIN COLIN MACNAUGHTAN, 2nd Dragoon Guards. LIEUTENANT RICHARD YOUNG, 9th Bn. The Welch Regt. 

CONTENTS

 PAGE PREFACE ix

 PART I BELGIUM

 CHAPTER I ANTWERP 1

 CHAPTER II WITH DR. HECTOR MUNRO'S FLYING AMBULANCE CORPS 24

 CHAPTER III AT FURNES RAILWAY-STATION 60

 CHAPTER IV WORKING UNDER DIFFICULTIES 85

 CHAPTER V THE SPRING OFFENSIVE 111

 CHAPTER VI LAST DAYS IN FLANDERS 135

 PART II AT HOME

 HOW THE MESSAGE WAS DELIVERED 159

 PART III RUSSIA AND THE PERSIAN FRONT

 CHAPTER I PETROGRAD 179

 CHAPTER II WAITING FOR WORK 204

 CHAPTER III SOME IMPRESSIONS OF TIFLIS AND ARMENIA 219

 CHAPTER IV ON THE PERSIAN FRONT 237

 CHAPTER V THE LAST JOURNEY 258

 CONCLUSION 272

 INDEX 281

PREFACE

In presenting these extracts from the diaries of my aunt, the late MissMacnaughtan, I feel it necessary to explain how they come to bepublished, and the circumstances under which I have undertaken to editthem. 

After Miss Macnaughtan's death, her executors found among her papers agreat number of diaries. There were twenty-five closely written volumes, which extended over a period of as many years, and formed an almostcomplete record of every incident of her life during that time. 

It is amazing that the journal was kept so regularly, as MissMacnaughtan suffered from writer's cramp, and the entries could onlyhave been written with great difficulty. Frequently a passage is begunin the writing of her right, and finished in that of her left hand, andI have seen her obliged to grasp her pencil in her clenched fist beforeshe was able to indite a line. In only one volume, however, do we findthat she availed herself of the services of her secretary to dictate theentries and have them typed. 

The executors found it extremely difficult to know how to deal with sucha vast mass of material. Miss Macnaughtan was a very reserved woman. {1}She lived much alone, and the diary was her only confidante. In one ofher books she says that expression is the most insistent of human needs, and that the inarticulate man or woman who finds no outlet in speech orin the affections, will often keep a little locked volume in which selfcan be safely revealed. Her diary occupied just such a place in her owninner life, and for that reason one hesitates to submit its pages evento the most loving and sympathetic scrutiny. 

But Miss Macnaughtan's diary fulfilled a double purpose. She used itlargely as material for her books. Ideas for stories, fragments of playsand novels, are sketched in on spare sheets, and the pages are full ofthe original theories and ideas of a woman who never allowed anyone elseto do her thinking for her. A striking sermon or book may be criticisedor discussed, the pros and cons of some measure of social reform weighedin the balance; and the actual daily chronicle of her busy life, of hertravels, her various experiences and adventures, makes a mostinteresting and fascinating tale. 

So much of the material was obviously intended to form the basis for anautobiography that the executors came to the conclusion that it would bea thousand pities to withhold it from the public, and at some futuredate it is very much hoped to produce a complete life of MissMacnaughtan as narrated in her diaries. Meanwhile, however, thepublisher considers that Miss Macnaughtan's war experiences are ofimmediate interest to her many friends and admirers, and I have beenasked to edit those volumes which refer to her work in Belgium, athome, in Russia, and on the Persian front. 

Except for an occasional word where the meaning was obscure, I haveadded nothing to the diaries. I have, of course, omitted such passagesas appeared to be private or of family interest only; but otherwise Ihave contented myself with a slight rearrangement of some of theparagraphs, and I have inserted a few letters and extracts from letters, which give a more interesting or detailed account of some incident thanis found in the corresponding entry in the diary. With these exceptionsthe book is published as Miss Macnaughtan wrote it. I feel sure that herown story of her experiences would lose much of its charm if Iinterfered with it, and for this reason I have preserved the actualdiary form in which it was written. 

To many readers of Miss Macnaughtan's books her diaries of the war maycome as a slight surprise. There is a note of depression and sadness, and perhaps even of criticism, running through them, which is lacking inall her earlier writings. I would remind people that this book is thework of a dying woman; during the whole of the period covered by it, theauthor was seriously ill, and the horror and misery of the war, and theburden of a great deal of personal sorrow, have left their mark on heraccount of her experiences. 

I should like to thank those relations and friends of Miss Macnaughtanwho have allowed me to read and publish the letters incorporated in thisbook, and I gratefully acknowledge the help and advice I have receivedin my task from my mother, from my husband, and from Miss Hilda Powell, Mr. Stenning, and Mr. R. Sommerville. I desire also to express mygratitude to Mr. John Murray for many valuable hints and suggestionsabout the book, and for the trouble he has so kindly taken to help me toprepare it for the press. 

BETTY SALMON. 

ZILLEBEKE, WALTHAM ST. LAWRENCE, TWYFORD, BERKSHIRE, _October, 1918. _

MY WAR EXPERIENCES IN TWO CONTINENTS

PART I

BELGIUM

CHAPTER I

ANTWERP

On September 20th, 1914, I left London for Antwerp. At the station Ifound I had forgotten my passport and Mary had to tear back for it. Great perturbation, but kept this dark from the rest of the staff, forthey are all rather serious and I am head of the orderlies. We got underway at 4 a. M. Next morning. All instantly began to be sick. I think Iwas the worst and alarmed everybody within hearing distance. One morevoyage I hope--home--then dry land for me. 

We arrived at Antwerp on the 22nd, twenty-four hours late. The BritishConsul sent carriages, etc. , to meet us. Drove to the large PhilharmonicHall, which has been given us as a hospital. Immediately after breakfastwe began to unpack beds, etc. , and our enormous store of medical things;all feeling remarkably empty and queer, but put on heroic smiles andworked like mad. Some of the staff is housed in a convent and the restin rooms over the Philharmonic Hall. 

_23 September. _--Began to get things into order and to allot each personher task. Our unit consists of Mrs. St. Clair Stobart, its head; DoctorsRose Turner, F. Stoney, Watts, Morris, Hanson and Ramsey (all women);orderlies--me, Miss Randell (interpreter), Miss Perry, Dick, Stanley, Benjamin, Godfrey, {2} Donnisthorpe, Cunliffe, and Mr. Glade. Everyonevery zealous and inclined to do anybody's work except their own. Keencompetition for everyone else's tools, brooms, dusters, etc. Greatroaming about. All mean well. 

_25 September. _--Forty wounded men were brought into our hospitalyesterday. Fortunately we had everything ready, but it took a bit ofdoing. We are all dead tired, and not so keen as we were about doingother people's work. 

The wounded are not very bad, and have been sent on here from anotherhospital. They are enchanted with their quarters, which indeed do lookuncommonly nice. One hundred and thirty beds are ranged in rows, and wehave a bright counterpane on each and clean sheets. The floor isscrubbed, and the bathrooms, store, office, kitchens, andreceiving-rooms have been made out of nothing, and look splendid. Inever saw a hospital spring up like magic in this way before. There is awide verandah where the men play cards, and a garden to stump about in. 

The gratitude of our patients is boundless, and they have presented Mrs. Stobart with a beautiful basket of growing flowers. I do not thinkEnglishmen would have thought of such a thing. They say they nevertasted such cooking as ours outside Paris, and they are rioting in goodfood, papers, nice beds, etc. Nearly all of them are able to get out alittle, so it is quite cheery nursing them. There is a lot to do, and weall fly about in white caps. The keenest competition is for sweeping outthe ward with a long-handled hair brush!

[Page Heading: THE DEFENCES OF THE TOWN]

I went into the town to-day. It is very like every other foreign town, with broad streets and tram-lines and shops and squares, but to-day Ihad an interesting drive. I took a car and went out to the second lineof forts. The whole place was a mass of wire entanglements, mined atevery point, and the fields were studded with strong wooden spikes. There were guns everywhere, and in one place a whole wood and a villagehad been laid level with the ground to prevent the enemy taking cover. We heard the sound of firing last night!

 * * * * *

_To Mrs. Keays-Young. _

RUE DE L'HARMONIE 68, ANTWERP, _25 September. _

DEAREST BABE, It was delightful getting your letter. Our wounded are all French orBelgians, but there is a bureau of enquiry in the town where I will goto try to hear tidings of your poor friends. 

We heard the guns firing last night, and fifty wounded were sent induring the afternoon. In one day 2, 500 wounded reached Antwerp. I canwrite this sort of thing to-day as I know my letter will be all right. To show you that the fighting is pretty near, two doctors went for ashort motor drive to-day and they found two wounded men. One was justdying, the other they brought back in the car, but he died also. In thetown itself everything seems much as usual except for crowds ofrefugees. Do not believe people when they say German barbarity isexaggerated. It is hideously true. 

We are fearfully busy, and it seems a queer side of war to cook and racearound and make doctors as comfortable as possible. We have a capitalstaff, who are made up of zeal and muscle. I do not know how long it canlast. We breakfast at 7. 30, which means that most of the orderlies areup at 5. 45 to prepare and do everything. The fare is very plain andterribly wholesome, but hardly anyone grumbles. I am trying to get girlsto take two hours off duty in the day, but they won't do it. 

Have you any friends who would send us a good big lot of nice jam? It isfor the staff. If you could send some cases of it at once to Miss Stear, 39, St. James's Street, London, and put my name on it, and say it is forour hospital, she will bring it here herself with some other things. Some of your country friends might like to help in a definite little waylike this. 

Your lovingSARAH. 

---- is going to England to-night and will take this. 

 * * * * *

_27 September. _--Yesterday, when we were in the town, a German airshipflew overhead and dropped bombs. A lot of guns fired at it, but it wastoo high up to hit. The incident caused some excitement in the streets. 

[Page Heading: ARRIVAL OF WOUNDED]

Last night we heard that more wounded were coming in from thefighting-line near Ghent. We got sixty more beds ready, and sat up late, boiling water, sterilising instruments, preparing operating-tables andbeds, etc. , etc. As it got later all the lights in the huge ward wereput out, and we went about with little torches amongst the sleeping men, putting things in order and moving on tip-toe in the dark. Later weheard that the wounded might not get in till Monday. 

The work of this place goes on unceasingly. We all get on well, but Ihave not got the communal spirit, and the fact of being a unit of womenis not the side of it that I find most interesting. The communal food ismy despair. I can _not_ eat it. All the same this is a fine experience, and I hope we'll come well out of it. There is boundless opportunity, and we are in luck to have a chance of doing our darndest. 

_28 September. _--Last night I and two orderlies slept over at thehospital as more wounded were expected. At 11 p. M. Word came that "lesblessés" were at the gate. Men were on duty with stretchers, and we wentout to the tram-way cars in which the wounded are brought from thestation, twelve patients in each. The transit is as little painful aspossible, and the stretchers are placed in iron brackets, and aresimply unhooked when the men arrive. Each stretcher was brought in andlaid on a bed in the ward, and the nurses and doctors undressed the men. We orderlies took their names, their "matricule" or regimental number, and the number of their bed. Then we gathered up their clothes and putcorresponding numbers on labels attached to them--first turning out thepockets, which are filled with all manner of things, from tins ofsardines to loaded revolvers. They are all very pockety, but have to beturned out before the clothes are sent to be baked. 

We arranged everything, and then got Oxo for the men, many of whom hadhad nothing to eat for two days. They are a nice-looking lot of men andboys, with rather handsome faces and clear eyes. Their absoluteexhaustion is the most pathetic thing about them. They fall asleep evenwhen their wounds are being dressed. When all was made straight andcomfortable for them, the nurses turned the lights low again, andstepped softly about the ward with their little torches. 

A hundred beds all filled with men in pain give one plenty to thinkabout, and it is during sleep that their attitudes of suffering strikeone most. Some of them bury their heads in their pillows as shotpartridges seek to bury theirs amongst autumn leaves. Others lie verystiff and straight, and all look very thin and haggard. I was struck bythe contrast between the pillared concert-hall where they lie, with itsplatform of white paint and decorations, and the tragedy of sufferingwhich now fills it. 

At 2 a. M. More soldiers were brought in from the battlefield, all cakedwith dirt, and we began to work again. These last blinked oddly at theconcert-hall and nurses and doctors, but I think they do not questionanything much. They only want to go to sleep. 

[Page Heading: A VISIT FROM SOME DESERTERS]

I suppose that women would always be tender-hearted towards deserters. Three of them arrived at the hospital to-day with some absurd storyabout having been told to report themselves. We got them supper and ahot bath and put them to bed. One can't regret it. I never saw men sleepas they did. All through the noise of the wounded being brought in, allthrough the turned-up lights and bustle they never even stirred, but asergeant discovered them, and at 3 a. M. They were marched away again. Wegot them breakfast and hot tea, and at least they had had a few hoursbetween clean sheets. These men seem to carry so much, and the roads areheavy. 

At 5 o'clock I went to bed and slept till 8. Mrs. Stobart never rests. Ithink she must be made of some substance that the rest of us have notdiscovered. At 5 a. M. I discovered her curled up on a bench in heroffice, the doors wide open and the dawn breaking. 

_2 October. _--Here is a short account of one whole day. Firing went onall night, sometimes it came so near that the vibration of it was ratherstartling. In the early morning we heard that the forts had been heavilyfired on. One of them remained silent for a long time, and then thegarrison lighted cart-loads of straw in order to deceive the Germans, who fell into the trap, thinking the fort was disabled and on fire, andrushed in to take it. They were met with a furious cannonade. But one ofthe other forts has fallen. 

At 7 a. M. The men's bread had not arrived for their 6 o'clock breakfast, so I went into the town to get it. The difficulty was to convey hometwenty-eight large loaves, so I went to the barracks and begged amotor-car from the Belgian officer and came back triumphant. Themilitary cars simply rip through the streets, blowing their horns allthe time. Antwerp was thronged with these cars, and each one containedsoldiers. Sometimes one saw wounded in them lying on sacks stuffed withstraw. 

I came down to breakfast half-an-hour late (8 o'clock) and we had ourusual fare--porridge, bread and margarine, and tea with tinnedmilk--amazingly nasty, but quite wholesome and filling at the price. Wehave reduced our housekeeping to ninepence per head per day. Afterbreakfast I cleaned the two houses, as I do every morning, made ninebeds, swept floors and dusted stairs, etc. When my rooms were done andjugs filled, our nice little cook gave me a cup of soup in the kitchen, as she generally does, and I went over to the hospital to help preparethe men's dinner, my task to-day being to open bottles and pour out beerfor a hundred and twenty men; then, when the meat was served, to procurefrom the kitchen and serve out gravy. Our own dinner is at 12. 30. 

Afterwards I went across to the hospital again and arranged a fewthings with Mrs. Stobart. I began to correct the men's diagnosis sheets, but was called off to help with wounded arriving, and to label and sorttheir clothes. Just then the British Minister, Sir Francis Villiers, andthe Surgeon-General, Sir Cecil Herslet, came in to see the hospital, andwe proceeded to show them round, when the sound of firing began quiteclose to us and we rushed out into the garden. 

[Page Heading: A TAUBE OVERHEAD]

From out the blue, clear autumn sky came a great grey dove flyingserenely overhead. This was a German aeroplane of the class called theTaube (dove). These aeroplanes are quite beautiful in design, and flywith amazing rapidity. This one wafted over our hospital with all thegrace of a living creature "calm in the consciousness of wings, " andthen, of course, we let fly at it. From all round us shells were sent upinto the vast blue of the sky, and still the grey dove went on in itsgentle-looking flight. Whoever was in it must have been a brave man! Allround him shells were flying--one touch and he must have dropped. Thesmoke from the burst shells looked like little white clouds in the skyas the dove sailed away into the blue again and was seen no more. 

We returned to our work in hospital. The men's supper is at six o'clock, and we began cutting up their bread-and-butter and cheese and fillingtheir bowls of beer. When that was over and visitors were going, anorder came for thirty patients to proceed to Ostend and make room forworse cases. We were sorry to say good-bye to them, especially to a nicefellow whom we call Alfred because he can speak English, and to SunnyJim, who positively refused to leave. 

Poor boys! With each batch of the wounded, disabled creatures who arecarried in, one feels inclined to repeat in wonder, "Can one man beresponsible for all this? Is it for one man's lunatic vanity that menare putting lumps of lead into each other's hearts and lungs, and boysare lying with their heads blown off, or with their insides beside themon the ground?" Yet there is a splendid freedom about being in the midstof death--a certain glory in it, which one can't explain. 

A piece of shell fell through the roof of the hospital to-day--evidentlya part of one that had been fired at the Taube. It fell close beside thebed of one of our wounded, and he went as white as a ghost. It must bepretty bad to be powerless and have shells falling around. The doctorstell me that nothing moves them so much as the terror of the men. Theirnerves are simply shattered, and everything frightens them. Rather latea man was brought in from the forts, terribly wounded. He was the onlysurvivor of twelve comrades who stood together, and a shell fell amongstthem, killing all but this man. 

At seven o'clock we moved all the furniture from Mrs. Stobart's officeto the dispensary, where she will have more room, and the day's work wasthen over and night work began for some. The Germans have destroyed thereservoir and the water-supply has been cut off, so we have to go andfetch all the water in buckets from a well. After supper we go with ourpails and carry it home. The shortage for washing, cleaning, etc. , israther inconvenient, and adds to the danger in a large hospital, and tothe risk of typhoid. 

[Page Heading: ORDERS TO EVACUATE THE HOSPITAL]

_4 October. _--Yesterday our work was hardly over when Mrs. Stobart senta summons to all of us "heads" to come to her bureau. She had grave newsfor us. The British Consul had just been to say that all the Englishmust leave Antwerp; two forts had fallen, and the Germans were hourlyexpected to begin shelling the town. We were told that all the woundedwho could travel were to go to Ostend, and the worst cases were to betransferred to the Military Hospital. 

I do not think it would be easy to describe the confusion that followed. All the men's clothes had to be found, and they had to be got into them, and woe betide if a little cap or old candle was missing! All wantedserving at once; all wanted food before starting. In the midst of thegeneral mêlée I shall always remember one girl, silently, quickly, andceaselessly slicing bread with a loaf pressed to her waist, and handingit across the counter to the men. 

With one or two exceptions the staff all wanted to remain in Antwerp. Imyself decided to abandon the unit and stay on here as an individual orgo to Ostend with the men. Mrs. Stobart, being responsible, had to takethe unit home. It was a case of leaving immediately; we packed whatstores we could, but the beds and X-ray apparatus and all our materialequipment would have to be left to the Germans. I think all felt asthough they were running away, but it was a military order, and theConsul, the British Minister, and the King and Queen were leaving. Wewent to eat lunch together, and as we were doing so Mrs. Stobart broughtthe news that the Consul had come to say that reinforcements had comeup, the situation changed for the better, and for the present we mightremain. Anyone who wanted to leave might do so, but only four did. 

We have since heard what happened. The British Minister cabled home tosay that Antwerp was the key to the whole situation and must not fall, as once in here the Germans would be strongly entrenched, supplied withprovisions, ammunition, and everything they want. A Cabinet Council washeld at 3 a. M. In London, and reinforcements were ordered up. WinstonChurchill is here with Marines. They say Colonel Kitchener is at theforts. 

The firing sounds very near. Dr. Hector Munro and Miss St. Clair andLady Dorothy Fielding came over to-day from Ghent, where all is quiet. They wanted me to return with them to take a rest, which was absurd, ofcourse. 

Some fearful cases were brought in to us to-day. My God, the horror ofit! One has heard of men whom their mothers would not recognise. Some ofthe wounded to-day were amongst these. All the morning we did what wecould for them. One man was riddled with bullets, and died very soon. 

It is awful work. The great bell rings, and we say, "More wounded, " andthe men get stretchers. We go down the long, cold covered way to thegate and number the men for their different beds. The stretchers arestiff with blood, and the clothes have to be cut off the men. They cryout terribly, and their _horror_ is so painful to witness. They are soyoung, and they have seen right into hell. The first dressings areremoved by the doctors--sometimes there is only a lump of cotton-wool tofill up a hole--and the men lie there with their tragic eyes fixed uponone. All day a nurse has sat by a man who has been shot through thelungs. Each breath is painful; it does not bear writing about. The pityof it all just breaks one's heart. But I suppose we do not see nearlythe worst of the wounded. 

The lights are all off at eight o'clock now, and we do our work in thedark, while the orderlies hold little torches to enable the doctors todress the wounds. There are not _half_ enough nurses or doctors outhere. In one hospital there are 400 beds and only two trained nurses. 

[Page Heading: ARRIVAL OF BRITISH TROOPS]

Some of our own troops came through the town in London omnibuses to-day. It was quite a Moment, and we felt that all was well. We went to thegate and shook hands with them as they passed, and they made jokes anddid us all good. We cheered and waved handkerchiefs. 

_5-6 October. _--I think the last two days have been the most ghastly Iever remember. Every day seems to bring news of defeat. It is awful, andthe Germans are quite close now. As I write the house shakes with thefiring. Our troops are falling back, and the forts have fallen. Lastnight we took provisions and water to the cellars, and made plans to getthe wounded taken there. 

They say the town will be shelled to-morrow. All these last two daysbleeding men have been brought in. To-day three of them died, and Isuppose none of them was more than 23. We have to keep up all the timeand show a good face, and meals are quite cheery. To-day, Tuesday, wasour last chance of leaving, and only two went. 

The guns boom by day as well as by night, and as each one is heard onethinks of more bleeding, shattered men. It is calm, nice autumn weather;the trees are yellow in the garden and the sky is blue, yet all the timeone listens to the cries of men in pain. To-night I meant to go out fora little, but a nurse stopped me and asked me to sit by a dying man. Poor fellow, he was twenty-one, and looked like some brigand chief, andhe smiled as he was dying. The horror of these two days will lastalways, and there are many more such days to come. Everyone is behavingwell, and that is all I care about. 

_7 October. _--It is a glorious morning: they will see well to kill eachother to-day. 

The guns go all day and all night. They are so close that the earthshakes with them. Last night in the infernal darkness we were turningwounded men away from the door. There was no room for them even on thefloor. The Belgians scream terribly. Our own men suffer quite quietly. One of them died to-day. 

Day and night a stream of vehicles passes the gate. It never ceases. Nearly all are motors, driven at a furious pace, and they sound hornsall the time. These are met by a stream of carts and old-fashionedvehicles bringing in country people, who are flying to the coast. InAntwerp to-day it was "sauve qui peut"! Nearly all the men aregoing--Mr. ----, who has helped us, and Mr. ----, they are going tobicycle into Holland. A surgeon (Belgian) has fled from his hospital, leaving seven hundred beds, and there seem to be a great many desertersfrom the trenches. 

[Page Heading: THE SITUATION GETS WORSE]

The news is still the same--"very bad"; sometimes I walk to the gate andask returning soldiers how the battle goes, but the answer never varies. At lunch-time to-day firing ceased, and I heard it was because theGerman guns were coming up. We got orders to send away all the woundedwho could possibly go, and we prepared beds in the cellars for those whocannot be moved. The military authorities beg us to remain as so manyhospitals have been evacuated. 

The wounded continue to come in. One sees one car in the endless streammoving slowly (most of them _fly_ with their officers sitting upright, or with aeroplanes on long carriages), and one knows by the pace thatmore wounded are coming. Inside one sees the horrible six shelves behindthe canvas curtain, and here and there a bound-up limb or head. One ofour men had his leg taken off to-day, and is doing well. Nothing goes onmuch behind the scenes. The yells of the men are plainly heard, andto-day, as I sat beside the lung man who was taking so long to die, someone brought a sack to me, and said, "This is for the leg. " All theorderlies are on duty in the hospital now. We can spare no one forrougher work. We can all bandage and wash patients. There are woundedeverywhere, even on straw beds on the platform of the hall. 

Darkness seems to fall early, and it is the darkness that is sobaffling. At 5 p. M. We have to feed everyone while there is a littlelight, then the groping about begins, and everyone falls over things. There is a clatter of basins on the floor or an over-turned chair. Anysudden noise is rather trying at present because of the booming of theguns. At 7 last night they were much louder than before, with a sort ofstrange double sound, and we were told that these were our "Long Toms, "so we hope that our Naval Brigade has come up. 

We know very little of what is going on except when we run out and asksome returning English soldiers for news. Yesterday it was always thesame reply "Very bad. " One of the Marines told me that Winston Churchillwas "up and down the road amongst the shells, " and I was also told thathe had given orders that Antwerp was not to be taken till the last manin it was dead. 

The Marines are getting horribly knocked about. Yesterday Mrs. O'Gormonwent out in her own motor-car and picked wounded out of the trenches. She said that no one knew why they were in the trenches or where theywere to fire--they just lay there and were shot and then left. 

[Page Heading: HOW WE KEPT UP OUR COURAGE]

I think I have seen too much pain lately. At Walworth one saw womenevery day in utter pain, and now one lives in an atmosphere of bandagesand blood. I asked some of the orderlies to-day what it was thatsupported them most at a crisis of this sort. The answers varied, andwere interesting. I myself am surprised to find that religion is not mybest support. When I go into the little chapel to pray it is all tootender, the divine Mother and the Child and the holy atmosphere. I beginto feel rather sorry for myself, I don't know why; then I go and movebeds and feel better; but I have found that just to behave like awell-bred woman is what keeps me up best. I had thought that the Flag orReligion would have been stronger incentives to me. 

Our own soldiers seem to find self-respect their best asset. It isamazing to see the difference between them and the Belgians, who areterribly poor hands at bearing pain, and beg for morphia all the time. An officer to-day had to have a loose tooth out. He insisted on havingcocaine, and then begged the doctor to be careful!

The firing now is furious--sometimes there are five or six explosionsalmost simultaneously. I suppose we shall read in the _Times_ that "allis quiet, " and in _Le Matin_ that "pour le reste tout est calme. "

The staff are doing well. They are generally too busy to be frightened, but one has to speak once or twice to them before they hear. 

On Wednesday night, the 7th October, we heard that one more ship wasgoing to England, and a last chance was given to us all to leave. Onlytwo did so; the rest stayed on. Mrs. Stobart went out to see what was tobe done. The ---- Consul said that we were under his protection, andthat if the Germans entered the town he would see that we were treatedproperly. We had a deliberately cheerful supper, and afterwards a mancalled Smits came in and told us that the Germans had been driven backfifteen kilometres. I myself did not believe this, but we went to bed, and even took off our clothes. 

At midnight the first shell came over us with a shriek, and I went downand woke the orderlies and nurses and doctors. We dressed and went overto help move the wounded at the hospital. The shells began to screamoverhead; it was a bright moonlight night, and we walked withouthaste--a small body of women--across the road to the hospital. Here wefound the wounded all yelling like mad things, thinking they were goingto be left behind. The lung man has died. 

Nearly all the moving to the cellars had already been done--only threestretchers remained to be moved. One wounded English sergeant helped us. Otherwise everything was done by women. We laid the men on mattresseswhich we fetched from the hospital overhead, and then Mrs. Stobart'smild, quiet voice said, "Everything is to go on as usual. The nightnurses and orderlies will take their places. Breakfast will be at theusual hour. " She and the other ladies whose night it was to sleep at theconvent then returned to sleep in the basement with a Sister. 

[Page Heading: THE BOMBARDMENT]

We came in for some most severe shelling at first, either because weflew the Red Cross flag or because we were in the line of fire with apowder magazine which the Germans wished to destroy. We sat in thecellars with one night-light burning in each, and with seventy woundedmen to take care of. Two of them were dying. There was only one line ofbricks between us and the shells. One shell fell into the garden, makinga hole six feet deep; the next crashed through a house on the oppositeside of the road and set it on fire. The danger was two-fold, for weknew our hospital, which was a cardboard sort of thing, would ignitelike matchwood, and if it fell we should not be able to get out of thecellars. Some people on our staff were much against our making use of acellar at all for this reason. I myself felt it was the safest place, and as long as we stayed with the wounded they minded nothing. We satthere all night. 

The English sergeant said that at daybreak the firing would probablycease, as the German guns stopped when daylight came in order to concealthe guns. We just waited for daybreak. When it came the firing grewworse. The sergeant said, "It is always worse just before they stop, "but the firing did not stop. Two hundred guns were turned on Antwerp, and the shells came over at the rate of four a minute. They have ahorrid screaming sound as they come. We heard each one coming andwondered if it would hit us, and then we heard the crashing somewhereelse and knew another shell was coming. 

The worst cases among the wounded lay on the floor, and these wantedconstant attention. The others were in their great-coats, and stoodabout the cellar leaning on crutches and sticks. We wrapped blanketsround the rheumatism cases and sat through the long night. Sometimeswhen we heard a crash near by we asked "Is that the convent?" butnothing else was said. All spoke cheerfully, and there was some laughterin the further cellar. One little red-haired nurse enjoyed the wholething. I saw her carry three wounded men in succession on her back downto the cellar. I found myself wishing that for me a shot would come andfinish the horrible night. Still we all chatted and smiled and madelittle jokes. Once during that long night in the cellar I heard onewounded man say to another as he rolled himself round on his mattress, "Que les anglais sont comme il faut. "

At six o'clock the convent party came over and began to preparebreakfast. The least wounded of the men began to steal away, and we wereleft with between thirty and forty of them. The difficulty was to knowhow to get away and how to remove the wounded, two of whom were nearlydead. Miss Benjamin went and stood at the gate, while the shells stillflew, and picked up an ambulance. In this we got away six men, includingthe two dying ones. Mrs. Stobart was walking about for three hourstrying to find anything on wheels to remove us and the wounded. At lastwe got a motor ambulance, and packed in twenty men--that was all itwould hold. We told them to go as far as the bridge and send it back forus. It never came. Nothing seemed to come. 

The ---- Vice-Consul had told us we were under his protection, and hewould, as a neutral, march out to meet the Germans and give usprotection. But when we enquired we heard he had bolted without tellingus. The next to give us protection was the ---- Field Hospital, who saidthey had a ship in the river and would not move without us. But theyalso left and said nothing. 

We got dinner for the men, and then the strain began to be much worse. We had seven wounded and ourselves and not a thing in which to get outof Antwerp. I told Mrs. Stobart we must leave the wounded at the conventin charge of the Sisters, and this we did, telling them where to takethem in the morning. The gay young nurses fetched them across onstretchers. 

[Page Heading: FLIGHT]

About 5 o'clock the shelling became more violent, and three shells camewith only an instant between each. Presently we heard Mrs. Stobart say, "Come at once, " and we went out and found three English buses withEnglish drivers at the door. They were carrying ammunition, and were thelast vehicles to leave Antwerp. We got into them and lay on the top ofthe ammunition, and the girls began to light cigarettes! The noise ofthe buses prevented our hearing for a time the infernal sound of shellsand our cannons' answering roar. 

As we drove to the bridge many houses and sometimes a whole street wasburning. No one seemed to care. No one was there to try and saveanything. We drove through the empty streets and saw the burning houses, and great holes where shells had fallen, and then we got to the bridgeand out of the line of fire. 

We set out to walk towards Holland, but a Belgian officer got us someRed Cross ambulances, and into these we got, and were taken to aconvent at St. Gilles, where we slept on the floor till 3 a. M. At 3 amessage was brought, "Get up at once--things are worse. " Everyone seemedto be leaving, and we got into the Red Cross ambulances and went to thestation. 

_9 October. _--We have been all day in the train in very hard third-classcarriages with the R. M. L. I. The journey of fifty miles took from 5o'clock in the morning, when we got away, till 12 o'clock at night, whenwe reached Ostend. The train hardly crawled. It was the longest I haveever seen. All Ostend was in darkness when we arrived--a German airshiphaving been seen overhead. We always seem to be tumbling about in thedark. We went from one hotel to another trying to get accommodation, andat last (at the St. James's) they allowed us to lie on the floor of therestaurant. The only food they had for us was ten eggs for twenty-fivehungry people and some brown bread, but they had champagne at the house, and I ordered it for everybody, and we made little speeches and tried toend on a good note. 

_10 October. _--Mrs. Stobart took the unit back to England to-day. Thewounded were found in a little house which the Red Cross had made overto them, and Dr. Ramsey, Sister Bailey, and the two nurses had much tosay about their perilous journey. One man had died on the road, but theothers all looked well. Their joy at seeing us was pathetic, and therewas a great deal of handshaking over our meeting. 

[Page Heading: THE UNIT RETURNS TO ENGLAND]

Miss Donnisthorpe and I got decent rooms at the Littoral Hotel, andbrought our luggage there, and had baths, which we much needed. Dr. Hanson had got out of the train at Bruges to bandage a wounded man, andshe was left behind, and is still lost. I suppose she has gone home. Sheis the doctor I like best, and she is one of the few whose nerves arenot shattered. It was a sorry little party which Mrs. Stobart took backto England. 

CHAPTER II

WITH DR. HECTOR MUNRO'S FLYING AMBULANCE CORPS

_12 October. _--Everyone has gone back to England except Sister Baileyand me. She is waiting to hand over the wounded to the properdepartment, and I am waiting to see if I can get on anywhere. It doesseem so hard that when men are most in need of us we should all run homeand leave them. 

The noises and racket in Ostend are deafening, and there is paniceverywhere. The boats go to England packed every time. I called on theVilliers yesterday, and heard that she is leaving on Tuesday. But theysay that the British Minister dare not leave or the whole place would gowild with fear. Some ships lie close to us on the grey misty water, andthe troops are passing along all day. 

_Later. _--We heard to-night that the Germans are coming into Ostendto-morrow, so once more we fly like dust before a broom. It is horriblehaving to clear out for them. 

I am trying to discover what courage really consists in. It isn't only alack of imagination. In some people it is transcendent, in others it isonly a sort of stupidity. If proper precautions were taken the need forcourage would be much reduced--the "tight place" is so often the resultof sheer muddle. 

This evening Dr. Hector Munro came in from Ghent with his oddly-dressedladies, and at first one was inclined to call them masqueraders in theirknickerbockers and puttees and caps, but I believe they have doneexcellent work. It is a queer side of war to see young, pretty Englishgirls in khaki and thick boots, coming in from the trenches, where theyhave been picking up wounded men within a hundred yards of the enemy'slines, and carrying them away on stretchers. Wonderful little Walküresin knickerbockers, I lift my hat to you!

Dr. Munro asked me to come on to his convoy, and I gladly did so: hesent home a lady whose nerves were gone, and I was put in her place. 

[Page Heading: ON THE ROAD TO DUNKIRK]

_13 October. _--We had an early muddly breakfast, at which everyone spokein a high voice and urged others to hurry, and then we collected luggageand went round to see the General. Afterwards we all got into our motorambulances _en route_ for Dunkirk. The road was filled with flyinginhabitants, and down at the dock wounded and well struggled to get onto the steamer. People were begging us for a seat in our ambulance, andwell-dressed women were setting out to walk twenty miles to Dunkirk. Therain was falling heavily, and it was a dripping day when we and a lot ofEnglish soldiers found ourselves in the square in Dunkirk, where thefew hotels are. We had an expensive lunch at a greasy restaurant, andthen tried to find rooms. 

I began to make out of whom our party consists. There is Lady DorothyFielding--probably 22, but capable of taking command of a ship, andspeaking French like a native; Mrs. Decker, an Australian, plucky andefficient; Miss Chisholm, a blue-eyed Scottish girl, with a thick coatstrapped around her waist and a haversack slung from her shoulder; atall American, whose name I do not yet know, whose husband is ajournalist; three young surgeons, and Dr. Munro. It is all so quaint. The girls rule the company, carry maps and find roads, see aboutprovisions and carry wounded. 

We could not get rooms at Dunkirk and so came on to St. Malo les Bains, a small bathing-place which had been shut up for the winter. The ownerof an hotel there opened up some rooms for us and got us some ham andeggs, and the evening ended very cheerily. Our party seems, to me, amazingly young and unprotected. 

_St. Malo les Bains. 14 October. _--To-day I took a car into Dunkirk andbought some things, as I have lost nearly all I possess at Antwerp. Inthe afternoon I went to the dock to get some letters posted, and trampedabout there for a long time. War is such a disorganizer. Nothing starts. No one is able to move because of wounded arms and legs; it seems tomake the world helpless and painful. In minor matters one lives nearlyalways with damp feet and rather dirty and hungry. Drains are allchoked, and one does not get much sleep. These are trifles, of course. 

[Page Heading: WOMEN AT THE FRONT]

To-night, as we sat at dinner, a message was brought that a womanoutside had been run over and was going to have a baby immediately in atram-way shelter, so out we went and got one of our ambulances, and ayoung doctor with his fiancée went off with her. There was a lot ofargument about where the woman lived, until one young man said, "Well, get in somehow, or the baby will have arrived. " There is a simplicityabout these tragic times, and nothing matters but to save people. 

_15 October. _--To-day we went down to the docks to get a passage for Dr. Munro, who is going home for money. A German Taube flew overhead and menwere firing rifles at it. An Englishman hit it, and down it came like ashot bird, so that was the end of a brave man, whoever he was, and itwas a long drop, too, through the still autumn air. Guns have begun tofire again, so I suppose we shall have to move on once more. One doesnot unpack, and it is dangerous to part with one's linen to be washed. 

Yesterday I heard a man--a man in a responsible position--say to a girl, "Tell me, please, how far we are from the firing-line. " It was one ofthe most remarkable speeches I ever heard. I go to these girls for allmy news. Lady Dorothy Fielding is our real commander, and everyone knowsit. One hears on all sides, "Lady Dorothy, can you get us tyres for theambulances? Where is the petrol?" "Do you know if the General will letus through?" "Have you been able to get us any stores?" "Ought we tohave 'laissez-passer's' or not?" She goes to all the heads ofdepartments, is the only good speaker of French, and has the onlyreliable information about anything. All the men acknowledge herposition, and they say to me, "It's very odd being run by a woman; butshe is the only person who can do anything. " In the firing-line she isquite cool, and so are the other women. They seem to be interested, notdismayed, by shots and shrapnel. 

_16 October. _--To-day I have been reading of the "splendid retreat" ofthe Marines from Antwerp and their "unprecedented reception" at Deal. Everyone appears to have been in a state of wild enthusiasm about them, and it seems almost like Mafeking over again. 

What struck me most about these men was the way in which they blew theirown trumpets in full retreat and while flying from the enemy. Wetravelled all day in the train with them, and had long conversationswith them all. They were all saying, "We will bring you the Kaiser'shead, miss"; to which I replied, "Well, you had better turn round and gothe other way. " Some people like this "English" spirit. I find theconceit of it most trying. Belgium is in the hands of the enemy, and weflee before him singing our own praises loudly as we do so. The Marineslost their kit, spent one night in Antwerp, and went back to England, where they had an amazing reception amid scenes of unprecedentedenthusiasm! The Government will give them a fresh kit, and the publicwill cheer itself hoarse!

[Page Heading: MEN'S ATTITUDE TOWARDS WOMEN]

I could not help thinking, when I read the papers to-day, of our tiredlittle body of nurses and doctors and orderlies going back quietly andunproclaimed to England to rest at Folkestone for three days and then tocome out here again. They had been for eighteen hours under heavy shellfire without so much as a rifle to protect them, and with the immediatechance of a burning building falling about them. The nurses sat in thecellars tending wounded men, whom they refused to leave, and then hoppedon to the outside of an ammunition bus "to see the fun, " and came hometo buy their little caps and aprons out of their own slender purses andstart work again. 

I shall believe in Britishers to the day of my death, and I hope I shalldie before I cease to believe in them, but I do get some disillusions. At Antwerp not a man remained with us, and the worst of it was they madeelaborate excuses for leaving. Even our sergeant, who helped during thenight, took a comrade off in the morning and disappeared. Both werewounded, but not badly, and two young English Tommies, very slightlywounded, left us as soon as the firing began. We saw them afterwards atthe bridge, and they looked pretty mean. 

To-night at dinner some officers came in when the food was pretty wellfinished, and only some drumsticks of chicken and bits of ham were left. I am always slow at beginning to eat, and I had a large wing of chickenstill on my plate. I offered this to an officer, who accepted it andate it, although he asked me to have a little bit of it. I do hope Ishall meet some cases of chivalry soon. 

Firing ceased about 5 o'clock this afternoon, but we are short of news. The English papers rather annoy one with their continual victories, ofwhich we see nothing. Everyone talks of the German big guns as if theywere some happy chance. But the Germans were drilling and preparingwhile we were making speeches at Hyde Park Corner. Everything had beenthought out by them. People talk of the difficulty they must have had inpreparing concrete floors for their guns. Not a bit of it. There wereinnocent dwelling-houses, built long ago, with floors in just the rightposition and of just the right stuff, and when they were wanted the topstories were blown off and the concrete gun-floors were ready. Therewere local exhibitions, too, to which firms sent exhibition guns, whichthey "forgot" to remove! While we were going on strike they were makingan army, and as we have sown so must we reap. 

One almost wonders whether it might not be possible to eliminate thepersonal element in war, so constant is the talk about victorious guns. If guns decide everything, then let them be trained on other guns. Letthe gun that drives farthest and goes surest win. If every siege isdecided by the German 16-inch howitzers, then let us put up brick andmortar or steel against them, but not men. The day for the bleedinghuman body seems to be over now that men are mown down by shells firedeight miles away. War used to be splendid because it made men strong andbrave, but now a little German in spectacles can stand behind a Kruppgun and wipe out a regiment. 

[Page Heading: PROTECTION OF LIFE OR PROPERTY]

I suppose women will always try to protect life because they know whatit costs to produce it, and men will always try to protect propertybecause that is what they themselves produce. At Antwerp our wounded menwere begging us to go up to the hospital to fetch their purses fromunder their pillows! At present women are only repairers, darning socks, cleaning, washing up after men, bringing up reinforcements in the way offresh life, and patching up wounded men, but some day they must and willhave to say, "The life I produce has as much right to protection as theproperty you produce, and I claim my right to protect it. "

There seems to me a lack of connection between one man's desire toextend the area he occupies and young men in their teens lying withtheir lungs shot through or backs blown off. 

_19 October. _--Our time is now spent in waiting and preparing for workwhich will probably come soon, as there has been fighting near us again. One hears the boom of guns a long way off, and always there is the soundof death in it. One has been too near it not to know now what it means. 

Yesterday I went to church in an empty little building, but a few of ourhospital men turned up and made a small congregation. In the afternoonone or two people came to tea in my bedroom as we could not make ourusual expedition to de Poorter's bunshop. The pastry habit is growingon us all. 

We went to the arsenal to-day to see about some repairs to ourambulances. I saw a German omnibus which had been captured, and theeagles on it had been painted out with stripes of red paint and theFrench colours put in their place. The omnibus was one mass ofbullet-holes. I have seen waggons at Paardeberg, but I never sawanything so knocked about as that grey motor-bus. The engines and sideswere shattered and the chauffeur, of course, had been killed. We went onby motor to the "Champs des Aviateurs. " We saw one naval aeroplane man, who told us that he had been hit in his machine when it was 4, 000 feetup in the air. His jacket was torn by a bullet and his machine dropped, but he was uninjured, and got away on a bicycle. 

The more I see of war the more I am amazed at the courage and nervewhich are shown. Death or the chance of death is everywhere, and we meetit not as fatalists do or those who believe they can earn eternal glorywith a sacrifice, but lightly and with a song. An English girl atAntwerp was horribly ashamed of some Belgians who skulked behind a wallwhen the firing was hottest. She herself remained in the open. 

It has been a great comfort to me that I have had a room to myself sofar on this campaign. I find the communal spirit is not in me. The noisymeals, the heavy bowls of soup, the piles of labelled dinner-napkins, give me an unexpected feeling of oppressive seclusion and solitude, andonly when I get away by myself do I feel that my soul is restored. 

Mr. Gleeson, an American, joined his wife here a couple of days ago: itwas odd to have a book talk again. 

_21 October. _--A still grey day with a level sea and a few fishing-boatsgoing out with the tide. On the long grey shore shrimpers are wadingwith their nets. The only colour in the soft grey dawn is the littlewink of white that the breaking waves make on the sand. This small emptyseaside place, with its row of bathing-machines drawn up on the beach, has a look about it as of a theatre seen by daylight. All the seats areempty and the players have gone away, and the theatre begins to whisperas empty buildings do. I think I know quite well some of the people whocome to St. Malo les Bains, just by listening to what the empty littleplace is saying. 

Firing has begun again. We hear that our ships are shelling Ostend fromthe sea. The news that reaches us is meagre, but I prefer that to thefalse reports that are circulated at home. 

[Page Heading: WE GO TO FURNES]

This afternoon we came out in motors and ambulances to establishourselves at Furnes in an empty Ecclesiastical College. Nothing wasready, and everything was in confusion. The wounded from the fightingnear by had not begun to come in, but the infernal sound of the guns wasquite close to us, and gave one the sensation of a blow on the ear. Night was falling as we came back to Dunkirk to sleep (for no beds wereready at Furnes), and we passed many motor vehicles of everydescription going out to Furnes. Some of them were filled with bread, and one saw stacks of loaves filling to the roof some once beautifullyappointed motor. Now all was dust and dirt. 

All my previous ideas of men marching to war have had a touch ofheroism, crudely expressed by quick-step and smart uniforms. To-day Isee tired dusty men, very hungry looking and unshaved, slogging along, silent and tired, and ready to lie down whenever chance offers. Theykeep as near their convoy as they can, and are keen to stop and cooksomething. God! what is heroism? It baffles me. 

_22 October. Furnes. _--The bulk of our party did not return from Furnesyesterday, so we gathered that the wounded must be coming in, and weleft Dunkirk early and came here. As I packed my things and rolled myrugs at 5 a. M. I thought of Mary, and "Charles to fetch down theluggage, " and the fuss at home over my delicate health!

A French officer called Gilbert took us out to Furnes in his Brooklandsracing-car, so that was a bit of an experience too, for we sat curled upon some luggage, and were told to hang on by something. The roads wereempty and level, the little seats of the car were merely an appendage toits long big engines. When we got our breath back we asked Gilbert whathis speed had been, and he told us 75 miles an hour. 

There was a crowd of motors in the yard of the Ecclesiastical College atFurnes, engines throbbing and clutches being jerked, and we were toldthat all last night the fighting had gone on and the wounded had beencoming in. There are three wards already fairly full, nothing quiteready, and the inevitable and reiterated "where" heard on every side. 

"Where are the stretchers?" "Where are my forceps?" "Where are we todine?" "Where are the dead to be put?" "Where are the Germans?"

No one stops to answer. People ask everybody ten times over to do thesame thing, and use anything that is lying about. 

[Page Heading: THE FIGHTING AT DIXMUDE]

There are two war correspondents here--Mr. Gibbs and Mr. AshmeadBartlett--and they told me about the fighting at Dixmude last night. Imust try to get Mr. Gibbs's newspaper account of it, but nothing willever be so simple and so dramatic as his own description. He and Mr. Bartlett, Mr. Gleeson and Dr. Munro, with young Mr. Brockville, the WarMinister's son, went to the town, which was being heavily shelled. Dixmude was full of wounded, and the church and the houses were falling. The roar of things was awful, and the bursting shells overhead sentshrapnel pattering on the buildings, the pavements, and the cars. 

Young Brockville went into a house, where he heard wounded were lying, and found a pile of dead Frenchmen stacked against a wall. A burstingshell scattered them. He went on to a cellar and found some living men, got the stretchers, loaded the cars and bade them drive on. In thedarkness, and with the deafening noises, no one heard his ordersaright, the two motor ambulances moved on and left him behind amongstthe burning houses and flying shells. It was only after going a fewmiles that the rest of the party found that he was not with them. 

Mr. Gleeson and Mr. Bartlett went back for him. Nothing need be saidexcept that. They went back to hell for him, and the other two waited inthe road with the wounded men. After an hour of waiting these two alsowent back. 

I asked Mr. Gibbs if he shared the contempt that some people expressedfor bullets. He and Mr. Gleeson both said, "Anyone who talks of contemptfor bullets is talking nonsense. Bullets mean death at every corner ofthe street, and death overhead and flying limbs and unspeakable sights. "All these men went back. All of them behaved quietly and like gentlemen, but one man asked a friend of his over and over again if he was aBelgian refugee, and another said that a town steeple falling looked sostrange that they could only stand about and light cigarettes. In theend they gave up Mr. Brockville for lost and came home with theambulances. But he turned up in the middle of the night, to everyone'shuge delight. 

_23 October. _--A crisp autumn morning, a courtyard filled with motorsand brancardiers and men in uniform, and women in knickerbockers andputtees, all lighting cigarettes and talking about repairs and gears anda box of bandages. The mornings always start happily enough. The gunsare nearer to-day or more distant, the battle sways backwards andforwards, and there is no such thing as a real "base" for a hospital. We must just stay as long as we can and fly when we must. 

About 10 a. M. The ambulances that have been out all night begin to comein, the wounded on their pitiful shelves. 

"Take care. There are two awful cases. Step this way. The man on the topshelf is dead. Lift them down. Steady. Lift the others out first. Nowcarry them across the yard to the overcrowded ward, and lay them on thefloor if there are no beds, but lay them down and go for others. Takethe worst to the theatre: get the shattered limbs amputated and thenbring them back, for there is a man just dead whose place can be filled;and these two must be shipped off to Calais; and this one can sit up. "

[Page Heading: A WOUNDED GERMAN]

I found one young German with both hands smashed. He was not ill enoughto have a bed, of course, but sat with his head fallen forward trying tosleep on a chair. I fed him with porridge and milk out of a little bowl, and when he had finished half of it he said, "I won't have any more. Iam afraid there will be none for the others. " I got a few cushions forhim and laid him in a corner of the room. Nothing disturbs the deepsleep of these men. They seem not so much exhausted as dead withfatigue. 

A French boy of sixteen is a favourite of mine. He is such a beautifulchild, and there is no hope for him; shot through the abdomen; he canretain nothing, and is sick all day, and every day he is weaker. 

I do not find that the men want to send letters or write messages. Their pain is too awful even for that, and I believe they can think ofnothing else. 

All day the stretchers are brought in and the work goes on. It is about5 o'clock that the weird tired hour begins when the dim lamps arelighted, and people fall over things, and nearly everything is mislaid, and the wounded cry out, and one steps over forms on the floor. Fromthen till one goes to bed it is difficult to be just what one ought tobe, the tragedy of it is too pitiful. There is a boy with his eyes shotout, and there is a row of men all with head wounds from the cruelshrapnel overhead. Blood-stained mattresses and pillows are carried outinto the courtyard. Two ladies help to move the corpses. There is alwaysa pile of bandages and rags being burnt, and a youth stirs the horriblepile with a stick. A queer smell permeates everything, and the gunsnever cease. The wounded are coming in at the rate of a hundred a day. 

The Queen of the Belgians called to see the hospital to-day. Poor littleQueen, coming to see the remnants of an army and the remnants of akingdom! She was kind to each wounded man, and we were glad of hervisit, if for no other reason than that some sort of cleaning andtidying was done in her honour. To-night Mr. Nevinson arrived, and wewent round the wards together after supper. The beds were all full--sowas the floor. I was glad that so many of the wounded were dying. 

The doctors said, "These men are not wounded, they are mashed. "

I am rather surprised to find how little the quite young girls seem tomind the sight of wounds and suffering. They are bright and witty aboutamputations, and do not shudder at anything. I am feeling ratherout-of-date amongst them. 

 * * * * *

[Page Heading: THE TRAGEDY OF PAIN]

_Letter to Miss Macnaughtan's Sisters. _

DR. HECTOR MUNRO'S AMBULANCE, FURNES, BELGIUM, _23 October. _

MY DEAR PEOPLE, I think I may get this posted by a war correspondent who is going home, but I never know whether my letters reach you or not, for yours, if youwrite them, never reach me. I can't begin to tell you all that ishappening, and it is really beyond what one is able to describe. Thetragedy of pain is the thing that is most evident, and there is the roarand the racket of it and the everlasting sound of guns. The war seems tome now to mean nothing but torn limbs and stretchers. All the doctorssay that never have they seen men so wounded. 

The day that we got here was the day that Dixmude was bombarded, and ourten ambulances (motor) went out to fetch in wounded. These were shovedin anywhere, dying and dead, and our men went among the shells withbuildings falling about them and took out all they could. Except wherethe fire is hottest one women goes with each car. So far I have beendoing ward work, but one of the doctors is taking me on an ambulancethis afternoon. Most of the women who go are very good chauffeursthemselves, so they are chosen before a person who can't drive. Theyare splendid creatures, and funk nothing, and they are there to do alittle dressing if it is needed. 

The firing is awfully heavy to-day. They say it is the big French gunsthat have got up. Two of our ambulances have had miraculous escapesafter being hit. Things happen too quickly to know how to describe them. To-day when I went out to breakfast an old village woman aged about 70was brought in wounded in two places. I am not fond of horrors. 

We have been given an empty house for the staff, the owners havingquitted it in a panic and left everything, children's toys on thecarpet, and beds unmade. The hospital is a college for priests, all ofwhom have fled. Into this building the wounded are carried day andnight, and the surgeons are working in shifts and can't get the workdone. We are losing, alas! so many patients. Nothing can be done forthem, and I always feel so glad when they are gone. I don't think anyonecan realise what it is to be just behind the line of battle, and I fearthere would not be much recruiting if people at home could see ourwards. One can only be thankful for a hospital like this in the thick ofthings, for we are saving lives, and not only so, but saving the livesof men who perhaps have lain three days in a trench or a turnip-fieldundiscovered and forgotten. 

As soon as a wounded man has been attended to and is able to be put on astretcher again he is sent to Calais. We have to keep emptying the wardsfor other patients to come in, and besides, if the fighting comes thisway, we shall have to fall back a little further. 

We have a river between us and the Germans, so we shall always know whenthey are coming and get a start and be all right. 

Your lovingS. MACNAUGHTAN. 

 * * * * *

_25 October. _--A glorious day. Up in the blue even Taubes--those birdsof prey--look beautiful, like eagles wheeling in their flight. It is allfar too lovely to leave, yet men are killing each other painfully withevery day that dawns. 

I had a tiresome day in spite of the weather, because the hospital wasevacuated suddenly owing to the nearness of the Germans, and I missedgoing with the ambulance, so I hung about all day. 

_26 October. My birthday. _--This morning several women were brought inhorribly wounded. One girl of sixteen had both legs smashed. I wastaking one old woman to the civil hospital and I had to pass eighteendead men; they were laid out beside some women who were washing clothes, and I noticed how tired even in death their poor dirty feet looked. 

[Page Heading: TO THE EDGE OF THE FIGHTING LINE]

We started early in the ambulance to-day, and went to pick up thewounded. It was a wild gusty morning, one of those days when the skytakes up nearly all the picture and the world looks small. The mud wasdeep on the road, and a cyclist corps plunged heavily along through it. The car steered badly and we drove to the edge of the fighting-line. 

First one comes to a row of ammunition vans, with men cooking breakfastbehind them. Then come the long grey guns, tilted at various angles, andbeyond are the shells bursting and leaving little clouds of black orwhite in the sky. We signalled to a gun not to fire down the road inmuch the same way as a bobby signals to a hansom. When we got beyond theguns they fired over us with a long streaky sort of sound. We came backto the road and picked up the wounded wherever we could find them. 

The churches are nearly all filled with straw, the chairs piledanywhere, and the sacrament removed from the altar. In cottages andlittle inns it is the same thing--a litter of straw, and men lying on itin the chilly weather. Here and there through some little window onesees surgeons in their white coats dressing wounds. Half the world seemsto be wounded and inefficient. We filled our ambulance, and stood aboutin curious groups of English men and women who looked as if they were onsome shooting-party. When our load was complete we drove home. 

Dr. Munro told me that last night he met a German prisoner quite nakedbeing marched in, proudly holding his head up. Lots of the men fightnaked in the trenches. In hospital we meet delightful German youths. 

Amongst others who were brought in to-day was Mr. "Dick" Reading, theeditor of a sporting paper. He was serving in the Belgian army, and wasbehind a gun-carriage when it was fired upon and started. Reading clungon behind with both his legs broken, and he stuck to it till thegun-carriage was pulled up! He came in on a stretcher as bright as abutton, smoking a cigar and laughing. 

[Page Heading: POPERINGHE]

Late this afternoon we had to turn out of Furnes and fly to Poperinghe. The drive was intensely interesting, through crowds of troops of everynationality, and the town seemed large and well lighted. It was crowdedwith people to see all our ambulances arrive. We went to a café, wherethere was a fire but nothing to eat, so some of the party went out andbought chops, and I cooked them in a stuffy little room which smelt ofburnt fat. 

After supper we went to a convent where the Queen of the Belgians hadmade arrangements for us to sleep. It was delightful. Each of us had asnowy white bed with white curtains in a long corridor, and there was abasin of water, cold but clean, and a towel for each of us. Wethoroughly enjoyed our luxuries. 

_28 October. _--The tide of battle seems to have swung away from us againand we were recalled to Furnes to-day. The hospital looked very bare andempty as all the patients had been evacuated, and there was nothing todo till fresh ones should come in. Three shells came over to-day andlanded in a field near us. Some people say they were sent by our ownnaval guns firing wide. The souvenir grafters went out and got pieces ofthem. 

[Page Heading: DUNKIRK]

_2 November. _--I have been spending a couple of nights in Dunkirk, whereI went to meet Miss Fyfe. The _Invicta_ got in late because the _Hermes_had been torpedoed and they had gone to her assistance. No doubt thetorpedo was intended for the _Invicta_, which carries ammunition, and isbecoming an unpopular boat in consequence. Forty of the _Hermes_ menwere lost. 

Dunkirk is full of people, and one meets friends at every turn. I hadtea at the Consulate one afternoon, and was rather glad to get away fromthe talk of shells and wounds, which is what one hears most of atFurnes. 

I saw Lord Kitchener in the town one day; he had come to confer withJoffre, Sir John French, Monsieur Poincaré, and Mr. Churchill, at ameeting held at the Chapeau Rouge Hotel. Rather too many valuable men inone room, I thought--especially with so many spies about! Three men inEnglish officers' uniforms were found to be Germans the other day andtaken out and shot. 

The Duchess of Sutherland has a hospital at our old Casino at Malo lesBains, and has made it very nice. I had a long chat with a Coldstreamman who was there. He told me he was carried to a barn after being shotin the leg and the bone shattered. He lay there for six days before hewas found, with nothing to eat but a few biscuits. He dressed his ownwound. 

"But, " he said, "the string of my puttee had been driven in so far bythe shot I couldn't find it to get the thing off, so I had to bandageover it. "

I went down to the station one day to see if anything could be done forthe wounded there. They are coming in at the rate of seven hundred aday, and are laid on straw in an immense goods-shed. They get nothing toeat, and the atmosphere is so bad that their wounds can't be dressed. They are all patient, as usual, only the groans are heartbreakingsometimes. We are arranging to have soup given to them, and a number ofambulance men arrived who will remove them to hospital ships and trains. But the goods-shed is a shambles, and let us leave it at that. [1]

 [1] It must not be thought that in this and in subsequent passages referring to the sufferings of the wounded Miss Macnaughtan alludes to any hardships endured by British troops. Her time in Flanders was all spent behind the French and Belgian lines. --ED. 

Mrs. Knocker came into Dunkirk for a night's rest while I was stayingthere. She had been out all the previous day in a storm of wind and raindriving an ambulance. It was heavy with wounded, and shells weredropping very near. She--the most courageous woman that ever lived--wasquite unnerved at last. The glass of the car she was driving was dimwith rain and she could carry no lights, and with this swaying load ofinjured men behind her on the rutty road she had to stick to her wheeland go on. 

Some one said to her, "There is a doctor in such-and-such a farmhouse, and he has no dressings. You must take him these. "

She demurred (a most unusual thing for her), but men do not protectwomen in this war, and they said she had to take them. She asked one ofthe least wounded of the men to get down and see what was in front ofher, and he disappeared altogether. The dark mass she had seen in theroad was a huge hole made by a shell! After steering into dead horsesand going over awful roads Mrs. Knocker came bumping into the yard, steering so badly that they ran to see what was wrong, and they foundher fainting, and she was carried into the house. At Dunkirk she got agood dinner and a night's rest. 

_Furnes. 5 November. _--The hospital is beginning to fill up again, andthe nurses are depressed because only those cases which are nearlyhopeless are allowed to stay, so it is death on all sides and just ahell of suffering. One man yelled to me to-night to kill him. I wish Imight have done so. The tragedy of war presses with a fearful weightafter being in a hospital, and wherever one is one hears the infernalsound of the guns. On Sunday about forty shells came into Furnes, but Iwas at Dunkirk. This morning about five dropped on to the station. 

[Page Heading: NIEUPORT]

To-day I went out to Nieuport. It is like some town one sees in ahorrible nightmare. Hardly a house is left standing, but that does notdescribe the scene. Nothing can fitly describe it except perhaps such apen as Victor Hugo's. The cathedral at Nieuport has two outer walls leftstanding. The front leans forward helplessly, the aisles are gone. Thetrees round about are burnt up and shot away. In the roadway are greatholes which shells have made. The very cobbles of the street arescattered by them. Not a window remains in the place; all are shatteredand many hang from their frames. The fronts of the houses have fallenout, and one sees glimpses of wretched domestic life: a baby's cradlehangs in mid-air, some tin boxes have fallen through from the box-roomin the attic to the ground floor. Shops are shivered and their contentsstrewn on all sides; the interiors of other houses have been hollowedout by fire. There is a toy-shop with dolls grinning vacantly at theruins or bobbing brightly on elastic strings. 

In a wretched cottage some soldiers are having breakfast at afine-carved table. In one house, surrounded by a very devastation ofwreckage, some cheap ornaments stand intact on a mantelpiece. Fromanother a little ginger-coloured cat strolls out unconcernedly! Thebedsteads hanging midway between floors look twisted and thrawn--nothingstands up straight. Like the wounded, the town has been renderedinefficient by war. 

_6 November. _--Furnes always seems to me a weird tragic place. I cannotthink why this is so, but its influence is to me rather curious. I feelas if all the time I was living in some blood-curdling ghost story or ahorrid dream. Every day I try to overcome the feeling, but I can'tsucceed. This afternoon I made up my mind to return to our villa andwrite my diary. The day was lovely, and I meant to enjoy a rest and ascribble, but so strong was the horrid influence of the place that Icouldn't settle to anything. I can't describe it, but it seemed tostifle me, and I can only compare it to some second sight in which onesees death. I sat as long as I could doing my writing, but I had to givein at last, and I tucked my book under my arm and walked back to thehospital, where at least I was with human beings and not ghosts. 

Our life here is made up of many elements and many people, all ratherincongruous, but the average of human nature is good. A villa belongingto a Dr. Joos was given to our staff. It is a pretty little house, withthree beds in it, and we are eighteen people, so most of us sleep on thefloor. It wouldn't be a bad little place (except for the drains) if onlythere wasn't this horrid influence about it all. I always particularlydislike toddling after people like a little lost dog, but here I findthat unless I am with somebody the ghosts get the better of me. 

The villa is being ruined by us I fear, but I have a woman to clean it, and I am trying to keep it in order. It is a cold little place for wehave no fires. We can, by pumping, get a little very cold water, andthere is a tap in the bath-room and one basin at which everyone tries towash and shave at the same time. We get our meals at a butcher's shop, where there is a large room which we more than fill. The lights of thetown are all out by 6 o'clock, so we grope about, but there is a lamp inour dining-room. When we come out we have to pass through the butcher'sshop, and one may find oneself running into the interior of a sheep. 

We get up about 7 o'clock and fight for the basin. Then we walk round tothe butcher's shop and have breakfast at 7. 30. Most people think theystart off for the day's work at 8, but it is generally quite 10 o'clockbefore all the brown-hooded ambulances with their red crosses have movedout of the yard. We do not as a rule meet again till dinner-time, andeven then many of the party are absent. They come in at all times, verydirty and hungry, and the greeting is always the same, "Did you getmany?"--_i. E. _, "Have you picked up many wounded?"

One night Dr. Munro got bowled over by the actual air force created by ashell, which however did not hit him. Yesterday Mr. Secher was shot inthe leg. I am amazed that not more get hit. They are all very cheeryabout it. 

To-day we heard that a jolly French boy with white teeth, who has beenvery good at making coffee at our picnic lunches, was put up against atree and shot at daybreak. Someone had made him drunk the night before, and he had threatened an officer with a revolver. 

[Page Heading: A DRAMATIC INCIDENT]

_7 November. St. Malo les Bains. _--Lady Bagot turned up here to-day, andI lunched with her at the Hôtel des Arcades. Just before lunch a bombwas dropped from a Taube overhead, and hardly had we sat down to lunchwhen a revolver shot rang through the room. A French officer haddischarged his pistol by mistake, and he lay on the floor in his scarlettrews. The scene was really the Adelphi, and as the man had onlyslightly hurt himself one was able to appreciate the scenic effect andto notice how well staged it was. A waiter ran for me. I ran fordressings to one of our ambulances, and we knelt in the right attitudebeside the hero in his scarlet clothes, while the "lady of the bureau"begged for the bullet!

In the evening Lady Bagot and I worked at the railway-sheds till 3 a. M. One immense shed had 700 wounded in it. The night scene, with itsinevitable accompaniment of low-turned lamps and gloom, was one I shallnot forget. The railway-lines on each side of the covered platform werespread with straw, and on this wounded men, bedded down like cattle, slept. There were rows of them sleeping feet to feet, with straw overthem to make a covering. I didn't hear a grumble, and hardly a groan. Most of them slept heavily. 

Near the door was a row of Senegalese, their black faces and gleamingeyes looking strange above the straw; and further on were some Germans, whom the French authorities would not allow our men to touch; then rowsof men of every colour and blood; Zouaves, with their picturesque dressall grimed and colourless; Turcos, French, and Belgians. Nearly all hadtheir heads and hands bound up in filthy dressings. We went into thedressing-station at the far end of the great shed and dressed woundstill about 3 o'clock, then we passed through the long long lines ofsleeping wounded men again and went home. 

 * * * * *

_To Lady Clémentine Waring. _

_8 November. _MY DEAREST CLEMMIE, I have a big job for you. Will you do it? I know you are the person forit, and you will be prompt and interested. 

The wounded are suffering from hunger as much as from their wounds. Inmost places, such as dressing-stations and railway-stations, nothing isprovided for them at all, and many men are left for two or three dayswithout food. 

I wish I could describe it all to you! These wounded men are picked upafter a fight and taken anywhere--very often to some farmhouse or inn, where a Belgian surgeon claps something on to the wounds or ties on asplint, and then our (Dr. Munro's) ambulances come along and bring themen into the Field Hospital if they are very bad, or if not they aretaken direct to a station and left there. They may, and often do, haveto wait for hours till a train loads up and starts. Even those who arebrought to the Field Hospital have to turn out long before they can walkor sit, and they are carried to the local station and put into coveredhorse-boxes on straw, and have to wait till the train loads up andstarts. You see everything has to be done with a view to suddenevacuation. We are so near to the firing-line that the Germans may sweepon our way at any time, and then every man has to be cleared out somehow(we have a heap of ambulances), and the staff is moved off to some saferplace. We did a bolt of this sort to Poperinghe one day, but after beingthere two days the fighting swayed the other way and we were able tocome back. 

[Page Heading: HUNGER OF THE WOUNDED]

Well, during all these shiftings and waitings the wounded get nothing toeat. I want some travelling-kitchens, and I want you to see about thewhole thing. You may have to come from Scotland, because I have openedthe subject with Mr. Burbidge, of Harrods' Stores. A Harrods' man isover here. He takes back this letter. I particularly want you to seehim. Mr. Burbidge has, or can obtain, old horse-vans which can be fittedup as travelling-kitchens. He is doing one now for Millicent, Duchess ofSutherland; it is to cost £15, which I call very cheap. I wish youcould see it, for I know you could improve upon it. It is fitted, Iunderstand, with a copper for boiling soup, and a chimney. There is alsoa place for fuel, and I should like a strong box that would holdvegetables, dried peas, etc. , whose top would serve as a table. Thenthere must be plenty of hooks and shelves where possible, and I believeBurbidge makes some sort of protection against fire in the way of liningto the van. Harrods' man says that he doesn't know if they have any morevans or not. 

I want someone with push and energy to see the thing right through andget the vans off. The _Invicta_, from the Admiralty Pier, Dover, sailingdaily, brings Red Cross things free. 

[Page Heading: PROPOSED TRAVELLING-KITCHENS]

The vans would have to have the Red Cross painted on them, and in_small_ letters, somewhere inconspicuous, "Miss Macnaughtan'sTravelling-Kitchens. " This is only for identification. I thought wemight begin with _three_, and get them sent out _at once_, and go on asthey are required. I must have a capable person and a helper in chargeof each, so that limits my number. The Germans have beautiful littlekitchens at each station, but I can't be sure what money I can raise, somust go slow. 

I want also two little trollies, just to hold a tin jug and some tincups hung round, with one oil-lamp to keep the jug hot. The weather willbe bitter soon, and only "special" cases have blankets. 

Clemmie, if only we could see this thing through without too much redtape!. .. No permission need be given for the work of these kitchens, aswe are under the Belgian Minister of War and act for Belgium. 

I thought of coming over to London for a day or two, and I can still doso, only I know you will be able to do this thing better than anyone, and will think of things that no one else thinks of. I can get voluntaryworkers, but meat and vegetables are dreadfully dear, so I shan't beable to spend a great deal on the vans. However, any day they may betaken by the Germans, so the only thing that really matters is to getthe wounded _a_ mug of hot soup. 

Last night I was dressing wounds and bandaging at Dunkirk station till 3a. M. The men are brought there in _heaps_, all helpless, all suffering. Sometimes there are fifteen hundred in one day. Last night seven hundredlay on straw in a huge railway-shed, with straw to cover them--beddeddown like cattle, and all in pain. Still, it is better than the trenchesand shrapnel overhead!

At the Field Hospital the wounds are ghastly, and we are losing so manypatients! Mere boys of sixteen come in sometimes mortally wounded, andthere are a good many cases of wounded women. You see, no one is safe;and, oh, my dear, have you ever seen a town that has been thoroughlyshelled? At Furnes we have a good many shells dropping in, but no realbombardment yet. After Antwerp I don't seem to care about thesevisitors. We were under fire there for eighteen hours, and it was a bitof a strain as our hospital was in a line with the Arsenal, which theywere trying to destroy, so we got more than our share of attention. Thenoise was horrible, and the shells came in at the rate of four a minute. There was something quite hellish about it. 

Do you remember that great bit of writing in Job, when Wisdom speaks andsays: "Destruction and Death say, it is not in me"?

The wantonness and sort of rage of it all appalled one. Our womenbehaved splendidly. 

I'll come over to England if you think I had better, but I am sure youare the person I want. .. . If anything should prevent your helping, please wire to me: otherwise I shall know things are going forward. 

Your loving, S. MACNAUGHTAN. 

The vans should be strong as they may have rough usage; also, to takethem to their destination they may have to be hitched on to amotor-ambulance. 

One or two strong trays in each kitchen would be useful. The littletrollies would be for railway-station work. As we go on I hope to haveone kitchen for each dressing-station as well. 

SALLY. 

 * * * * *

_8 November. _--This afternoon I went down to the Hôtel des Arcades, which is the general meeting ground for everyone. The drawing-room wasfull and so was the Place Jean Bart, on which it looks. Suddenly we sawpeople beginning to fly! Soldiers, old men, children in their Sundayclothes, all running to cover. I asked what was up, and heard that aTaube was at that moment flying over our hotel. These are the sort ofpleasant things one hears out here! Then Lady Decies came running in tosay that two bombs had fallen and twenty people were wounded. 

Once more we got bandages and lint and hurried off in a motor-car, butthe civilian doctors were looking after everyone. The bomb by good luckhad fallen in a little garden, and had done the least damage imaginable, but every window in the neighbourhood was smashed. 

[Page Heading: NIGHT WORK AT RAILWAY SHEDS]

At night we went to the railway-sheds and dressed wounds. I made them dothe Germans; but it was too late for one of them--a handsome youngfellow with both his feet deep blue with frost-bite, his leg broken, anda great wound in his thigh. He had not been touched for eight days. Another man had a great hole right through his arm and shoulder. Thedressing was rough and ready. The surgeons clapped a great wad of lintinto the hole and we bound it up. There is no hot water, no sterilising, no cyanide gauze even, but iodine saves many lives, and we have plentyof it. The German boy was dying when we left. His eyes above the strawbegan to look glazed and dim. Death, at least, is merciful. 

We work so late at the railway-sheds that I lie in bed till lunch time. Lady Bagot and I go to the sheds in the evening and stay there till 1a. M. 

_11 November. Boulogne. _--I got a letter from Julia yesterday, tellingme that Alan is wounded and in hospital at Boulogne, and asking me togo and see him. 

I came here this morning and had to run about for a long time before Istarted getting a "laissez-passer" for the road, as spies are being shotalmost at sight now. By good chance I got a motor-car which brought meall the way; trains are uncertain, and filled with troops, and one neverknows when they will arrive. 

[Page Heading: STORIES OF THE BRITISH FRONT]

I found poor old Alan at the Base Hospital, in terrible pain, poor boy, but not dangerously wounded. He has been through an awful time, andnearly all the officers of his regiment have been killed or wounded. Formy part, in spite of his pain, I can thank God that he is out of thefiring-line for a bit. The horror of the war has got right into him, andhe has seen things which few boys of eighteen can have witnessed. Eightdays in the trenches at Ypres under heavy fire day and night is a prettysevere test, and Alan has behaved splendidly. He told me the most awfultales of what he had seen, but I believe it did him good to get thingsoff his chest, so I listened. The thing he found the most ghastly wasthe fact that when a trench has been taken or lost the wounded and dyingand dead are left out in the open. He says that firing never ceases, andit is impossible to reach these men, who die of starvation within sightof their comrades. 

"Sometimes, " Alan said, "we see them raise themselves on an arm for aninstant, and they yell to us to come to them, but we can't. "

His own wound was received when the Germans "got their range to aninch" and began shelling their trenches. A whole company next to Alanwas wiped out, and he started to go back to tell his Colonel the trenchcould not be held. The communication trench by which he went was notquite finished, and he had to get out into the open and race across towhere the unfinished trench began again. Poor child, running for hislife! He was badly hit in the groin, but managed just to tumble into thenext bit of the trench, where he found two men who carried him, pouringwith blood, to his Colonel. He was hastily bound up and carried fourmiles on crossed rifles to the hospital at Ypres, where his wound wasproperly dressed, and after an hour he was put on the train forBoulogne. 

Alan had one story of how he was told to wait at a certain spot with 130men. "So I waited, " he said, "but the fire was awful. " His regiment had, it seems, gone round another way. "I got thirty of the men away, " Alansaid, "the rest were killed. " It means something to be an officer and agentleman. 

Every day the list of casualties grows longer, and I wonder who will beleft. 

_19 November. Furnes. _--Early on Monday, the 16th, I left Boulogne inLady Bagot's car and came to Dunkirk, where I was laid up with a coldfor two or three days. It was singularly uncomfortable, as no one everanswered my bell, etc. ; but I had a bed, which is always such a comfort, and the room was heated, so I got my things dry. Very often I find theonly way to do this or to get dry clothing is to take things to bed withone--it is rather chilly, but better than putting on wet things in themorning. 

The usual number of unexpected people keep coming and going. At BoulogneI met Lady Eileen Elliot, Ian Malcolm, Lord Francis Scott, and variousothers--all very English and clean and well fed. It was quite differentfrom Furnes, to which I returned on Wednesday. Most of us sleep onmattresses on the floor at Furnes, but even these were all occupied, soI hopped about getting in where I could. The cold weather "set in inearnest" as newspapers say, and when it does that in Furnes it seems tobe particularly in earnest. 

 * * * * *

_To Lady Clémentine Waring. _

HÔTEL DES ARCADES, DUNKERQUE, _18 November, 1914. _

DEAREST CLEMMIE, Forgive the delay in writing again. I was too sick about it all atfirst, then I was sent for to go to Boulogne to see my nephew, who isbadly wounded. I can't explain the present situation to you because itwould only be censored, but I hope to write about it later. 

I shall manage the soup-kitchens soon, I hope, but next week will decidethat and many things. The objection to the _pattern_ is that those vanswould overturn going round corners when hitched on behind ambulances. Some wealthy people are giving a regular motor kitchen to run about tovarious "dressing"-stations--this will be most useful, but it doesn't doaway with the need of something to eat during those interminable waitsat the _railway_-stations. 

[Page Heading: CHANGES IN THE SITUATION]

To-morrow I begin my own little soup-kitchen at Furnes. I have a roombut no van, and this is most unsatisfactory, as any day the room (sonear the station) may be commandeered. A van would make me quiteindependent, but I must feel my way. The situation changes very often, as you will of course see, and when one is quite close to the Front onehas to be always changing with it. 

I want helpers and I want vans, but rules are becoming stricter thanever. Even Adeline, Duchess of Bedford, whose good work everyone knows, has waited for a permit for a week at Boulogne, and has now gone home. When all the useful women have been expelled there will follow the usualtale of soldiers' suffering and privations: when women are about theydon't let them suffer. 

The only plan (if you know of any man who wants to come out) is to knowhow to drive a motor-car and then to offer it and his services to theRed Cross Society. I have set my heart on station soup-kitchens becauseI see the men put into horse-boxes on straw straight off the field, andthere they lie without water or light or food while the train jolts onfor hours. I wish I had you here to back me up! We could do anythingtogether. 

As ever, yours gratefully, SALLY. 

The motor kitchens cost £600 fitted, but the maker is giving the one Ispeak of for £300. Everyone has given so much to the war I don't feelsure I could collect this amount. I might try America, but it takes along time. 

CHAPTER III

AT FURNES RAILWAY-STATION

_21 November. _--I am up to my eyes in soup! I have started mysoup-kitchen at the station, and it gives me a lot to do. Bad luck toit, my cold and cough are pretty bad!

It is odd to wake in the morning in a frozen room, with every pane ofglass green and thick with frost, and one does not dare to think of Maryand morning tea! When I can summon enough moral courage to put a footout of bed I jump into my clothes at once; half dressed, I go to alittle tap of cold water to wash, and then, and for ever, I forgiveentirely those sections of society who do not tub. We brush our ownboots here, and put on all the clothes we possess, and then descend to abreakfast of Quaker oat porridge with bread and margarine. I wouldn'thave it different, really, till our men are out of the trenches; but Iam hoping most fervently that I shan't break down, as I am so "full withsoup. "

[Page Heading: WORK IN THE SOUP-KITCHEN]

Our kitchen at the railway-station is a little bit of a passage, whichmeasures eight feet by eight feet. In it are two small stoves. One is alittle round iron thing which burns, and the other is a sort of little"kitchener" which doesn't! With this equipment, and various huge"marmites, " we make coffee and soup for hundreds of men every day. Thefirst convoy gets into the station about 9. 30 a. M. , all the men frozen, the black troops nearly dead with cold. As soon as the train arrives Icarry out one of my boiling "marmites" to the middle of the stoneentrance and ladle out the soup, while a Belgian Sister takes roundcoffee and bread. 

These Belgians (three of them) deserve much of the credit for thesoup-kitchen, if any credit is going about, as they started with coffeebefore I came, and did wonders on nothing. Now that I have bought mypots and pans and stoves we are able to do soup, and much more. TheSisters do the coffee on one side of eight feet by eight, while I and myvegetables and the stove which goes out are on the other. We can't askpeople to help because there is no room in the kitchen; besides, alas!there are so many people who like raising a man's head and giving himsoup, but who do not like cutting up vegetables. 

After the first convoy of wounded has been served, other wounded mencome in from time to time, then about 4 o'clock there is anothertrain-load. At ten p. M. The largest convoy arrives. The men seem toostiff to move, and many are carried in on soldiers' backs. Thestretchers are laid on the floor, those who can "s'asseoir" sit onbenches, and every man produces a "quart" or tin cup. One and all theycome out of the darkness and never look about them, but rouse themselvesto get fed, and stretch out poor grimy hands for bread and steamingdrinks. There is very little light--only one oil-lamp, which hangs fromthe roof, and burns dimly. Under this we place the "marmites, " and allthat I can see is one brown or black or wounded hand stretched out intothe dim ring of light under the lamp, with a little tin mug held out forsoup. Wet and ragged, and covered with sticky mud, the wounded lie inthe salle of the station, and, except under the lamp, it is all quitedark. There are dim forms and frosty breaths, and a door which bangscontinually, and then the train loads up, the wounded depart, and aheavy smell and an empty pot are all that remain. We clean up thekitchen, and go home about 1 a. M. I do the night work alone. 

_24 November. _--We are beginning to get into our stride, and the smallkitchen turns out its gallons and buckets of liquid. Mrs. ---- has beenhelping me with my work. It is good to see anyone so beautiful in thetiny kitchen, and it is quaint to see anyone so absolutely ignorant ofhow a pot is washed or a vegetable peeled. 

I have a little electric lamp, which is a great comfort to me, as I haveto walk home alone at midnight. When I get up in the morning I have toremember all I shall want during the day, as the villa is a mile fromthe station, so I take my lantern out at 9. 30 a. M. !

I saw a Belgian regiment march back to the trenches to-day. They had apoor little band and some foggy instruments, and a bugler flourished atrumpet. I stood by the roadside and cried till I couldn't see. 

 * * * * *

[Page Heading: A LETTER HOME]

_To Miss Mary King. _

FURNES, BELGIUM, _27 November. _

DEAR MARY, You will like to know that I have a soup-kitchen at the station here, and I am up to my neck in soup. I make it all day and a good bit of thenight too, for the wounded are coming in all the time, and they are halffrozen--especially the black troops. People are being so kind about thework I am doing, and they are all saying what a comfort the soup is tothe men. Sometimes I feed several hundreds in a day. 

I am sure everyone will grieve to hear of the death of Lord Roberts, butI think he died just as he would wish to have died--amongst his oldtroops, who loved him, and in the service of the King. He was a finesoldier and a Christian gentleman, and you can't say better of a manthan that. 

I feel as if I had been out here for years, and it seems quite odd tothink that one used to wear evening dress and have a fire in one's room. I am promising myself, if all goes well, to get home aboutChristmas-time. I wish I could think that the war would be over by then, but it doesn't look very like it. 

Remember me to Gwennie, and to all your people. Take care of your oldself. 

Yours truly, S. MACNAUGHTAN. 

 * * * * *

_1 December. _--Mrs. Knocker and Miss Chisholm and Lady Dorothy went outto Pervyse a few days ago to make soup, etc. , for Belgians in thetrenches. They live in the cellar of a house which has been blown insideout by guns, and take out buckets of soup to men on outpost duty. Not aglimpse of fire is allowed on the outposts. Fortunately the weather hasbeen milder lately, but soaking wet. Our three ladies walk about thetrenches at night, and I come home at 1 a. M. From the station. The menof our party meanwhile do some house-work. They sit over the fire a gooddeal, clear away the tea-things, and when we come home at night we findthey have put hot-water bottles in our beds and trimmed some lamps. Ifeel like Alice in Wonderland or some other upside-down world. We livein much discomfort, which is a little unnecessary; but no one seems towant to undertake housekeeping. 

I make soup all day, and there is not much else to write about. Allalong the Yser the Allies and the Germans confront each other, butthings have been quieter lately. The piteous list of casualties is notso long as it has been. A wounded German was brought in to-day. Both hislegs were broken and his feet frost-bitten. He had been for four days inwater with nothing to eat, and his legs unset. He is doing well. 

[Page Heading: PERVYSE]

On Sunday I drove out to Pervyse with a kind friend, Mr. Tapp. At theend of the long avenue by which one approaches the village, Pervysechurch stands, like a sentinel with both eyes shot out. Nothing is leftbut a blind stare. Hardly any of the church remains, and the churchyardis as if some devil had stalked through it, tearing up crosses andkicking down graves. Even the dead are not left undisturbed in thisawful war. The village (like many other villages) is just a mass ofgaping ruins--roofs blown off, streets full of holes, not a window leftunshattered, and the guns still booming. 

 * * * * *

_To Mrs. Charles Percival. _

FURNES, BELGIUM, _5 December. _

DARLING TAB, I have a chance of sending this to England to be posted, so I must sendyou a line to wish you many happy returns of the day. I wish we couldhave our yearly kiss. I will think of you a lot, my dear, on the 8th, and drink your health if I can raise the wherewithal. We are not famousfor our comforts, and it would amaze you to see how very nasty food canbe, and how very little one can get of it. 

I have an interesting job now, and it is my own, which is rather amercy, as I never know which is most common, dirt or muddle. I can havethings as clean as I like, and my soup is getting quite a name foritself. The first convoy of wounded generally comes into the stationabout 11 a. M. It may number anything. Then the men are put into thetrain, and there begins a weary wait for the poor fellows till morewounded arrive and the train is loaded up, and sometimes they are keptthere all day. The stretcher cases are in a long corridor, and thesitting-up cases in ordinary third-class carriages. The sitters areworn, limping men, with bandaged heads, and hands bound up, who are yetcapable of sitting up in a train. 

The transport is well done, I think (_far_ better than in South Africa), but more women are wanted to look after details. To give you oneinstance: all stretchers are made of different sizes, so that if a manarrives on an ambulance, the stretchers belonging to it cannot go intothe train, and the poor wounded man has to be lifted and "transferred, "which causes him (in the case of broken legs or internal injuriesespecially) untold suffering. It also takes up much room, and givesendless trouble for the sake of an _inch and a half_ of space, which isthe usual difference in the size of the stretchers, but that preventsthem slipping into the sockets on the train. 

Another thing I have noticed is, that no man, even lying down in thetrain, ever gets his boots taken off. The men's feet are always soakedthrough, as they have been standing up to their knees in water in thetrenches; but, of course, slippers are unheard of. I do wonder if ladiescould be persuaded to make any sort of list or felt or even flannelslippers? I saw quite a good pattern the other day, and will try to sendyou one, in case Eastbourne should rise to the occasion. Of course, there must be _hundreds_ of pairs, and heaps would get lost. I dobelieve other centres would join, and the cost of material for slipperswould be quite trifling. A priest goes in each corridor train, and thereis always a stove where the boots could be dried. I believe slippers canbe bought for about a shilling a pair. The men's feet are _enormous_. Cases should be marked with a red cross, and sent per S. S. _Invicta_, Admiralty Pier, Dover. 

[Page Heading: THE SHELLING OF LAMPERNESSE]

The fighting has had a sort of lull here for some time, but there arealways horrible things happening. The other day at Lampernesse, 500soldiers were sleeping on straw in a church. A spy informed the Germans, who were twelve miles off, but they got the range to an inch, and sentshells straight into the church, killing and wounding nearly everyone init, and leaving men under the ruins. We had some terrible cases thatday. The church was shelled at 6 a. M. , and by 11 a. M. All the woundedwere having soup and coffee at the station. I thought their faces weremore full of horror than any I had seen. 

The parson belonging to our convoy is a particularly nice young fellow. I have had a bad cold lately, and every night he puts a hot-water bottlein my bed. When he can raise any food he lays a little supper for me, sothat when I come in between 12 and 1 o'clock I can have something toeat, a lump of cheese, plum jam, and perhaps a piece of bully beef, always three pieces of ginger from a paper bag he has of them. Lastnight when I got back I found I couldn't open the door leading into asort of garage through which we have to enter this house. I pushed ashard as I could, and then found I was pushing against horses, and that awhole squad of troop horses had been shoved in there for the night, so Ihad to make my entry under their noses and behind their heels. Pinned tothe table inside the house was a note from the parson, "I can't get youany food, but I have put a bottle of port-wine in your room. Stick toit. "

I had meant to go early to church to-day, but I was really too tired, soI am writing to you instead. Now I must be getting up, for "businessmust be attended to. "

Well, good-bye, my dear. I am always too busy to write now, so would youmind sending this letter on to the family?

Your loving sister, S. MACNAUGHTAN. 

 * * * * *

_December. _--Unexpected people continue to arrive at Furnes. Mme. Curieand her daughter are in charge of the X-ray apparatus at the hospital. Sir Bartle Frere is there as a guest. Miss Vaughan, of the _NursingTimes_, came in out of the dark one evening. To-day the King has beenhere. God bless him! he always does the right thing. 

_6 December. _--My horizon is bounded by soup and the men who drink it. There is a stir outside the kitchen, and someone says, "Convoi. " So thenwe begin to fill pots and take steaming "marmites" off the fire. The"sitting cases" come in first, hobbling, or carried on their comrades'backs--heads and feet bandaged or poor hands maimed. When they have beencarried or have stiffly and slowly marched through the entrance to thetrain, the "brancard" cases are brought in and laid on the floor. Theyare hastily examined, and a doctor goes round reading the labelsattached to them which describe their wounds. An English ambulance anda French one wait to take serious cases to their respective hospitals. The others are lifted on to train-stretchers and carried to the train. 

[Page Heading: A QUESTION OF STRETCHERS]

Two doctors came out from England on inspection duty to-day. They askedif I had anything to report, and I made them come to the station to gointo this matter of the different-sized stretchers. It is agony to themen to be shifted. Dr. Wilson has promised to take up the question. Thetransport service is now much improved. The trains are heated andlighted, and priests travel with the lying-down cases. 

_8 December. _--I have a little "charette" for my soup. It is paintedred, and gives a lot of amusement to the wounded. The trains are verylong, and my small carriage is useful for cups and basins, bread, soup, coffee, etc. Clemmie Waring designed and sent it to me. 

To-day I was giving out my soup on the train and three shells came in inquick succession. One came just over my head and lodged in a haystall onthe other side of the platform. The wall of the store has an enormoushole in it, but the thickly packed hay prevented the shrapnelscattering. The station-master was hit, and his watch saved him, but itwas crumpled up like a rag. Two men were wounded, and one of them died. A whole crowd of refugees came in from Coxide, which is being heavilyshelled. There was not a scrap of food for them, so I made soup in greatquantities, and distributed it to them in a crowded room whoseatmosphere was thick. Ladling out the soup is great fun. 

_12 December. _--The days are very short now, and darkness falls early. All the streets are dark, so are the houses, so is the station. Twocandles are a rare treat, and oil is difficult to get. 

Such a nice boy died to-night. We brought him to the hospital from thestation, and learned that he had lain for eight days wounded anduntended. Strangely enough he was naked, and had only a blanket over himon the stretcher. I do not know why he was still alive. Everything wasdone for him that could be done, but as I passed through one of thewards this evening the nurses were doing their last kindly duty to him. Poor fellow! He was one of those who had "given even their names. " Noone knew who he was. He had a woman's portrait tattooed on his breast. 

_19 December. _--Not much to record this week. The days have become morestereotyped, and their variety consists in the number of wounded whocome in. One day we had 280 extra men to feed--a batch of soldiersreturning hungry to the trenches, and some refugees. So far we havenever refused anyone a cup of soup; or coffee and bread. 

I haven't been fit lately, and get fearful bad headaches. I go to thestation at 10 a. M. Every morning, and work till 1 o'clock. Then to thehospital for lunch. I like the staff there very much. The surgeons arenot only skilful, but they are men of education. We all get on welltogether, in spite of that curious form of temper which war always seemsto bring. No one is affable here, except those who have just come outfrom home, and it is quite common to hear a request made and refused, or granted with, "Please do not ask again. " Newcomers are looked upon asaliens, and there is a queer sort of jealousy about all the work. 

[Page Heading: WAR WORKERS' DIFFICULTIES]

Oddly enough, few persons seem to show at their best at a time when thebest should be apparent. No doubt, it is a form of nerves, which isquite pardonable. Nurses and surgeons do not suffer from it. They areaccustomed to work and to seeing suffering, but amateur workers are abit headlong at times. I think the expectation of excitement (which isoften frustrated) has a good deal to do with it. Those who "come out forthrills" often have a long waiting time, and energies unexpended in onedirection often show themselves unexpectedly and a little unpleasantlyin another. 

In my own department I always let Zeal spend itself unchecked, and Ifind that people who have claimed work or a job ferociously are thefirst to complain of over-work if left to themselves. Afterwards, ifthere is any good in them, they settle down into their stride. They areonly like young horses, pulling too hard at first and sweating off theirstrength--jibbing one moment and shying the next--when it comes to"'ammer, 'ammer, 'ammer on the 'ard 'igh road, " one finds who is goingto stick it and who is not. 

There has been some heavy firing round about Nieuport and south of theYser lately, and an unusual number of wounded have been coming in, manyof them "gravement blessés. "

One evening a young French officer came to the kitchen for soup. It wason Wednesday, December 16th, the day the Allies assumed the offensive, and all night cases were being brought in. He was quite a boy, andutterly shaken by what he had been through. He could only repeat, "Itwas horrible, horrible!" These are the men who tell brave tales whenthey get home, but we see them dirty and worn, when they have left thetrenches only an hour before, and have the horror of battle in theireyes. 

There are scores of "pieds gelés" at present, and I now have bags ofsocks for these. So many men come in with bare feet, and I hope in timeto get carpet slippers and socks for them all. One night no one came tohelp, and I had a great business getting down a long train, so Mrs. Logette has promised to come every evening. The kitchen is much nicernow, as we are in a larger passage, and we have three stoves, lamps, etc. Many things are being "straightened out" besides, my poor littlecorner and war seems better understood. There is hardly a thing which isnot thought of and done for the sick and wounded, and I should say agrievance was impossible. 

I still lodge at the Villa Joos, and am beginning to enjoy a study ofmiddle-class provincial life. The ladies do all the house-work. We havebreakfast (a bite) in the kitchen at 8. 30 a. M. , then I go to make soup, and when I come back after lunch for a rest, "the family" are dressedand sitting round a stove, and this they continue to do till a meal hasto be prepared. There is one lamp and one table, and one stove, andunless papa plays the pianola there is nothing to do but talk. No onereads, and only one woman does a little embroidery, while the smallgirl of the party cuts out scraps from a fashion paper. 

The poor convoy! it is becoming very squabbly and tiresome, and there isa good deal of "talking over, " which is one of the weakest sides of"communal life. " It is petty and ridiculous to quarrel when Death is sonear, and things are so big and often so tragic. Yet human nature hasstrict limitations. Mr. Ramsay MacDonald came out from the committee tosee what all the complaints were about. So there were strangeinterviews, in store-rooms, etc. (no one has a place to call theirown!), and everyone "explained" and "gave evidence" and tried to "putmatters straight. "

It rains every day. This may be a "providence, " as the floods arekeeping the Germans away. The sound of constant rain on the window-panesis a little melancholy. Let us pray that in singleness and cheerfulnessof heart we may do our little bit of work. 

[Page Heading: EXPEDITION TO DUNKIRK]

_23 December. _--Yesterday I motored into Dunkirk, and did a lot ofshopping. By accident our motor-car went back to Furnes without me, andthere was not a bed to be had in Dunkirk! After many vicissitudes I metCaptain Whiting, who gave up his room in his own house to me, and sleptat the club. I was in clover for once, and nearly wept when I found myboots brushed and hot water at my door. It was so like home again. 

I was leaving the station to-day when shelling began again. One shelldropped not far behind the bridge, which I had just crossed, andwrecked a house. Another fell into a boat on the canal and wounded theoccupants badly. I went to tell the Belgian Sisters not to go down tothe station, and I lunched at their house, and then went home till theevening work began. People are always telling one that danger is nowover--a hidden gun has been discovered and captured, and there will beno more shelling. Quel blague! The shelling goes on just the samewhether hidden guns are captured or not. 

I can't say at present when I shall get home, because no one ever knowswhat is going to happen. I don't quite know who would take my place atthe soup-kitchen if I were to leave. 

_25 December. _--My Christmas Day began at midnight, when I walked homethrough the moonlit empty streets of Furnes. At 2 a. M. The guns began toroar, and roared all night. They say the Allies are making an attack. 

I got up early and went to church in the untidy school-room at thehospital, which is called the nurses' sitting-room. Mr. Streatfield hadarranged a little altar, which was quite nice, and had set some chairsin an orderly row. As much as in him lay--from the altar linen to thewhite artificial flowers in the vases--all was as decent as could be andthere were candles and a cross. We were quite a small congregation, butanother service had been held earlier, and the wounded heard Mass intheir ward at 6 a. M. The priests put up an altar there, and I believethe singing was excellent. Inside we prayed for peace, and outside theguns went on firing. Prince Alexander of Teck came to our service--abig soldierly figure in the bare room. 

[Page Heading: CHRISTMAS IN BELGIUM]

After breakfast I went to the soup-kitchen at the station, as usual, then home--_i. E. _, to the hospital to lunch. At 3. 15 came a sort ofevensong with hymns, and then we went to the civil hospital, where therewas a Christmas-tree for all the Belgian refugee children. Anything moretouching I never saw, and to be with them made one blind with tears. Onetiny mite, with her head in bandages, and a little black shawl on, wasintroduced to me as "une blessée, madame. " Another little boy in thehospital is always spoken of gravely as "the civilian. "

Every man, woman, and child got a treat or a present or a good dinner. The wounded had turkey, and all they could eat, and the children gottoys and sweets off the tree. I suppose these children are not muchaccustomed to presents, for their delight was almost too much for them. I have never seen such excitement! Poor mites! without homes or money, and with their relations often lost--yet little boys were gibbering overtheir toys, and little girls clung to big parcels, and squeaked dolls orblew trumpets. The bigger children had rather good voices, and all sangour National Anthem in English. "God save our nobbler King"--the accentwas quaint, but the children sang lustily. 

We had finished, and were waiting for our own Christmas dinner whenshells began to fly. One came whizzing past Mr. Streatfield's store-roomas I stood there with him. The next minute a little child in floods oftears came in, grasping her mother's bag, to say "Maman" had had her armblown off. The child herself was covered with dust and dirt, and in thestreets people were sheltering in doorways, and taking little runs forsafety as soon as a shell had finished bursting. The bombardment lastedabout an hour, and we all waited in the kitchen and listened to it. Atsuch times, when everyone is rather strung up, someone always andcontinually lets things fall. A nun clattered down a pail, and Mauricethe cook seemed to fling saucepan-lids on the floor. 

About 8. 15 the bombardment ceased, and we went in to a cheerydinner--soup, turkey, and plum-pudding, with crackers and speeches. Ibelieve no one would have guessed we had been a bit "on the stretch. "

At 9. 30 I went to the station. It was very melancholy. No one was therebut myself. The fires were out, or smoking badly. Everyone had beenscared to death by the shells, and talked of nothing else, whereasshells should be forgotten directly. I got things in order as soon as Icould and the wounded in the train got their hot soup and coffee asusual, which was a satisfaction. Then I came home alone atmidnight--keeping as near the houses as I could because of possibleshells--and so to bed, very cold, and rather too inclined to think abouthome. 

_26 December. _--Went to the station. Oddly enough, very few wounded werethere, so I came away, and had my first day at home. I got a littleoil-stove put in my room, wrote letters, tidied up, and thoroughlyenjoyed myself. 

A Taube came over and hovered above Furnes, and dropped bombs. I was atthe Villa, and the family of Joos and I stood and watched it, and anasty dangerous moth it looked away up in the sky. Presently it cameover our house, so we went down to the kitchen. A few shots were fired, but the Taube was far too high up to be hit. Max, the Joos' cousin, wentout and "tirait, " to the admiration of the women-kind, and then, ofcourse, "Papa" had to have a try. The two men, with their little gun andtheir talk and gesticulations, lent a queer touch of comic opera to thescene. The garden was so small, the men in their little hats were sosuggestive of the "broken English" scene on the stage, that one couldonly stand and laugh. 

[Page Heading: A BELGIAN DINNER-PARTY]

The Joos family are quite a study, and so kind. On Christmas Eve I dinedwith them, and they gave me the best of all they had. There was apheasant, which someone had given the doctor (I fancy he is a very smallpractitioner amongst the poor people); surely, never did a bird givemore pleasure. I had known of its arrival days before by seeingFernande, the little girl, decorated with feathers from its tail. Thenthe good papa must be decorated also, and these small jokes delightedthe whole family to the point of ecstasy. 

On Christmas Eve Monsieur Max conceived the splendid joke, carefullyarranged, of presenting Madame Joos--who is young and pretty--and thedoctor with two parcels, which on being opened contained the child'sumbrella and a toy gun. There wasn't even a comic address on theparcels; but Yrma, the servant, carefully trained for the part, broughtthem in in fits of delight, and all the family laughed with joy till thetears ran down their cheeks. As they wiped their eyes, they admittedthey were sick with laughter. After supper we had the pianola, played bypapa; and I must say that, when one can get nothing else, thisinstrument gives a great deal of pleasure. One gets a sort of ache formusic which is just as bad as being hungry. 

_27 December. _--Bad, bad weather again. It has rained almostcontinuously for five weeks. Yesterday it snowed. Always the wind blows, and _something_ lashes itself against the panes. One can't leave thewindows open, as the rooms get flooded. It is amazingly cold o' nights, I can't sleep for the cold. 

We have some funny incidents at the station sometimes. A particularlyamusing one occurred the other day, when three ladies in knickerbockersand khaki and badges appeared at our soup-kitchen door and announcedthey were "on duty" there till 6 o'clock. I was not there, but the scenethat followed has been described to me, and has often made me laugh. 

It seems the ladies never got further than the door!Some people might have been firm in the "Too sorry!Come-some-other-day-when-we-are-not-so-busy" sort of way. Not so Miss----. In more primitive times she would probably have gone for thevisitors with a broom, but her tongue is just as rough as the hardestbesom, and from their dress ("skipping over soldiers' faces withbreeches on, indeed!") to their corps there was very little left ofthem. 

[Page Heading: OUR TROUBLE WITH SPIES]

It wasn't really from the dog-in-the-manger spirit that the little womanacted. The fact is that Belgians and French run the station together, and they are all agreed on one thing, which is, that no one but anauthorised and registered person is to come within its doors. Heavenknows the trouble there has been with spies, and this rule is absolutelynecessary. 

Two Red Cross khaki-clad men have been driving everywhere in Furnes, andhave been found to be Germans. Had we permitted itinerant workers, theauthorities gave notice that the kitchen would have to close. 

In the evening, when I went to the station, another knickerbockered ladysat there! I told her our difficulties, but allowed her to do a littlework rather than hurt her feelings. The following day Miss ---- engagedin deadly conflict with the lady who had sent our unwelcome visitors. Over the scene we will draw a veil, but we never saw the knickerbockeredladies again!

_31 December, 1914. _--The last day of this bad old year. I feel quitethankful for the summer I had at the Grange. It has been something tolook back upon all the time I have been here; the pergolas of pinkroses, the sleepy fields, the dear people who used to come and stay withme, and all the fun and pleasure of it, help one a good deal now. 

Yesterday was a fine day in the middle of weeks of rain. When I camedown to breakfast in the Joos' little kitchen I remarked, of course, onthe beauty of the weather. "What a day for Taubes!" said Monsieur Max, looking up at the clear blue sky. Before I had left home there was ashell in a street close by, and one heard that already these horriblebirds of prey had been at work, and had thrown two bombs, whichdestroyed two houses in the Rue des Trèfles. The pigeons that circleround the old buildings in Furnes always seem to see the Taubes first, as if they knew by sight their hateful brothers. They flutter disturbedfrom roof and turret, and then, with a flash of white wings, they flyfar away. I often wish I had wings when I see them. 

I went to the station, and then to the hospital for slippers for somewounded men. Five aeroplanes were overhead--Allies' and German--andthere was a good deal of firing. I was struck by the fact that the nightbefore I had seen _exactly_ this scene in a dream. Second sight alwaysgives me much to think about. The inevitableness of things seems muchaccentuated by it. In my dream I stood by the other people in the yardlooking at the war in the air, and watching the circling aeroplanes andthe bursts of smoke. 

At the station there was a nasty feeling that something was going tohappen. The Taubes wheeled about and hovered in the blue. I went to thehospital for lunch, and afterwards I asked Mr. Bevan to come to thestation to look at some wounded whose dressings had not been touched fortoo long. He said he would come in half an hour, so I said I wouldn'twait, as he knew exactly where to find the men, and I came back to theVilla for my rest. As I walked home I heard that the station had beenshelled, and I met one of the Belgian Sisters and told her not to go onduty till after dark, but I had no idea till evening came of what hadhappened. Ten shells burst in or round the station. Men, women, andchildren were killed. They tell me that limbs were flying, and a Frenchchauffeur, who came on here, picked up a man's leg in the street. Mr. Bevan sent up word to say none of us was to go to the station for thepresent. 

At Dunkirk seven Taubes flew overhead and dropped bombs, killingtwenty-eight people. At Pervyse shells are coming in every day. I can'thelp wondering when we shall clear out of this. If the bridges aredestroyed it will be difficult to get away. The weather has turned verywet again this evening. We have only had two or three fine days in asmany months. The wind howls day and night, and the place is so wellknown for it that "vent de Furnes" is a byword. No doubt the floodsprotect us, so one mustn't grumble at a sore throat. 

[Page Heading: SHELLS AT FURNES]

_1 January. _--The station was shelled again to-day. Three houses weredestroyed, and there was one person killed and a good many more werewounded. A rumour got about that the Germans had promised 500 shells inFurnes on New Year's Day. 

In the evening I went down to the station, and I was evidently notexpected. Not a thing was ready for the wounded. The man in charge hadlet all three fires out, and he and about seven soldiers (mostly drunk)were making merry in the kitchen. None of them would budge, and I wasglad I had young Mr. Findlay with me, as he was in uniform, and helpedto get things straight. But these French seem to have very littlediscipline, and even when the military doctors came in the men didnothing but argue with them. It was amazing to hear them. One night asoldier, who is always drunk, was lying on a brancard in the doctor'sown room, and no one seemed to mind. 

_3 January, Sunday. _--I have had my usual rest and hot bath. I find Inever want a holiday if I may have my Sundays. I spent a lazy afternoonin Miss Scott's room, she being ill, then went to Mr. Streatfield'sservice, dinner, and the station. A new officer was on duty there, andwas introduced to the kitchen. He said, "Les anglais, of course. No oneelse ever does anything for anybody. "

I believe this is very nearly the case. God knows, we are full offaults, but the superiority of the British race to any other that I knowis a matter of deep conviction with me, and it is founded, I think, onwide experience. 

_6 January. _--I went to Adinkerke two days ago to establish asoup-kitchen there, as they say that Furnes station is too dangerous. Wehave been given a nice little waiting-room and a stove. We heard to-daythat the station-master at Furnes has been signalling to the enemy, sothat is why we have been shelled so punctually. His daughter is engagedto a German. Two of our hospital people noticed that before eachbombardment a blue light appeared to flash on the sky. They reportedthe matter, with the result that the signals were discovered. 

[Page Heading: THE SHELLING GETS WORSE]

There has been a lot of shelling again to-day, and several houses aredestroyed. A child of two years is in our hospital with one leg blownoff and the other broken. One only hears people spoken of as, "the manwith the abdominal trouble, " or "the one shot through the lungs. "

Children know the different aeroplanes by sight, and one little girl, when I ask her for news, gives me a list of the "obus" that havearrived, and which have "s'éclaté, " and which have not. One can see thatshe despises those which "ne s'éclatent pas. " One says "Bon soir, pasdes obus, " as in English one says, "Good-night, sleep well. "

_10 January. _--Prince Alexander of Teck dined at the hospital lastnight, and we had a great spread. Madame Sindici did wonders, and therewere hired plates and finger-bowls, and food galore! We felt realswells. An old General--the head of the Army Medical Corps--gave me themost grateful thanks for serving the soldiers. It was gracefully anddelightfully done. 

I am going home for a week's holiday. 

_14 January. _--I went home _via_ Calais. Mr. Bevan and Mr. Morgan tookme there. It was a fine day and I felt happy for once, that is, for onceout here. 

Some people enjoy this war. I think it is far the worst time, exceptone, I ever spent. Perhaps I have seen more suffering than most people. A doctor sees a hospital, and a nurse sees a ward of sick and wounded, but I see them by the hundred passing before me in an endless train allday. I can make none of them really better. I feed them, and they passon. 

One reviews one's life a little as one departs. Always I shall rememberFurnes as a place of wet streets and long dark evenings, with galesblowing, and as a place where I have been always alone. I have not onceall this time exchanged a thought with anyone. I have lived in a verydamp attic, and talked French to some kind middle-class people, and Ihave walked a mile for every meal I have had. So I shall always think ofFurnes as a wet, dark place, and of myself with a lantern trudging aboutits mean streets. 

CHAPTER IV

WORKING UNDER DIFFICULTIES

I have not written my diary for some weeks. I went home to England andstayed at Rayleigh House. On my way home I met Mr. F. Ware, who told mesubmarines were about. As I had but just left a much-shelled town, Ithink he might have held his peace. The usual warm welcome at RayleighHouse, with Mary there to meet me, and Emily Strutt. 

I wasn't very tired when I first arrived, but fatigue came out on melike a rash afterwards. I got more tired every day, and ended by havinga sort of breakdown. This rather spoilt my holiday, but it was very niceseeing people again. It was difficult, I found, to accommodate myself tosmall things, and one was amazed to find people still driving serenelyin closed broughams. It was like going back to live on earth again afterbeing in rather a horrible other world. I went to my own house andenjoyed the very smell of the place. My little library and an hour ortwo spent there made my happiest time. Different people asked me tothings, but I wasn't up to going out, and the weather was amazinglybad. 

I was to have gone back to work on the Thursday week after I arrivedhome, but I got a telegram from Madame Sindici saying Furnes was beingshelled, and the hospital, etc. , was to be evacuated. Dr. Perrin, whowas to have taken me back, had to start immediately without me. It wasdifficult to get news, and hearing nothing I went over on Saturday, January 23rd, as I had left Mrs. Clitheroe in charge of my soup-kitchen, and thought I had better do the burning deck act and get back to it. 

Mr. Bevan and Mr. Morgan met me at Calais, and told me to wait atDunkirk, as everyone was quitting Furnes. One of our poor nurses waskilled, and the Joos' little house was much damaged. I stopped at Mrs. Clitheroe's flat, very glad to be ill in peace after my seedy conditionin London and a bad crossing. Rested quietly all Sunday in the flat bymyself. It is an empty, bare little place, with neither carpets norcurtains, but there is something home-like about it, the result, Ithink, of having an open fire in one room. 

On Monday, the 25th, I went back to work at Adinkerke station, to whichplace our soup-kitchen has been moved. I got a warm welcome from theBelgian Sisters. It is very difficult doing the station work fromDunkirk, as it is 16 kilometres from Adinkerke; but the place itself isnice, and I just have to trust to lifts. I fill my pockets withcigarettes and go to the "sortie de la ville, " and just wait forsomething to pass--and some queer, bumpy rides I get. Still, thesoldiers who drive me are delightful, and the cigarettes are alwaystaken as good pay. 

One day I went and spent the night at Hoogstadt, where the hospital nowis, and that I much enjoyed. Dr. Perrin gave up his little room to me, and the nurses and staff were all so full of welcome and pleasantspeeches. 

On Monday, February 8th, I went out to La Panne to start living in thehotel there; but I was really dreadfully seedy, and suffered so muchthat I had to return to the flat at Dunkirk again to be nursed. My dayat La Panne was therefore very sad, as I nearly perished with cold, andfelt so ill. Not a soul came near me, and I wished I could be a Belgianrefugee, when I might have had a little attention from somebody. 

On Tuesday, February 9th, a Belgian officer came into Adinkerke station, claimed our kitchen as a bureau, and turned us out on to the platform. Iam trying to get General Millis to interfere; but, indeed, the rudenessof this man's act makes one furious. 

[Page Heading: ILLNESS AT DUNKIRK]

_14 February. _--I have been laid up for some days at the flat atDunkirk. It is amazing to realise that this place should be one'spresent idea of comfort. It has no carpets, no curtains, not a blindthat will pull up or down, and rather dirty floors, yet it is so muchmore comfortable than anything I have had yet that I am too thankful tobe here. There is a gas-ring in the kitchen, on which it is possible tocook our food, and there are shops where things can be got. 

Mr. Strickland and I are both laid up here, and Miss Logan nurses usdevotedly. Our joy is having a sitting-room with a fire in it. Wasthere ever anything half so good as that fire, or half so homely, halfso warm or so much one's own? I lie on three chairs in front of it, andheadache and cold and throat are almost forgotten. The wind howls, thesea roars, and aeroplanes fly overhead, but at least we have our fireand are at home. 

_17 February. _--Another cold, wet day. I am alone in the flat with a"femme de ménage" to look after me. A doctor comes to see me sometimes. Miss Logan and Mr. Strickland left this morning. There was a tempest ofrain, and I couldn't think of being moved. They were sweet and kind, andfelt bad about leaving me; but I am just loving being left alone withsome books and my fire. 

I have been lying in bed correcting proofs. Oh, the joy of being atone's own work again! Just to see print is a pleasure. I believe I haveforgotten all I ever knew before the war began. A magazine article comesto me like a language I have almost forgotten. 

_18 February. _--This is the day that German "piracy" is supposed tobegin. We heard a great explosion early this morning, but it was only amine that had been found on the shore being blown up. The sailors'aeroplane corps is opposite us, and we see Commander Samson and othersflying off in the morning and whirling back at night, and then we hearthere has been a raid somewhere. When a Taube comes over here thesailors fire at it with a gun just opposite us, and then tell us theyonly do it to give us flower-vases--_i. E. _, empty shell-cases!

[Page Heading: SOME STORIES OF THE WAR]

Mr. Holland came here to-day, and told me some humorous sides of hisexperiences with ambulances. One man from the Church Army marched in, and said: "I am a Christian and you are not. I come here for petrol, andI ask it, not for the Red Cross, but in the name of Christ. " Another mancame dashing in, and said: "I want to go to Poperinghe. I was once therebefore, and the mud was beastly. Send someone with me. "

My own latest experience was with an American woman of awful vulgarity. I asked her if she was busy, like everyone else in this place, and shesaid:

"No. I was suffering from a nervous breakdown, so I came out here. Whatis your _war_ is my _peace_, and I now sleep like a baby. "

I want adjectives! How is one to describe the people who come forone brief visit to the station or hospital with an intenseconviction that they and they only feel the suffering or even noticethe wants of the men. Some are good workers. Others I call"This-poor-fellow-has-had-none. " Nurses may have been up all night, doctors may be worked off their feet, seven hundred men may have passedthrough the station, all wounded and all fed, but when our visitorsarrive they discover that "This poor fellow has had none, " and firmly, and with a high sense of duty and of their own efficiency, they make thething known. 

No one else has heard a man shouting for water; no one else knows that aman wants soup. The man may have appendicitis, or colitis, orpancreatitis, or he may have been shot through the lungs or the abdomen. It doesn't matter. The casual visitor knows he has been neglected, andshe says so, and quite indiscriminately she fills everyone up withsoup. Only she is tender-hearted. Only she could never really behardened by being a nurse. She seizes a little cup, stoops over a mangracefully, and raises his head. Then she wants things passed to her, and someone must help her, and someone must listen to what she has tosay. She feeds one man in half an hour, and goes away horrified at theway things are done. Fortunately these people never stay for long. 

Then there is another. She can't understand why our ships should beblown up or why trenches should be taken. In her own mind she provesherself of good sound intelligence and a member of the Empire who won'tbe bamboozled, when she says firmly and with heat, "Why don't we _do_something?" She would like to scold a few Generals and Admirals, and shesays she believes the Germans are much cleverer than ourselves. Thislast taunt she hopes will make people "_do_ something. " It stings, shethinks. 

I could write a good deal about this "solitary winter, " but I have nothad time either to write or to read. I think something inside me hasstood still or died during this war. 

_21 February, Sunday. _--The Munro corps has swooped down in its usualhurry to distribute letters, and to say that someone is waiting downbelow and they can't stop. They eat a hasty sardine, drink a cup ofcoffee, and are off!

To-day I have made this flat tidy at last, and have had it cleaned andscrubbed. I have thrown away old papers and empty boxes, and can sitdown and sniff contentedly. No convoy-ite sees the difference!

[Page Heading: THE COMMUNAL LIFE]

I think I have learnt every phase of muddle and makeshift this winter, but chiefly have I learnt the value of the Biblical recommendation toput candles on candlesticks. In the "convoi Munro" I find them inbottles, on the lids of mustard-tins, in metal cups, or in the necks ofbedroom carafes. Never is the wax removed. Where it drips there itremains. Where matches fall there they lie. The stumps of cigarettesgrace even the insides of flower-pots, knives are wiped on bread, and overcoats of enormous weight (khaki in colour, with a red crosson the arm) are hung on inefficient loose nails, and fall down. Towels are always scarce; but then, they serve as dinner-napkins, pocket-handkerchiefs, and even as pillow-cases, so no wonder we are alittle short of them. There is no necessity for muddle. There never isany necessity for it. 

The communal life is a mistake. I wonder if Christ got bored with it. 

On Sundays I always want to rest, and something always makes me write. The attack comes on quite early. It is irresistible. At last I am alittle happy after these dreary months, and it is only because I canthink a little, and because the days are not quite so dark. I think thenights have been longer here than I ever knew them. No doubt it is thebad weather and the small amount of light indoors that make the daysseem so short. 

I am going back to-morrow to the station, with its train-loads ofwounded men. I _want_ to go, and to give them soup and comforts andcigarettes, but just ten days' illness and idleness have "balmed mysoul. "

_22 February. _--Waited all day for a car to come and fetch me away. Itwas dull work as I could never leave the flat, and all my things werepacked up, and there was no coal. 

_23 February. _--Waited again all day. I got very tired of standing bythe window looking out on a strip of beach at the bottom of the street, and on the people passing to and fro. Then I went down to the dock totry and get a car there, but the new police regulations made itimpossible to cross the bridge. I went to the airmen opposite. No luck. 

There is a peculiar brutality which seems to possess everyone out hereduring the war. I find it nearly everywhere, and it entails a good dealof unnecessary suffering. Always I am reminded of birds on a small ledgepushing each other into the sea. The big bird that pushes another oneover goes to sleep comfortably. 

I remember one evening at Dunkirk when we couldn't get rooms or foodbecause the landlady of the hotel had lost all her servants. The staffat the ---- gave me a meal, but there was a queer want of courtesy aboutit. I said that anything would do for my supper, and I went to help getit myself. I spied a roll of cold veal on a shelf, and said helpfullythat that would do splendidly, but the answer was: "Yes, but I believethat is for our next meal. " However, in the end I got a scrap, consisting mostly of green stuffing. 

"But when thou art bidden, go and sit down in the lowest room"--ah, mydear Lord, in this world one may certainly take the lowest place, andkeep it. It is only the great men who say, "Friend, come up higher. "

"You can't have it, " is on everyone's lips, and a general sense ofbustle goes with the brutality. "You can't come here, " "We won't haveher, " are quite common phrases. God help us, how nasty we all are!

I find one can score pretty heavily nowadays by being a "psychologist. "All the most disagreeable people I know are psychologists, notably ----, who breaks his promises and throws all his friends to the wolves, butwho can still explain everything in his sapient way by saying he is apsychologist. 

One thing I hope--that no one will ever call me "highly strung. " I wishgood old-fashioned bad temper was still the word for highly strung andnervy people. 

. .. I am longing for beautiful things, music, flowers, fine thoughts. .. . 

[Page Heading: LA PANNE]

_La Panne. 25 February. _--At last I have succeeded in getting away fromDunkirk! The Duchess of Sutherland brought me here in her car. Lastnight I dined with Mrs. Clitheroe. She was less bustled than usual, andI enjoyed a chat with her as we walked home through the cold white mistwhich enshrouded La Panne. 

This long war has settled down to a long wait. Little goes on exceptdesultory shelling, with its occasional quite useless victims. At thestation we have mostly "malades" and "éclopés"; in the trenches thesoldiers stand in the bitter cold, and occasionally are moved out byshells falling by chance amongst them. The men who are capable of bigthings wait and do nothing. 

If it was not for the wounded how would one stand the life here? A manlooks up patiently, dumbly, out of brown eyes, and one is able to go onagain. 

_La Panne. 27 February_. --I have been staying for three nights at theKursaal Hotel, but my room was wanted and I had to turn out, so I packedmy things and came down to the Villa les Chrysanthèmes, and shared Mrs. Clitheroe's room for a night. In the morning all our party packed up andleft to go to Furnes, and I took on these rooms. I may be turned out anyminute for "le militaire, " but meanwhile I am very comfortable. 

The heroic element (a real thing among us) takes queer forms sometimes. "No sheets, of course, " is what one hears on every side, and to eat ameal standing and with dirty hands is to "play the game. " Maxine Elliottsaid, "The nervous exhaustion attendant upon discomfort hinders work, "and she "does herself" very well, as also do all the men of the regularforces. But volunteer corps--especially women--are heroically bent onbeing uncomfortable. In a way they like it, and they eat strange mealsin large quantities, and feel that this is war. 

Lord Leigh took me into Dunkirk in his car to-day, and I managed to getlots of vegetables for the soup-kitchen, and several other things Iwanted. A lift is everything at this time, when one can "command"nothing. If one might for once feel that by paying a fare, however high, one could ensure having something--a railway journey, a motor-car, oreven a bed! My work isn't so heavy at the kitchen now, and the hours arenot so long, so I hope to do some work of a literary nature. 

 * * * * *

[Page Heading: LA PANNE]

_To Miss Macnaughtan's Sisters. _

VILLA LES CHRYSANTHÈMESLA PANNE, BELGIUM, _Sunday, 28 February. _

MY DEAR FAMILY, It is so long since I wrote a decently long letter that I think I mustwrite to you all, to thank you for yours, and to give you what newsthere is of myself. 

Of war news there is none. The long war is now a long wait, and the hugeexpense still goes on, while we lock horns with our foes and just swaybackwards and forwards a little, and this, as you know, we have done forweeks past. Every day at the station there is a little stream of menwith heads or limbs bandaged, and our work goes on as before, althoughit is not on quite the same lines now. I used to make every drop of thesoup myself, and give it out all down the train. Now we have areceiving-room for the wounded, where they stay all day, and we feedthem four times, and then they are sent away. The whole thing is moremilitary than it used to be, the result, I think, of officers not havingmuch to do, and with a passion for writing out rules and regulationswith a nice broad pen. Two orderlies help in the kitchen, the soup is"inspected, " and what used to be "la cuisine de la dame écossaise" isnot so much a charitable institution as it was. 

One sees a good deal of that sort of thing during this war. Women havebeen seeing what is wanted, and have done the work themselves at reallyenormous difficulty, and in the face of opposition, and when it is agoing concern it is taken over and, in many cases, the women are turnedout. This was the case at Dunkirk station, which was known everywhere as"the shambles. " I myself tried to get the wounded attended to, and Iwent there with a naval doctor, who told me that he couldn't uncover asingle wound because of the awful atmosphere (it was quite common to see15, 000 men lying on straw). One woman took this matter in hand, purgedthe place, got mattresses, clean straw, stoves, etc. , and when all wasin order the voice of authority turned her out. 

This long waiting is being much more trying for people than actualfighting. In every corps the old heroic outlook is a little bit foggedby petty things. One sees the result of it in some wrangling andjealousy, but this will soon be forgotten when fighting with all itsrealities begins again. 

I think Britain on the subject of "piracy" is about as fine as anythingin her history. Her determination to ignore ultimatums and threats isreally quite funny, and English people still put out in boats as theyhave always done, and are quite undismayed. Our own people here continueto travel by sea, as if submarines were rather a joke, and when goingover to England on some small and useless little job they sayapologetically, "Of course, I wouldn't go if I hadn't got to. " The factis, if there is any danger about they have to be in it. 

Some of our own corps have gone back to Furnes--I believe because it isbeing shelled. The rest of us are at La Panne, a cold seaside placeamongst the dunes. In summer-time I fancy it is fashionable, but now itcontains nothing but soldiers. They are quartered everywhere, and onenever knows how long one will be able to keep a room. The station is atAdinkerke, where I have my kitchen. It is about two miles from La Panne, and it also is crammed with soldiers. There seems to be no attempt atsanitation anywhere. 

I wish I had more interesting news to tell you, but I am at my stationall day, and if there is anything to hear (which I doubt) I do not hearit. 

There is a barge on the canal at Adinkerke which is our only excitement. It is the property of Maxine Elliott, Lady Drogheda, and Miss Close, andto go to tea with them is everyone's ambition. The barge is crammed withthings for Belgian refugees, and Maxine told me that the cargorepresents "nearer £10, 000 than £5, 000. " It is piled with flour insacks, clothing, medical comforts, etc. The work is good. 

I am sending home some long pins like nails. They are called "SilentDeath, " and are dropped from German aeroplanes. Boys pick them up andgive them to us in exchange for cigarettes. 

[Page Heading: MRS. PERCIVAL'S SLIPPERS]

I want to tell Tabby how immensely pleased everyone is with herslippers. The men who have stood long in the trenches are in agonies offrost-bite and rheumatism, and now that I can give them these slipperswhen they arrive at the station, they are able to take off their wetboots caked with mud. 

If J. Would send me another little packet of groceries I should love it. Just what can come by post. That Benger's Food of hers nearly saved mylife when I was ill at Dunkirk. What I should like better than anythingis a few good magazines and books. I get _Punch_ and the _Spectator_, but I want the _English Review_ and the _National_, and perhaps a_Hibbert_. I enclose ten shillings for these. What is being read?Stephen Coleridge seems to have brought out an interesting collection, but I can't remember its name. I wonder if any notice will be taken of"They who Question. " The reviews speak well of the Canadian book. 

Love to you all, and tell Alan how much I think of him. Bless you, mydears. Write often. 

Yours as ever, SARAH. 

 * * * * *

_1 March. _--Woe betide the person who owns anything out here: he isinstantly deprived of it. "Pinching" is proverbial, and people havetaken to carrying as many of their possessions as possible on theirperson, with the result that they are the strangest shapes and sizes. Still, one hopes the goods are valuable until one discovers that theygenerally consist of the following items: a watch that doesn't go, afountain-pen that is never filled, an electric torch that won't light, amuch-used hanky, an empty iodine bottle, and a scarf. 

_5 March. _--I went as usual to-day to the muddy station and distributedsoup, which I no longer make now that the station has becomemilitarised. My hours are from 12 noon to 5 o'clock. This includes themen's dinner-hour and the washing of the kitchen. They eat and smokewhen I am there, and loll on the little bench. They are Belgians and Iam English, and one is always being warned that the English can't be toocareful! We are entertaining 40, 000 Belgians in England, but it must bedone "carefully. "

[Page Heading: THIEVING AND GIVING]

It is a great bore out here that everything is stolen. One can hardlylay a thing down for an instant that it isn't taken. To-day my Thermosflask in a leather case, in which I carry my lunch, was prigged from thekitchen. Things like metal cups are stolen by the score, and everyonebegs! Even well-to-do people are always asking for something, and theysimply whine for tobacco. The fact is, I think, the English are givingthings away with their usual generosity and want of discrimination, and--it is a horrid word--they are already pauperising a nice lot ofpeople. I can't help thinking that the thing is being run on wronglines. We should have given or lent what was necessary to the BelgianGovernment, and let them undertake to provide for soldiers and refugeesthrough the proper channels. No lasting good ever came of gifts--everychild begs for cigarettes, and they begin smoking at five years old. 

I often think of our poor at home, and wish I had a few sacks full ofthings for them! I have not myself come across any instances of povertynearly as bad as I have seen in England. I understand from Dr. Joos andother Belgians who know about these things that there is still a gooddeal of money tucked away in this country. I hope there is, and we allwant to help the Belgians over a bad time, but it would be better andmore dignified for them to get it through their own Government. 

I had tea with Lady Bagot the other day, and afterwards I had a chatwith Prince Francis at the English Mission. Another afternoon I wentdown to the Kursaal Hotel for tea. The stuffy sitting-room there isalways filled with knickerbockered, leather-coated ladies and withofficers in dark blue uniform, who talk loudly and pat the barmaid'scheeks. She seems to expect it; it is almost etiquette. A cup of badtea, some German trophies examined and discussed, and then I came awaywith a "British" longing for skirts for my ladies, and for somethinggraceful and (odious word) dainty about them. Yesterday evening LadyBagot dined with me. This Villa is the only comfortable place I havebeen in since the war began: it makes an amazing difference to myhealth. 

It is odd to have to admit that one has hardly ever been unhappy for along time before this war. The year my brother died, the year one wentthrough a tragedy, the year of deadly dullness in the country--but nowit isn't so much a personal matter. War and the sound of guns, and thesense of destruction and death abroad, the solitude of it, and thedisappointing people! Oh, and the poor wounded--the poor, smelly, dirtywounded, whom one sees all day, and for whom one just sticks this out. 

I have only twice been for a drive out here, and I have not seen asingle place of interest, nor, indeed, a single interesting personconnected with the war. That, I suppose, is the result of being a"cuisinière!" It is rather strange to me, because for a very long time Ialways seem to have had the best of things. To-day I hear of thisGeneral or that Secretary, or this great personage or that importantfunctionary, but the only people whom I see are three little Sisters andtwo Belgian cooks. 

To give up work seems to me a little like divorcing a husband. There isa feeling of failure about it, and the sense that one is giving up whatone has undertaken to do. So, however dull or tiresome husband or workmay be, one mustn't give them up. 

[Page Heading: THE POWER OF THE BIBLE]

_6 March. _--To-day I have been thinking, as I have often thought, thatthe real power of the Bible is that it is a Universal Human Document. The world is based upon sentiment--_i. E. _, the personality of man andhis feelings brought to bear upon facts. It is also the world's dynamicforce. Now, the books of the Bible--especially, perhaps, the magical, beautiful Psalms--are the most tender and sentimental (the word has beenmisused, of course) that were ever written. They express the thoughtsand feelings of generations of men who always did express their thoughtsand feelings, and thought no shame of it. And so we northern people, with our passionate inarticulateness, love to find ourselves expressedin the old pages. 

I find in the Gospels one of the few complaints of Christ. "Have I beenso long time with you and yet hast thou not known me, Philip?" All onehas ever felt is said for one in a phrase, all that one finds mostisolating in the world is put into one sentence. There is a wan feelingof wonder in it; "so long, " and yet you think that of me! "so long, " andyet such absolute inability to read my character! "so long, " and yetstill quite unaware of my message! The humour of it (to us) lies in thelittle side of it! The dear people who "thought you would like this ordislike that"--the kind givers of presents even--the little people whoshop for one! The friends who invite one to their queer, soulless, thinentertainments, with their garish lights; the people who choose a bookfor one, who counsel one, even with importunity, to go to some playwhich they are "sure we shall like. " "So long"--they are old friends, and yet they thought we should like that play or that book! "Solong"--and yet they think one capable of certain acts or feelings whichdo not remotely seem to belong to one! "So long"--and yet they can'teven touch one chord that responds!

We are always quite alone. The communal life is the loneliest of all, because "yet thou hast not known me. " The world comes next inloneliness, but it is _big_, and with a big soul of its own. The familylife is almost naïve in its misunderstanding--no one listens, they justwait for pauses. .. . 

. .. The worship of the "sane mind" has been a little overdone, I think. The men who are prone to say of everyone that they "exaggerate alittle, " or "are morbid, " are like weights in a scale--just, but oh, how heavy!. .. 

. .. This war is fine, _fine_, FINE! I know it, and yet I don't get nearthe fineness except in the pages of _Punch_! I see streams of men whoselanguage (Flemish) I don't speak, holding up protecting hands to keeppeople from jostling a poor wounded limb, and I watch them sleepingheavily, or eating oranges and smoking cigarettes down to the last hotstump, but I don't hear of the heroic stands which I know are made, orcatch the volition of it all. Perhaps only in a voluntary army is such athing possible. Our own boys make one's heart beat, but these poor, dumb, sodden little men, coming in caked with mud--to be patched up andsent into a hole in the ground again, are simply tragic. 

[Page Heading: "THE WOMAN'S TOUCH"]

_7 March. _--"The woman's touch. " When a woman has been down on her kneesscrubbing for a week, and washing for another week, a man, returning andfinding his house in order, and vaguely conscious of a newer and freshersmell about it, talks quite tenderly of "a woman's touch. ". .. 

. .. There are some people who never care to enter a door unless it has"passage interdite" upon it. .. . 

. .. The guns are booming heavily this morning. Nothing seems tocorrespond. Are men really falling and dying in agonies quite close tous? I believe we ought to see less or more--be nearer the front orfurther from it. Or is it that nothing really changes us? Only warpictures and war letters remain as a fixed blazing standard. Thesoldiers in the trenches are quite as keen about sugar in their coffeeas we are about tea. No wonder men have decided that one day we must putoff flesh. It is far too obstrusive. .. . 

. .. To comfort myself I try to remember that Wellington took his oldnurse with him on all his campaigns because she was the only person whowashed his stocks properly. .. . 

. .. Surely the expense of the thing will one day put a stop to war. Weare spending two million sterling per day, the French certainly as much, the Germans probably more, and Austria and Russia much more, in order tokeep men most uncomfortably in unroofed graves, and to send highexplosives into the air, most of which don't hit anything. Surely, iffighting was (as it is) impossible in this flooded country in winter, wemight have called a truce and gone home for three months, and trainedand drilled like Christians on Salisbury Plain!. .. 

. .. Health--_i. E. _, bad health--obtrudes itself tiresomely. I am illagain, and, fortunately, few people notice it, so I am able to keep on. A festered hand makes me awkward; and as I wind a bandage round it andtie it with my teeth, I once more wish I was a Belgian refugee, as I amsure I would be interesting, and would get things done for me!

A sick Belgian artist, M. Rotsartz{3}, is doing a drawing of me. I go toLady Bagot's hospital, where he is laid up, and sit to him in theintervals of soup. That little wooden hospital is the best place I haveknown so far. Lady Bagot is never bustled or fussy, nor even "busy, " andher staff are excellent men, with the "Mark of the Lamb" on them. 

I gave away a lot of things to-day to a regiment going into thetrenches. The soldiers were delighted with them. 

_11 March. _--There was a lot of firing near La Panne to-day, and aBritish warship was repeatedly shelled by the Germans from Nieuport. Iwent into Dunkirk with Mr. Clegg, and got the usual hasty shopping done. No one can ever wait a minute. If one has time to buy a newspaper one islucky. The difficulty of communicating with anyone is great--notelephone--no letters--no motor-car. I am stranded. 

[Page Heading: FRENCH MARINES]

I generally go in the train to Adinkerke with the French Marines, nicelittle fellows, with labels attached to them stating their "case"--notknowing where they are going or anything else--just human lives batteredabout and carted off. I don't even know where they get the little bit ofmoney which they always seem able to spend on loud-smelling oranges andcigarettes. The place is littered with orange-skins--to-day I saw a longpiece lying in the form of an "S" amid the mud; and, like a story of acentury old, I thought of ourselves as children throwing orange-skinsround our heads and on to the floor to read the initial of our futurehusband, and I seemed to hear mother say, "'S' for Sammy--Sammy C----, "a boy with thick legs whom we secretly despised!

I have found a whole new household of "éclopés" at Adinkerke, who wantcigarettes, socks, and shoes all the time. They are a pitiful lot, withearache, toothache, and all the minor complaints which I myself find sotrying, and they lie about on straw till they are able to go back to thetrenches again. 

The pollard willows between here and Adinkerke are all being cut down tobuild trenches. They were big with buds and the promise of spring. 

_14 March. _--I went to the station yesterday, as usual. Suddenly Icouldn't stand it any more. Everyone was cleaning. I was getting sweptup with straw and mopped up with dirty cloths. The kitchen work wasdone. I ate my lunch in a filthy little out-building and then I fled. Ihad to get into the open air, and I hopped on to an ambulance and droveto Dunkirk. I had a good deal to do there getting vegetables, cigarettes, etc. , and we got back late to the station, where I heard theQueen had paid a visit. Rather bad luck on almost the only day I havebeen away. 

I am waiting anxiously to hear if the report of the new British advanceyesterday is true. When fighting really begins we are going to be in fora big thing; one dreads it for the sake of the boys we are going tolose. I want things to start now just to get them over, but I ratherenvy the people who died before this unspeakable war began. 

 * * * * *

_To Mrs. Keays-Young. _

CARE OF FIELD POST OFFICE, DUNKIRK, _17 March. _

MY DEAREST BABY, [Page Heading: CAPTAIN L. M. B. SALMON]

I have (of course) been getting letters and parcels very badly lately. Iam sending this home by hand, which is not allowed except on Red Crossbusiness, but this is to ask how Lionel is, so I think I may send it. Mypoor Bet! What anxiety for her! This spring weather is making me long tobe at home, and when people tell me the crocuses are up in thepark!--well, you know London and the park belong to me! Are the catkinsout? We can get flowers at Dunkirk, but not here. 

Not a word of war news, because that wouldn't be fair. A shilling wireabout Lionel would satisfy me--just "Better, and Bet well, " or somethingof that sort. 

Always, my dear, Your loving, S. MACNAUGHTAN. 

P. S. --Your two letters and Bet's have just come. To be in touch with youagain is _very_ pleasant. I can't tell you what it was like to sit downto a pretty, clean breakfast to-day with my letters beside me. Someonebrought them here early. 

I heard to-day that I am going to be decorated by the King of theBelgians, but don't spread this broadcast, as anything might happen inwar. 

 * * * * *

_20 March. _--I met an Englishman belonging to an armoured car in Dunkirka couple of days ago. He told me that the last four days' fighting at LaBassée has cost the British 13, 000 casualties. Three lines of holes inthe ground, and fighting only just beginning again! Bet's fiancé hasbeen shot through the head, but is still alive. My God, the horror of itall! And England is still cheerful, I hear, and is going to holdrace-meetings as usual. 

At the station to-day I saw a mad man, who fought and struggled. Ithought madmen raved. This one fought silently, like a man one sees in adream. Another soldier shook all over like an old man. Many were blind. 

"On the whole, " someone said to me in England, "I suppose you are havinga good time. "

There is a snowstorm to-day, and it is bitterly cold. It is very odd howmany small "complaints" seem to attack one. I can't remember the day outhere when I felt well all over. 

Last night some Belgians came in to dinner. It was like old times tryingto get things nice. I had some flowers and a tablecloth. I believe inmaking a contrast with the discomfort I see out here. We forced open apiano, and had some perfect music. 

_21 March. _--The weather is brighter to-day; the sound of firing is moredistant; it is possible to think of other things besides the war. 

Mrs. ---- came to the station this morning. I think she has the mostuntidy mind I have ever met with. 

With all our faults, I often wish that there were more Macnaughtans inthe world. Their simple and plain intelligence gives one something towork upon. Mrs. ---- came and told me to-day that last night "theylaughed till they cried" over her attempt at making a pudding. I shouldhave cried, only, over a woman of fifty who wasn't able to make apudding. She and ---- are twin nebulæ who think themselvesconstellations. 

 * * * * *

_To Miss Mary King. _

CARE OF FIELD POST OFFICE, DUNKIRK, _22 March. _

DEAR MARY, My plans, like those of everybody else, are undecided because of thewar. If it is going to stop in May I should like to stay till the end, but if it is likely to go on for a long time, I shall come home. I don'tthink hot soup (which is my business) can be wanted much longer, as thewarm weather will be coming. 

I have been asked to take over full charge of a hospital here. It is agreat compliment, but I have almost decided to refuse. I have otherduties, and I have some important writing to do, as I am busy with abook on the war. I begin work as early as ever, and then go to mykitchen. 

[Page Heading: LONGING FOR HOME]

When I do come home I want to be in my own house, and I am longing to beback. Many of my friends go backwards and forwards to England all thetime, but when I return, I should like to stay. 

I am in wonderfully comfortable rooms at present, and the landlady ismost kind and attentive. She gives me a morning cup of tea, and the careand comfort are making me much better. I get some soup before I go offto my station, and last night I was really a fine lady. When I came intired, the landlady, who is a Belgian, took off my boots for me!

When I come home I think I'll lie in bed all day, and poor old Marywill get quite thin again nursing me. The things you will have to do forme, and all the pretty things I shall see and have, are a great pleasureto think about!

Yours truly, S. MACNAUGHTAN. 

CHAPTER V

THE SPRING OFFENSIVE

_Villa les Chrysanthèmes, La Panne. _--I have been to London for a fewdays to see about the publication of my little war book. I got frightfulneuralgia there, and find that as soon as I begin to rest I get ill. 

I went to a daffodil show, and found myself in the very hall where themilitary bazaar was held last year. I saw the place where the Welch hadtheir stall. What fun we had! How many of the regiment are left? Onlyone officer not killed or wounded. Lord Roberts, who opened the bazaar, is gone too. All the soldiers whom I knew best have been taken, and onlya few tough women seem to weather the storm of life. 

I had to see publishers in London, and do a lot of business, and justwhen I was beginning to love it all again my holiday was over. There hadbeen heavy fighting out here, and I felt I must come back. My dearpeople didn't want me to return, and were very severe on the subject, and Mary scolded me most of the time. It was all affection on theirpart, although it made "duty" rather a criminal affair!

There was endless difficulty about my passport when I returned. TheFrench Consulate was besieged by people, and I had to go there at 8. 30a. M. And wait till the doors were opened, and was then told I must firstgo to the Foreign Office to get an order from Colonel Walker. I wentdown to Whitehall from Bedford Square, and was told I must get a letterfrom Mr. Coventry. I went to Pall Mall and Mr. Coventry said it wasquite impossible to do anything for me without instructions from Mr. Sawyer. Mr. Sawyer said the only thing he could do (if I could establishmy identity) was to send me to a matron who would make every enquiryabout me, and perhaps in three days I might get an Anglo-Frenchcertificate, through which Mr. Coventry might be induced to give me aletter to give to Colonel Walker, who might then sign the passport, which I could then take to Bedford Square to be visé{4}. 

I got Sir John Furley to identify me, and then began a dogged going fromplace to place and from official to official till at last I got thething through. I felt just like a Russian being "broken. " There is aregular system, I believe, in Russia of wearing people out by this sortof official tyranny. I do not know anything more tiring or morediscouraging! I had all my papers in order--my passport{5}, my "laissezpasser, " a letter from Mr. Bevan, explaining who I was and asking for"every facility" for me, and my photograph, properly stamped. I am nowso loaded with papers that I feel as if I were carrying a library aboutwith me. Oh, give me intelligent women to do things for me! The best-runthings I have seen since the war began have been our women's unit atAntwerp and Lady Bagot's hospital at Adinkerke. 

[Page Heading: QUARRELLING]

I came back refreshed. I think everyone (every woman) out here hasnoticed how indifferent and really "nasty" people are to each other atthe front. It is one of the singular things about the war, because onealways hears it said that it is deepening people's characters, purifyingthem, and so on. As far as my experience goes, it has shown me thereverse. I have seldom known so much quarrelling, and there is a sort ofqueer unhappiness which has nothing to do with the actual war or loss offriends. I can't be mistaken about it, because I see it on all sides. 

At the ---- hospital men and women alike are quarrelling all the time. Resignations are frequent. So-and-so has got So-and-so turned out;someone has written to the committee in London to report on someoneelse; a nice doctor is dismissed. Every nurse has given notice atdifferent times. Most people are hurt and sore about something. Loveseems quite at a discount, and one can't help wondering if Hate can beinfectious! It is all frightfully disappointing, for surely one's heartbeat high when one made up one's mind to do what one could for sufferingBelgium and for the sake of the English name. 

Those two poor girls at ----! I know they meant well, and had high ideasof what they were going to do. Now they "use langwidge" to each other(although I know a very strong affection binds them), and very, verystrong that language is. 

Poor souls, the people here aren't a bit happy. I wonder if the work issufficiently "sanctified. " One never knows. Lady Bagot's is the happiestand most serene place here; her men are Church Army people, and theyhave evening prayers in the ward. It _does_ make a difference. 

Scandals also exist out here, but they are merely silly, I think, andvery unnecessary, though a little conventionality wouldn't hurt anyone. Sometimes I think it would be better if we were all at home, forBelgians are particular, and I hate breeches and gaiters for girls, anda silly way of going on. I do wish people could sometimes leave sex athome, but they never seem to. I wonder if Crusaders came back withscandals attached to their names!

I got back here in one of those rushes of work that come in war timewhen fighting is near. At first no car could be spared to meet me atBoulogne, so I had to wait at the Hôtel Maurice for two or three days. Ididn't mind much as I met such a lot of English friends, and alsovisited some interesting hospitals; but I knew by the thousands ofwounded coming in that things must be busy at the front, and this madeone champ one's bit. 

The Canadians and English who poured in from Ypres were terriblydamaged, and the asphyxiating gas seems to have been simply diabolical. It was awful to see human beings so mangled, and I never get one bitaccustomed to it. The streets were full of British soldiers, and thehospitals swarmed with wounded. I went to visit the Casino one. Thebright sun streamed through lowered blinds on hundreds of beds, and onstretchers lying between them. Many Canadians were there, and rows ofBritish. God! how they were knocked about! The vast rooms echoed to thecries of pain. The men were vowing they could never face shells and handgrenades any more. They were so newly wounded, poor boys; but they comeup smiling when their country calls again. 

But it _isn't right_. This damage to human life is horrible. It ismadness to slaughter these thousands of young men. Almost at last, in arage, one feels inclined to cry out against the sheer imbecility of it. Why bring lives into the world and shell them out of it with jaggedpieces of iron, and knives thrust through their quivering flesh? Thepain of it is all too much. I am _sick_ with seeing suffering. 

[Page Heading: DUNKIRK SHELLED]

On Thursday, April 29th, Mr. Cooper, and another man came for us, and weleft Boulogne. At Dunkirk we could hardly credit our eyes--the place hadbeen shelled that very afternoon! I never saw such a look ofbewilderment and horror as there was on all faces. No one had everdreamed that the place could be hit by a German gun, yet here werehouses falling as if by magic, and no one knew for a moment where onearth or in heaven the shells were coming from. Some people said theycame from the sea, but the houses I saw hadn't been hit from the sea, which lies north, but from the east. Others talked of an armoured train, but armoured trains don't carry 15-inch shells. So all anyone could dowas to _gape_ with sheer astonishment. 

Dunkirk, that safest of places, the haven to which we were all to flywhen Furnes or La Panne were bombarded! Everybody contradicted one, ofcourse, when one declared that no naval gun had been at work, but thefact remains that a long-range field-piece had been hidden at Leke, andDunkirk was shelled for three days, and, as far as I know, may beshelled again. The inhabitants have all fled. The shops are not evenshut; one could help oneself to anything! The "état major" has left, andso have all the officials; 23, 000 tickets have been taken at the railwaystation, and the road to Calais is{6} blocked with fleeing refugees. 

It was rather odd that the day I left here and passed through Furnes itwas being shelled, and we had to wait a little while before we could getthrough; and when I arrived at Dunkirk the bombardment was just over, and a huge shell-hole prevented us passing down a certain road. 

Well, I got back to my work at Adinkerke in the midst of the fighting, and reached it just as the sun was setting. What a scene at the station, where I stopped before reaching home to leave the chairs and things Ihad bought for the hospital there! They were bringing in civilianswounded at Ypres and Poperinghe, which place also has been shelled (andyet we say we are advancing!), and there were natives also fromNieuport. 

[Page Heading: WOUNDED WOMEN AND CHILDREN]

One whole ambulance was filled with wounded children. I think King Herodhimself might have been sorry for them. Wee things in splints, or withtheir curly heads bandaged; tiny mites, looking with wonder at theirhands swathed in linen; babies with their tender flesh torn, and olderchildren crying with terror. There were two tiny things seated oppositeeach other on a big stretcher playing with dolls, and a littleChristmas-card sort of baby in a red hood had had its mother and fatherkilled beside it. Another little mite belonged to no one at all. Whocould tell whether its parents had been killed or not? I am afraid manyof them will never find their relations again. In the general scrimmageeveryone gets lost. If this isn't frightfulness enough, God in heavenhelp us!

On the platform was a row of women lying on stretchers. They weredecent-looking brown-haired matrons for the most part, and it lookedunnatural and ghastly to see them lying there. One big railwaycompartment was slung with their stretchers, and some young men inuniform nursed the babies. I shall never forget that railway compartmentas long as I live. A man in khaki appeared, thoughtful, as our peoplealways are, and brought a box of groceries with him, and sweet biscuitsfor the children, and other things. Thank Heaven for the English!

At the hospital it was really awful, and the doctors were working inshifts of twenty-four hours at a time. 

I left my tables, chairs, trays, etc. , for the hospital at the station, and returned early the next day, for numbers of wounded were stillcoming in. I wanted slippers for everyone, but my Belgian helpers hadgiven a hundred pairs of mine away in my absence. They were overworked alittle, I think, so I overlooked the fact that they lost their tempersrather badly. Besides, I will _not_ quarrel. In a small kitchen itwould be too ridiculous. The three little people fight among themselves, but I don't fancy I was made for that sort of thing. 

There was nothing but work for some time. My "éclopés" had been entirelyneglected, and no one had even bothered to buy vegetables for the men. 

On Sunday, May 2nd, I went to see Dr. De Page's hospital. I saw a babythree weeks old with both his feet wounded. His mother came in one massof wounds, and died on the operating table--a young mother, and a prettyone. A young man with tears in his eyes looked at the baby, and thensaid, "A jolly good shot at fifteen miles. "

They can't help making jokes. 

There were two Scots lying in a little room--both gunners, who had beenhit at Nieuport. One, Ochterlony from Arbroath, had an eye shot away, and some other wounds; the other, McDonald, had seven bad injuries. Ochterlony talked a good deal about his eyes, till McDonald rolled hishead round on the pillow, and remarked briefly, "I'd swop my stomach foryour eyes. "

Sunday wasn't such a nasty day as I usually have--in fact, Sunday neveris. But that station, with its glaring hot platform, its hotter kitchen, and its smells, takes a bit of sticking. I have discovered one thingabout Belgium. Everything smells exactly alike. To-day there have beenpresented to my nose four different things purporting to have differentodours, drains, some cheese, tobacco, and a bunch of lilac. There was nodifference at all in the smells!

[Page Heading: WAR WEARINESS]

I am much struck by the feeling of sheer weariness and disgust at thewar which prevails at present. People are "soul sick" of it. A man toldme last night that he longed to be wounded so that he might go homehonourably. Amongst all the volunteer corps I notice the same thing. "Fed up" is the expression they all use, fed up with the suffering theysee, fed up even with red crosses and khaki. 

When one thinks of primrose woods at home, and birds singing, andapple-blossom against blue sky, and the park with its flower-beds newlyplanted, and the fresh-watered streets, and women in pretty dresses--butone mustn't!

_6 May. _--Mrs. Guest arrived here to stay yesterday, and her chauffeur, Mr. Wood, dined here. It is nice to be no longer quite alone. Last nightwe were talking about how horrible war is. Mrs. Guest told me of a sightshe had herself seen. Some men, horribly wounded, were being sent awayby rail in a covered waggon ("fourgon"). One man had only his mouth leftin his face. He was raving mad, and raged up and down the van, tramplingon other men's wounded and broken limbs. 

Certainly war is a pretty game, and we must go on singing "Tipperary, "and saying what fun it is. A young friend of mine at home gave me apamphlet (price 2d. ) written by a spinster friend of hers who had neverleft England, proving what a good thing this war was for us all. When Isaid I saw another aspect of it, the kind, soothing suggestion was thatI must be a little over-tired. 

_7 May. _--They say La Panne is to be bombarded to-day. The Queen hasleft. Some people fussed a good deal, but if one bothered one's poorhead about every rumour of this sort (mostly "dropped from a Germanaeroplane") where would one be?

I was much touched when some people at home clubbed together and sent meout a little car a short time ago. But, alas! it had not been chosenwith judgment, and is no use. It has been rather a bother to me, and nowit must go back. Mr. Carlile drove it up from Dunkirk, and it broke downsix times, and then had to be left in a ditch while he got another carto tow it home. Since then it has lain at the station. 

I can't get anyone to come and inspect it. The extraordinary habit whichprevails here of saying "No" to every request makes things difficult, for no privileges can be bought. Sometimes, when I hear people ask forthe salt, I fancy the answer will be, "Certainly not. " Two of our ownchauffeurs live quite close to the station: they say they are busy, andcan't look at my car. One smiles, and says: "When you _have_ time Ishall be _so_ grateful, etc. " Inwardly one is feeling that if one could_roar_ just for once it would be a relief. 

Sometimes at home I have felt a little embarrassed by the love peoplehave shown me--as if I have somehow deceived them into thinking I wasnicer than I really am. Out here I have to try to remember that I have afew friends! In London I couldn't understand it when people praised meor said kind things. 

There is only one straight tip for Belgium--have a car, and understandit yourself. Never did I feel so helpless without one. But the roads aretoo bad and too crowded to begin to learn to drive, and there aredifficulties about a garage. 

[Page Heading: MY CAR]

This evening Mr. Wood and I went to Hoogstadt, and towed that_corpse_--my car--up to La Panne for ---- to inspect. The whole Belgianarmy seemed to gather round us as we proceeded on our toilsome journey, with breaking tow-ropes (for the "corpse" is heavy) and defectivesteering-gear. _They_ were amused. I was just cracking with fatigue. Needless to say, ---- didn't come. As the car was a present I can't sendit back without the authority of a chauffeur. If I keep it any longerthey will say I used it and broke it. .. . 

There were some fearful bad cases at Hoogstadt to-day, and we weretouched to see an old man sitting beside his unconscious son and keepingthe flies off him, while he sobbed in great gusts. One Belgian officertold us that the hardest thing he had to do in the war was to give theorder to fire on a German regiment which was advancing with Belgianwomen and children in front of it. He gave the order, and saw thesehelpless creatures shot down before his eyes. 

At the Yser the other night two German regiments got across the riverand found themselves surrounded. One regiment surrendered, and the menof the other coolly turned their guns on it and shot their comradesdown. 

Some of our corps were evacuating women and children the other day. Oneman, seeing his wife and daughter stretched out on the ground, wentmad, and ran up and down the field screaming. We see a lot of madness. 

_8 May. _--The guns sound rather near this morning, and the windowsshake. One never knows what is happening till the wounded come in. I satwith my watch in my hand and counted the sound of bursting shells. Therewere 32 in one minute. The firing is continuous, and very loud, andliving men are under this fire at this moment, "mown down, " "wiped out, "as the horrible terms go. I loathe even the sound of a bugle now. Thiscarnage is too horrible. If people can't "realise" let them come nearthe guns. 

They were shelling Furnes again when I was at Steenkerke the other day, and it was a strange sound to hear the shells whizzing over the peacefulfields. One heard them coming, and they passed overhead to fall on theold town. Under them the brown cattle fed unheeding, and old women hoedundisturbed, and the sinking sun threw long shadows on the grass. Andthen a busy ambulance would fly past on the road; one caught a glimpseof blood-covered forms. "Yes, a few wounded, and two or three killed. "

Old women are the most courageous creatures on this earth. When everyoneelse has fled from a place you can see them sitting by their cottagedoors or hoeing turnips in the line of fire. 

It was touching to see a little family of terrified children shelteringwith their mother in a roadside Calvary when the shells were comingover. The poor young mother was holding up her baby to Christ on Hiscross. 

[Page Heading: THE CRUCIFIX UNDAMAGED]

There is a matter which seems almost more than a coincidence, and onewhich has been too often remarked to be ignored, and that is, that inthe midst of ruins which are almost totally destroyed the figure ofChrist in some niche often remains untouched. I have seen it myself, andmany writers have commented on the fact. Sometimes it is only a crucifixon some humble wall, or it may be a shrine in a church. The solitaryfigure remains and stands--often with arms raised to bless. At NeuveChapelle one learns that, although the havoc is like that wrought by anearthquake, and the very dead have been uprooted there, a crucifixstands at the cross-roads at the north end of the village, and thepitiful Christ still stretches out His hands. At His feet lie the deadbodies of young soldiers. At Nieuport I noticed a shrine over a doorwayin the church standing peacefully among the ruins, and at Pervyse alsoone remained, until the tower reeled and fell with an explosion frombeneath, which was deliberately ordered to prevent accidents fromfalling masonry. 

I had to go to Dunkirk this afternoon and while I was there I heard thatthe _Lusitania_ had been torpedoed and sunk with 1, 600 souls on boardher. What change will this make in the situation? Is America any use tous except in the matter of supplies, and are we not getting thesethrough as it is? A nation like that ought to have an army or a navy. 

Dunkirk was nearly deserted owing to the bombardment, and it wasdifficult to find a shop open to buy vegetables for my soup-kitchen. Still, I enjoyed my afternoon. There was a chance that shelling mightbegin again at any time, and a bitter wind blew up clouds of pricklydust and sand; but it was a great relief to be out in the open and awayfrom smells, and to have one's view no longer bounded by a line ofrails. God help us! What a year this has been! It tires me even to thinkof being happy again, cheerfulness has become such an effort. 

_10 May. _--I went to see my Scottish gunner at the hospital to-day. Hesaid, "I can't forget that night, " and burst out crying. "That night" hehad been wounded in seven places, and then had to crawl to a "dug-out"by himself for shelter. 

Strong healthy men lie inert in these hospitals. Many of them have faceand head wounds. I saw one splendid young fellow, with a beautiful face, and straight clear eyes of a sort of forget-me-not blue. He won't beable to speak again, as his jaw is shot away. The man next him was beingfed through the nose. 

The matron told me to-day that last night a man came in from Nieuportwith the base of a shell ("the bit they make into ash trays, " she said)embedded in him. His clothing had been carried in with it. He died, ofcourse. 

One of our friends has been helping with stretcher work, removingcivilians. He was carrying away a girl shot to pieces, and with herclothing in rags. He took her head, and a young Belgian took her feet, and the Belgian looked round and said quietly, "This is my fiancée. "

[Page Heading: THE "LUSITANIA"]

_11 May. _--To-day being madame's washing day--we ring the changes onthe "nettoyage, " "le grand nettoyage, " and "le lavage"--everything waslate. The newspaper came in, and was full of such words as "horror, ""resentment, " "indignation, " about the _Lusitania_, but that won't giveus back our ship or our men. I wish we could do more and say less, butthe Press must talk, and always does so "with its mouth. " M. Rotsartzcame to breakfast. The guns had been going all night long, there was asense of something in the air, and I fretted against platitudes inFrench and madame's washing. At last I got away, and went to the seafront, for the sound of bursting shells had become tremendous. 

It was a sort of British morning, with a fresh British breeze blowingour own blessed waves, and there, in its grey grandeur, stood off aBritish man-of-war, blazing away at the coast. The Germans answered byshells, which fell a bit wide, and must have startled the fishes (but noone else) by the splash they made. There were long, swift torpedo-boats, with two great white wings of cloven foam at their bows, and a greatflourish of it in their wake, moving along under a canopy of their ownblack smoke. It was the smoke of good British coal, from pits wheregrimy workmen dwell in the black country, and British sweat has to getit out of the ground. Our grey lady was burning plenty of it, and whenshe had done her work, she put up a banner of smoke, and steamed awaywith a splendid air of dignity across the white-flecked sea. One knewthe men on board her! Probably not a heart beat quicker by a second forall the German shells, probably dinner was served as usual, and men gottheir tubs and had their clothes brushed when it was all over. 

I went down to my kitchen a little late, but I had seen something thatDrake never saw--a bit of modern sea-fighting. And in the evening, whenI returned, my grey mistress had come back again. The sun was westeringnow, and the sea had turned to gold, and the grey lady looked blackagainst the glare, but the fire of her guns was brighter than theevening sunset, and she was a spit-fire, after all, this dignifiedqueen, and she, "let 'em have it, " too, while the long, leantorpedo-boats looked on. 

I went to the kitchen; I gave out jam, I distributed socks, I heard thefussy importance of minor officials, but I had something to work onsince I had seen the grey lady at work. 

In the evening I dined quietly on the barge with Miss Close and MaxineElliott. We had a game of bridge--a thing I had not seen for a year andmore (the last time I played was down in Surrey at the Grange!), and thelittle gathering on the old timbered barge was pleasant. 

Some terrible stories of the war are coming through from the front. Anofficer told us that when they take a trench, the only thing whichdescribes what the place is like is strawberry jam. Another said that inone trench the sides were falling, and the Germans used corpses to makea wall, and kept them in with piles fixed into the ground. Hundreds ofmen remain unburied. 

[Page Heading: GERMAN PRISONERS]

Some people say that the German gunners are chained to their guns. Therewere six Germans at the station to-day, two wounded and four prisoners. Individually I always like them, and it is useless to say I don't. Theyare all polite and grateful, and I thought to-day, when the prisonerswere surrounded by a gaping crowd, that they bore themselves very well. After all, one can't expect a whole nation of mad dogs. A Scotchmansaid, "The ones opposite us (_i. E. _, in the trenches) were a veryrespectable lot of men. "

The German prisoners' letters contain news that battalions of Britishsuffragettes have arrived at the front, and they warn officers not to becaptured by these!

_12 May. _--To-day, when I got to the station, I was asked to remove anold couple who sat there hand in hand, covered with blood. The old womanhad her arm blown off, and the man's hand was badly injured. We tookthem to de Page's hospital. 

The firing has been continuous for the last few days, and men coming infrom Ypres and Dixmude and Nieuport say that the losses on both sideshave been enormous. There were four Belgian officers who lived oppositemy villa, whom one used to see going in and out. Last night all werekilled. 

At Dixmude the other day the Duke of Westminster went to the Frenchbureau to get his passport visé. The clerks were just leaving, but hebegged them to remain a minute or two and to do his little business. They did so, and came to the door to see him off, but a shell camehurtling in and killed them both, and of a woman who stood near therewas literally nothing left. 

Last night ---- and I were talking about the _gossip_, which would fillten unpublishable volumes out here. .. . Why do these people come out tothe front? Give me men for war, and no one else except nuns. Things maybe all right, but the Belgians are horrified, and I hate them to "saythings" of the English. The grim part of it is that I don't believe Ipersonally hear one half of what goes on and what is being said. Theyare afraid of shocking me, I believe. 

The craze for men baffles me. I see women, _dead tired_, perk up andbegin to be sparkling as soon as a man appears; and when they are alonethey just seem to sink back into apathy and fatigue. Why won't these madcreatures stop at home? They _are_ the exception, but war seems to bringthem out. It really is intolerable, and I hate it for women's sake, andfor England's. 

The other day I heard some ladies having a rather forced discussion onmoral questions, loud and frank. .. . Shades of my modest ancestresses! Isthis war time, and in a room filled with men and smoke and drink, arewomen in knickerbockers discussing such things? I know I have got to"let out tucks, " but surely not quite so far!

Beautiful women and fast women should be chained up. Let men meet theirGod with their conscience clear. Most of them will be killed before thewar is over. Surely the least we can do is not to offer them temptation. Death and destruction, and horror and wonderful heroism, seem so nearand so transcendent, and then, quite close at hand, one finds evildoings. 

[Page Heading: A TREASURE]

_14 May. _--I heard two little stories to-day, one of a British soldierlimping painfully through Poperinghe with a horrid wound in his arm andthigh. 

"You seem badly wounded, " a friend of mine said to him. 

"Yus, " said the soldier; "there were a German, and he wounded me inthree places, but"--he drew from under his arm a treasure, and his poordirty face was transformed by a delighted grin--"I got his bloodyhelmet. "

Another story was of an English officer telephoning from a church-tower. He gave all his directions clearly and distinctly, and never even hintedthat the Germans had taken the town and were approaching the church. Hejust went on talking, till at last, as the tramp of footsteps sounded onthe belfry stairs, he said, "Don't take any notice of any furtherinformation. I am going. " He went--all the brave ones seem to go--andthose were the last words he spoke. 

Rhodes Moorhouse flew low over the German lines the other day, in orderto bombard the German station at Courtrai. He planed down to 300 feet, and became the target for a hundred guns. In the murderous fire he waswounded, and might have descended, but he was determined not to let theGermans have his machine. He planed down to 100 feet in order to gatherspeed. At this elevation he was hit again, and mortally wounded, but heflew on alone to the British lines--like a shot bird heading for its ownnest. He didn't even stop at the first aerodrome he came to, but sailedon--always alone--to his base, made a good landing, handed over hismachine, and died. 

In the hospitals what heroism one finds! One splendid fellow of 6 feet 2inches had both his legs and both his arms amputated. He turned round tothe doctor and said, smiling, "I shan't have to complain of beds beingtoo short now!" And when someone came and sat with him in his deadlypain, he remarked in his gentle way, "I am afraid I am taking up allyour time. " His old father and mother arrived after he was dead. 

Ah! if one could hear more, surely one would do more! But thishole-and-corner way of doing warfare damps all enthusiasm and stiflesrecruiting. Why are we allowed to know nothing until the news is stale?Yesterday I heard at first hand of the treatment of some civilians byGermans, and I visited a village to hear from the _people themselves_what had happened. 

My work isn't so heavy now, and, much as I want to be here when the"forward movement" comes, I believe I ought to use the small amount ofkick I have left in me to go to give lectures on the war to men inammunition works at home. They all seem to be slacking and drinking, andI believe one might rouse them if one went oneself, and told stories ofheroism, and tales of the front. The British authorities out here seemto think I ought to go home and give lectures at various centres, and Ihave heard from Vickers-Maxim's people that they want me to come. 

I think I'll arrive in London about the 1st of June, as there is a gooddeal to arrange, and I have to see heads of departments. One has toforget all about _parties_ in politics, and get help from Lloyd Georgehimself. I only hope the lectures may be of some use. 

 * * * * *

[Page Heading: TO MRS. FFOLLIOTT]

_To Mrs. Ffolliott. _

VILLA LES CHRYSANTHÈMES, LA PANNE, BELGIUM, _16 May. _

DARLING OLD POOT, One line, to wish you with all my heart a happy birthday. I shan'tforget you on the 22nd. Will you buy yourself some little thing with theenclosed cheque?

This war becomes a terrible strain. I don't know what we shall do whenfour nephews, a brother-in-law, and a nephew to be are in the field. 

I get quite sick with the loss of life that is going on; the whole landseems under the shadow of death. I shall always think it an idiotic wayof settling disputes to plug pieces of iron and steel into innocent boysand men. But the bravery is simply wonderful. I could tell you storieswhich are almost unbelievable of British courage and fortitude. 

I am coming home soon to give some lectures, and then I hope to come outhere again. 

Bless you, dear Poot, Your lovingSARAH. 

 * * * * *

_17 May. _--I saw a most curious thing to-day. A soldier in the PavilionSt. Vincent showed me five 5-franc pieces which he had had in hispocket when he was shot. A piece of shrapnel had bent the whole fiveuntil they were welded together. The shrapnel fitted into the silverexactly, and actually it was silvered by the scrape it had made againstthe coin. I should like to have had it, but the man valued his souvenir, so one didn't like to offer him money for it. 

A young Canadian found a comrade of his nailed to a door, and stonedead, of course. When did he die?

A Belgian doctor told Mrs. Wynne that in looking through a Germanofficer's knapsack he found a quantity of children's hands--a prettysouvenir! I write these things down because they must be known, and if Igo home to lecture to munition-workers I suppose I must tell them ofthese barbarities. 

Meanwhile, the German prisoners in England are getting country housesplaced at their service, electric light, baths, etc. , and they say girlsare allowed to come and play lawn tennis with them. The ships where theyare interned are costing us £86, 000 a month. Our own men imprisoned inGermany are starved, and beaten, and spat upon. They sleep on mouldystraw, have no sanitation, and in winter weather their coats, andsometimes even their tunics, were taken from them. 

Fortunately, reprisals need not come from us. Talk to Zouaves and Turcosand the French. God help Germany if they ever penetrate to the Rhine. 

A young man--Mr. Shoppe--is occupied in flying low over the gun that isbombarding Dunkirk in order to take a photograph of it. 

It seems to me a great deal to ask of young men to give their lives whenlife must be so sweet, but no one seems to grudge their all. Of some onehears touching and splendid stories; others, one knows, die all alone, gasping out their last breath painfully, with no one at hand to givethem even a cup of water. No one has a tale to tell of them. God, perhaps, heard a last prayer or a last groan before Death came with itsmerciful hand and put an end to the intolerable pain. 

How much can a man endure? A Frenchman at the Zouave Poste au Secourslooked calmly on while the remains of his arm were cut away the othernight. Many operations are performed without chloroform (because theytake a shorter time) at the French hospital. 

[Page Heading: A HEAVENLY HOST]

I heard from R. To-day. He says the story about Mons is true. TheEnglish were retreating, and Kluck was following hard after them. Hewired to the Kaiser that he had "got the English, " but this is what mensay happened. A cloud came out of a clear day and stood between the twoarmies, and in the cloud men saw the chariots and horses of a heavenlyhost. Kluck turned back from pursuing, and the English went on unharmed. 

This may be true, or it may be the result of men's fancy or of theirimagination. But there is one vision which no one can deny, and whicheach man who cares to look may see for himself. It is the vision of whatlies beyond sacrifice; and in that bright and heavenly atmosphere weshall see--we may, indeed, see to-day--the forms of those who havefallen. They fight still for England, unharmed now and for ever more, warriors on the side of right, captains of the host which no man cannumber, champions of all that we hold good. They are marching on ahead, and we hope to follow; and when we all meet, and the roll is called, weshall find them still cheery, I think, still unwavering, and answeringto their good English names, which they carried unstained through ascore of fights, at what price God and a few comrades know. 

CHAPTER VI

LAST DAYS IN FLANDERS

_19 May. _--In order to get material for my lecture to munition-workers Iwas very anxious to see more of the war for myself than is possible at asoup-kitchen, and I asked at the British Mission if I might be givenpermission to go into the British lines. Major ---- in giving me a flatrefusal, was a little pompous and important I thought, and he said itwas _impossible_ to get near the British. 

To-day I lunched on the barge with Miss Close, and we took her car anddrove to Poperinghe. I hardly like to write this even in a diary, I amso seldom naughty! But I really did something very wrong for once. Andthe amusing part of it was that military orders made going to Poperingheso impossible that no one molested us! We passed all the sentries with aflourish of our green papers, and drove on to the typhoid hospital withonly a few Tommies gaping at us. 

I was amazed at the pleasure that wrong-doing gives, and regretted mydesperately strict past life! Oh, the freedom of that day in the openair! the joy of seeing trees after looking at one wretched line of railsfor nine months! Lilacs were abloom in every garden, and buttercupsmade the fields look yellow. The air was misty--one could hardly havegone to Poperinghe except in a mist, as it was being so constantlyshelled--but in the mist the trees had a queer light on them which madethe early green look a deeper and stronger colour than I have ever seenit. There appeared to be a sort of glare under the mist, and the freshwet landscape, with its top-heavy sky, radiated with some light of itsown. Oh, the intoxication of that damp, wet drive, with a fine rain inour faces, and the car bounding under us on the "pavé"! If I am internedtill the end of the war I don't care a bit! I have had some fresh air, and I have been away for one whole day from the smell of soup anddrains. 

How describe it all? The dear sense of guilt first, and then the stilldearer British soldiers, all ready with some cheery, cheeky remark asthey sat in carts under the wet trees. They were our brethren--blue-eyedand fair-haired, and with their old clumsy ways, which one seemed to beseeing plainly for the first time, or, rather, recognising for the firsttime. It was all part of England, and a day out. The officers weretaking exercise, of course, with dogs, and in the rain. We are neverless than English! To-morrow we may be killed, but to-day we will put onthick boots, and take the dogs for a run in the rain. 

[Page Heading: AT POPERINGHE]

Poperinghe was deserted, of course. Its busy cobbled streets were quiteempty except for a few strolling soldiers in khaki, and just here andthere the same toothless old woman who is always the last to leave adoomed city. At the typhoid hospital we gravely offered the cases ofmilk which we had brought with us as an earnest of our good conduct, buteven the hospital was nearly empty. However, a secretary offered us acup of tea, and in the dining-room we found Madame van den Steen, whohad just returned to take up her noble work again. She was at Dinant, ather own château, when war broke out, and she was most interesting, andable to tell me things at first hand. The German methods are pretty wellknown now, but she told me a great deal which only women talkingtogether could discuss. When a village or town was taken, the womeninhabitants were quite at the mercy of the Germans. 

Continuing, Madame van den Steen said that all the filthiness that couldbe thought of was committed--the furniture, cupboards, flowerpots, andeven bridge-tables, being sullied by these brutes. Children had theirhands cut off, and one woman, at least, at Dinant was crucified. One'spen won't write more. The horrors upset one too much. All the babiesborn about that time died; their mothers had been so shocked andfrightened. .. . 

Of Ypres Madame said, "It smells of lilac and death. " Some Englishmenwere looking for the body of a comrade there, and failed to find itamongst the ruins of the burning and devastated town. By seeming chancethey opened the door of a house which still stood, and found in a roomwithin an old man of eighty-six, sitting placidly in a chair. He said, "How do you do?" and bade them be seated, and when they exclaimed, aghast at his being still in Ypres, he replied that he was paralysedand couldn't move, but that he knew God would send someone to take himaway; and he smiled gently at them, and was taken away in theirambulance. 

Madame gave me a shell-case, and asked Mr. Thompson if he would bring inhis large piece to show us. He wheeled it across the hall, as no onecould lift it, and this was only the _base_ of a 15-inch shell. It waspicked up in the garden of the hospital, and had travelled fifteenmiles!

The other day I went to see for myself some of the poor refugees atCoxide. There were twenty-five people in one small cottage. Some weresleeping in a cart. One weeping woman, wearing the little black woollencap which all the women wear, told me that she and her family had to flyfrom their little farm at Lombaertzyde because it was being shelled bythe Germans, but afterwards, when all seemed quiet, they went back totheir home to save the cows. Alas, the Germans were there! They madethis woman (who was expecting a baby) and all her family stand in a row, and one girl of twenty, the eldest daughter, was shot before their eyes. When the poor mother begged for the body of her child it was refusedher. 

The _Times_ list of atrocities is too frightful, and all the evidencehas been sifted and proved to be true. 

_20 May. _--Yesterday I arranged with Major du Pont about leaving thestation to go home and give lectures in England. Then I had a good dealto do, so I abandoned my plan of visiting refugees with Etta Close, andstayed on at the station. At 5. 30 I came back to La Panne to seeCountess de Caraman Chimay, the dame d'honneur of the Queen of theBelgians; then I went on to dine with the nurses at the "Ocean. " Here Iheard that Adinkerke, which I had just left, was being shelled. Fortunately, the station being there, I hope the inhabitants got away;but it was unpleasant to hear the sound of guns so near. I knew thethree Belgian Sisters would be all right, as they have a good cellar attheir house, and I could trust Lady Bagot's staff to look after her. Allthe same, it was a horrible night, full of anxiety, and there seemslittle doubt that La Panne will be shelled any day. My one wishis--let's all behave well. 

I watched the sunset over the sea, and longed to be in England; but, naturally, one means to stick it, and not leave at a nasty time. 

[Page Heading: SOCKS]

_21 May. _--Yesterday, at the station, there was a poor fellow lying on astretcher, battered and wounded, as they all are, an eye gone, and afoot bandaged. His toes were exposed, and I went and got him rather agay pair of socks to pull on over his "pansement. " He gave me a twinkleout of his remaining eye, and said, "Madame, in those socks I could takeConstantinople!"

The work is slack for the moment, but a great attack is expected atNieuport, and they say the Kaiser is behind the lines there. Hispresence hasn't brought luck so far, and I hope it won't this time. 

I went to tea with Miss Close on the barge, and afterwards we picked upM. De la Haye, and went to see an old farm, which filled me with joy. The buildings here, except at the larger towns, are not interesting orbeautiful, but this lovely old house was evidently once a summer palaceof the bishops (perhaps of Bruges). It is called "Beau Garde, " and liesoff the Coxide road. One enters what must once have been a splendidcourtyard, but it is now filled indiscriminately with soldiers and pigs. The chapel still stands, with the Bishops' Arms on the wall; and thereare Spanish windows in the old house, and a curious dog-kennel builtinto the wall. Over the gateway some massive beams have been roughlypainted in dark blue, and these, covered in ivy, and with the olddim-toned bricks above, make a scheme of colour which is simplyenchanting. Some wind-torn trees and the sand-dunes, piled in miniaturemountains, form a delicious background to the old place. 

I also went with Etta Close to visit some of the refugees for whom shehas done so much, and in the sweet spring sunshine I took a little walkin the fields with M. De la Haye, so altogether it was a real nice day. There were so few wounded that I was able to have a chat with each ofthem, and the poor "éclopés" were happy gambling for ha'pence in thegarden of the St. Vincent. 

In the evening I went up to the Kursaal to dine with Mrs. Wynne. Our twonew warriors who have come out with ambulances have stood this_absolutely_ quiet time for three days, and are now leaving because itis too dangerous! The shells at Adinkerke never came near them, as theywere deputed to drive to Nieuport only. (N. B. --Mrs. Wynne continues todrive there every night!) Eight men of our corps have funked, no women. 

I am going to take a week's rest before going home, in the hope that Iwon't arrive looking as ill as I usually do. I hardly know how tocelebrate my holiday, as it is the first time since I came out here thatI haven't gone to the station except on Sundays. 

[Page Heading: SUNDAY]

_23 May, Sunday. _--I went to Morning Service at the "Ocean" to-day, thenwalked back with Prince Alexander. In the evening we drove to theHoogstadt hospital. The King of the Belgians was just saying good-bye tothe staff, after paying a surprise visit. He has a splendid face, andthe simplicity of his plain dark uniform makes the strength and goodnessof it all the more striking. 

As I was waiting at the hospital the Germans began firing at a littlevillage a mile off. It is always strange to hear the shells whizzingover the fields. We drove out to see the Yser and the floods, which haveprotected us all the winter. With glasses one could have seen the Germanlines. 

Spring is coming late, and with a marvel of green. A wind blows in fromthe sea, and the lilacs nod from over the hedge. The tender corn rustlesits soft little chimes, and all across it the wind sends arpeggio chordsof delicate music, like a harp played on silver strings. A great bighorse-chestnut tree, carrying its flowers proudly like a bouquet, showers the road with petals, and the shy hedges put up a screen alllaced and decorated with white may. It just seems as if Mother Earthhad become young again, and was tossing her babies up to the summer sky, and the wind played hide-and-seek, or peep-bo, or some other ridiculousgame, with them, and made the summer babies as glad and as mischievousas himself. Only the guns boom all the time, and my poor little FrenchMarines, who drink far too much, and have the manners of princes, comein on ambulances in the evening, or at the "poste" a hole is dug forthem in the ground, and they are laid down gently in their dirty coats. 

Mother Earth, with her new-born babies, stops laughing for a moment, andsays to me, "It's all right, my dear; they have to come back to me, asall my children and all their works must do. Why make any complaint? Fora time they are happy, playing and building their little castles, andmaking their little books, and weaving stories and wreaths of flowers;but the stories, the castles, the flowers I gave them, and theythemselves, all come back to me at last--the leaves next autumn, and theboy you love perhaps to-morrow. "

Oh, Father God, Mother Earth, as it was in the beginning will it be inthe end? Will you give us and them a good time again, and will thespring burst into singing in some other country? I don't know. I don'tknow. 

Only I do know this--I am sure of it now for the first time, and it isworth while spending a long, long winter within the sound of guns inorder to know it--that death brings release, not release from meresuffering or pain, but in some strange and unknown way it bringsfreedom. Soldiers realise it: they have been more terrified than theirown mothers will ever know, and their very spines have melted under theshrieking sound of shells, and then comes the day when they "don'tmind. " Death stalks just as near as ever, but his face is suddenly quitekind. A stray bullet or a piece of shell may come, but what does itmatter? This is the day when the soldier learns to stroll when theshrapnel is falling, and to look up and laugh when the murderous bulletpings close by. 

[Page Heading: SOUVENIRS]

War souvenirs! There are heaps of them, and I hate them all; pieces ofjagged shell, helmets with bullets through them, pieces of burntaeroplanes, scraps of clothing rent by a bayonet. Yesterday, at thestation, I saw a sick Zouave nursing a German summer casquette. He saidquietly, being very sick: "The burgomaster chez moi wanted one. Yes, Ihad to kill a German officer for it--ce n'est rien de quoi--I got a ballin my leg too, mais mon burgomaster sera très content d'avoir unecasquette d'un boche. " Our own men leave their trenches and go out intothe open to get these horrible things, with their battered exterior andthe suggestion of pomade inside. 

Yesterday, by chance, I went to the "Ierlinck" to see Mr. Clegg. I metMr. Hubert Walter, lately arrived from England, and asked him to dine, so both he and Mr. Clegg came, and Madame van der Gienst. It was _so_like England to talk to Mr. Walter again, and to learn news of everyone, and we actually sat up till 10. 30, and had a great pow-wow. 

Mr. Walter attaches great importance to the fact that the Germans arecourageous in victory, but their spirits go down at once under defeat, and he thinks that even one decisive defeat would do wonders in the wayof bringing the war to an end. The Russians are preparing for a wintercampaign. I look at all my "woollies, " and wonder if I had better savesome for 1916. What new horrors will have been invented by that time? Ihear the Germans are throwing vitriol now! In their results I hate handgrenades more than anything. The poor burnt faces which have beenwounded by them are hardly human sometimes, and in their bandages theyhave a suggestion of something tragically grotesque. 

_26 May. _--We had a great day--rather, a glorious day--at the stationyesterday. In the morning I heard that "les anglais" were arrivingthere, and, although the news was a little startling, I couldn't goearly to Adinkerke because I felt so seedy. However, I got off at lastin a "camion, " and when I arrived I found the little station hospitaland salle and Lady Bagot's hospital crowded with men in khaki. 

We don't know yet all that it means. The fighting has been fierce andawful at Ypres. Are the hospitals at the base all crowded? Is there nomore room for our men? What numbers of them have fallen? Who is killed, and who is left?

All questions are idle for the moment. Only I have a postcard to saythat Colin is at the front, so I suppose until the war is over I shallgo on being very sick with anxiety. At night I say to myself, as theguns boom on, "Is he lying out in the open with a bullet through hisheart?" and in the morning I say, "Is he safe in hospital, and wounded, or is he still with his men, making them follow him (in the way he has)wherever he likes to lead them?" God knows, and the War Office, andneither tells us much. 

[Page Heading: GAS-POISONING]

The men at the station were nearly all cases of asphyxiation by gas. Unless one had actually seen the immediate results one could hardly havecredited it. In a day or two the soldiers may leave off twitching andshuddering as they breathe, and may be able to draw a breath fairly, butan hour or two after they have inhaled the deadly German gas is an awfultime to see one's men. Most of them yesterday were in bed, but a few saton canvas chairs round the empty stove in the salle, and all slept, eventhose in deadly pain. Sleep comes to these tired soldiers like a death. They succumb to it. They are difficult to rouse. They are oblivious, andwant nothing else. They are able to sleep anywhere and in any position, but even in sleep they twitch and shudder, and their sides heave likethose of spent horses. 

It struck me very forcibly that what was immediately wanted was a longdraught for each of them of some clean, simple stimulant. I went andbought them red wine, and I could see that this seemed to do good, and Iwent to the barge and got bottles of whisky and a quantity of distilledwater, and we dosed the men. It seemed to do them a wonderful lot ofgood, and in some way acted as an antidote to the poison. Also, itpulled them together, and they got some quieter sleep afterwards. 

Towards the afternoon, indeed, all but one Irishman seemed to be better, and then we began to be cheery, and the scene at the station took colourand became intensely alive. The khaki-clad forms roused themselves, and(of course) wanted a wash. Also, they sat on their beds and producedpocket-combs, and ran them through their hair. In their dirt and ragsthese poor battered, breathless men began to try to be smart again. Itwas a tragedy and a comedy all in one. A Highlander, in a shrunk kiltand with long bare legs, had his head bound about with bandages till itlooked like a great melon, and his sleeve dangled empty from hisgreat-coat. Others of the Seaforths, and mere boys of the HighlandTerritorials, wore khaki shirts over their tartan, and these werebullet-torn and hanging in great rents. And some boys still wore theircaps with the wee dambrod pattern jauntily, and some had no caps towear, and some were all daubed about with white bandages stainedcrimson, and none had hose, and few had brogues. They had breathedpoison and received shrapnel, and none of them had slept since Sundaynight. They had had an "awful doing, " and no one knew how the battle atYpres had gone, but these were men yet--walking upright when they could, always civil, undismayed, intelligent, and about as like giving in as apiece of granite. 

Only the young Scottish boys--the children of seventeen who had sworn inas nineteen--were longing for Loch Lomond's side and the falls ofInversnaid. I believe the Loch Lomond lads believed that the white burnthat falls over the rocks near the pier has no rival (although they haveheard of Niagara and the Victoria Falls), and it's "oor glen" and "oorcountry" wi' them all. And one boy wanted his mother badly, and said so. But oh, how ready they were to be cheery! how they enjoyed their day!And, indeed, we did our best for them. 

[Page Heading: A GARDEN-PARTY]

Lady Bagot's hospital was full, and we called it her garden-party whenwe all had tea in the open air there. We fed them, we got themhandkerchiefs, our good du Pont got them tubs, the cook heaped more coalon the fire, although it was very hot, and made soup in buckets, andthen began a curious stage scene which I shall never forget. It was onthe platform of the station. A band appeared from somewhere, and, out ofcompliment to the English, played "God Save the King. " All the dirtybandaged men stood at attention. As they did so an armoured train backedslowly into the station and an aeroplane swooped overhead. At Drury Laneone would have said that the staging had been overdone, that the clotheswere too ragged, the men too gaunt and too much wounded, and that by nostretch of imagination could a band be playing "God save the King" whilea square painted train called "Lou-lou" steamed in, looking like achild's giant gaudy toy, and an aeroplane fussed overhead. 

Everyone had stories to tell, but I think the best of them concerns thearrival of the wounded last night. All the beds in Lady Bagot's littlehospital were full, and the Belgians who occupied them insisted ongetting up and giving their places to the English. They lay on the flooror stood on their feet all night, and someone told me that even verysick men leapt from their beds to give them to their Allies. 

God help us, what a mixture it all is! Here were men talking of the very_sound_ of bayonets on human flesh; here were men not only asphyxiatedby gas, but blinded by the pepper that the Germans mix with it; and herewere men determined to give no quarter--yet they were babbling of LochLomond's side and their mothers, and fighting as to who should give uptheir beds to each other. 

Of course the day ended with the exchange of souvenirs, and the soldierspulled buttons off their coats and badges out of their caps. And when itwas all over, every mother's son of them rolled round and went to sleep. Most of them, I thought, had a curious air of innocence about them asthey slept. 

_27 May. _--I took a great bundle of newspapers and magazines to the"Jellicoe" men to-day. English current literature isn't a waste outhere, and I often wonder why people don't buy more. They all fall uponmy tableful, and generally bear away much of it. 

The war news, even in the ever optimistic English press, is _not_ good, but not nearly as bad as what seems to me the real condition of affairs. The shortage of high explosives is very great. At Nieuport yesterdayMrs. Wynne said to a French officer, "Things seem quiet here to-day, " atwhich he laughed, and said, "I suppose even Germans will stop firingwhen they know you have no ammunition. "

[Page Heading: SLACKERS IN GLASGOW]

In France the armament works are going night and day, and the men workin shifts of 24 hours--even the women only get one day off in aweek--while in Glasgow the men are sticking out for strict labourconditions, and are "slacking" from Friday night till late on Tuesdaymorning, and then demanding extra pay for overtime. And this in face ofthe bare facts that since October the Allies have lost ground in Russia;in Belgium they remain as they were; and in France they have advanced afew kilometres. At Ypres the Germans are now within a mile of us, andthe losses there are terrible. Whom shall we ever see again?

Men come out to die now, not to fight. One order from a sergeant was, "You've got to take that trench. You can't do it. Get on!"

A captain was heard saying to a gunner subaltern: "We must go back andget that gun. " The subaltern said, "We shall be killed, but it doesn'tmatter. " The captain echoed heavily, "No, it doesn't matter, " and theywent back. 

Sir William Ramsay, speaking about the war, says that half the adultmale population of Europe will be killed before it is over. Those whoare left will be the feeble ones, the slackers, the unfit, and thecowards. It is good to be left to breed from such stock!

It is odd to me how confusing is the want of difference that has come topass between the living and the not living. Cottages and little townsseem to be part of nature. One regrets their destruction almost as oneregrets the loss of life. They have a tragic look, with theirdishevelled windows and stripped roofs and skeleton frames. Life hasbecome so cheap that cottages seem almost as valuable. "It doesn'tmatter"--nothing matters. I rather dread going back to London, becausethere things may begin to seem important and one will be in bondageagain. Here our men are going to their death laughing because it doesn'tmatter. 

There is a proud humility about my countrymen which few people have yetrealised. It is the outcome of nursery days and public schools. No oneis allowed to think much of himself in either place, so when he dies, "It doesn't matter. "

God help the boys! If they only knew how much it mattered to _us_! Lifeis over for them. We don't even know for certain that they will liveagain. But their _spirit_, as I know it, can never die. I am not sureabout the survival of personality. I care, but I do not know. But I doknow that by these simple, glorious, uncomplaining deaths, some higher, purer, more splendid place is reached, some release is found from theheavy weight of foolish, sticky, burdensome, contemptible things. Theseheroes do "rise, " and we "rise" with them. Could Christ himself desire abetter resurrection?

[Page Heading: LARKS]

_28 May. _--I am busy getting things prepared for going home--my lecture, two articles, etc. I did not go to the station to-day, but worked till 3o'clock, and then walked over to St. Idesbald. How I wish I could havebeen out-of-doors more since I came here. It is such a wonderfulcountry, all sky. No wonder there are painters in Belgium. During thewinter it was too wet to see much, and I was always in the kitchen, butnow I could kiss the very ground with the little roses on it amongst theDunes. Larks sing at St. Idesbald, and nightingales. Some fine night Imean to walk out there and listen. 

_29 May. _--To-day, according to promise, Mr. Bevan took me intoNieuport. It was very difficult to get permission to go there, but Mr. Bevan got it from the British Mission on the plea that I was going togive lectures at home. 

"The worst of going to Nieuport, " said Major Tyrell, "is that you won'tbe likely to see home again. "

Mr. Bevan called at 10 o'clock with the faithful MacEwan, and we wentfirst to the Cabour hospital, which I always like so much, and where thelarge pleasure-grounds make things healthy and quiet for the patients. Then we had a tyre out of order, so had to go on to Dunkirk, where I metMr. Sarrel and his friend Mr. Hanson--Vice-Consul at Constantinople--andthey lunched with us while the car was being doctored. 

At last we started towards Nieuport, but before we got there we found amotor-car in a ditch, and its owner with a cut on his head and his armbroken, so we had to pick him up and take him to Coxide. It was a clear, bright day, with all the trees swishing the sky, and Mr. Bevan andMacEwan did nothing all the time but tell me how dangerous it was, andthey pointed out every place on the road where they had picked up deadmen or found people blown to pieces. This was lively for me, and theamusing part of it was that I think they did it from a belated sense ofresponsibility. 

It is as difficult to find words to describe Nieuport as it is to talkof metaphysics in slang. The words don't seem invented that will conveythat haunting sense of desolation, that supreme quiet under the shock ofcontinually firing guns. Hardly anything is left now of the littlehomely bits that, when I saw the place last autumn, reminded one thatthis was once a city of living human beings. _Then_ one saw a fewinteriors--exposed, it is true, and damaged, but still of this world. Now it is one big grave, the grave of a city, and the grave of many ofits inhabitants. Here, at a corner house, nine ladies lie under thepiled-up débris that once made their home. There some soldiers met theirdeath, and some crumbling bricks are heaped over them too. The housesare all fallen--some outer walls remain, but I hardly saw a roofleft--and everywhere there are empty window-frames and skeleton rafters. 

[Page Heading: NIEUPORT]

I never knew so surely that a town can live and can die, and it set onewondering whether Life means a thing as a whole and Death simplydisintegration. A perfect crystal, chemists tell us, has the elements oflife in it and may be said to live. Destruction and decay mean death;separation and disintegration mean death. In this way we die, a crystaldies, a flower or a city dies. Nieuport is dead. There isn't aheart-beat left to throb in it. Thousands and thousands of shells havefallen into it, and at night the nightingale sings there, and by daythe river flows gently under the ruined bridge. Every tree in a woodnear by is torn and beheaded; hardly one has the top remaining. The newgreen pushes out amongst the blackened trunks. 

One speaks low in Nieuport, the place is so horribly dead. 

Mr. Bevan showed me a shell-hole 42 feet across, made by one single"soixante-quinze" shell. Every field is pitted with holes, and wherethere are stretches of pale-coloured mud the round pits dotted all overit give one the impression of an immense Gruyère cheese. The streets, heaped with débris, and with houses fallen helplessly forward into theirmidst, were full of sunshine. From ruined cottages--whose insecure wallstottered--one saw here and there some Zouaves or a little French "marin"appear. Most of these ran out with letters in their hands for us topost. Heaven knows what they can have to write about from that grave!

Some beautiful pillars of the cathedral still stand, and the tower, fullof holes, has not yet bent its head. Lieutenant Shoppe, R. N. , sits upthere all day, and takes observations, with the shells knocking gailyagainst the walls. One day the tower will fall or its stones will bepierced, and then Lieutenant Shoppe, R. N. , will be killed, as theBelgian "observateur" was killed at Oostkerke the other day. He stillhangs there across a beam for all the world to see. His arms arestretched out, and his body lies head downwards, and no one can go nearthe dead Belgian because the tower is too unsafe now. One day perhapsit will fall altogether and bury him. 

Meanwhile, in the tower of the ruined cathedral at Nieuport Shoppe sitsin his shirt-sleeves, with his telephone beside him and his observationinstruments. His small staff are with him. They are immensely interestedin the range of a gun and the accuracy of a hit. I believe they do notthink of anything else. No doubt the tower shakes a great deal when ashell hits it, and no doubt the number of holes in its sides is dailybecoming more numerous. Each morning that Shoppe leaves home to spendhis day in the tower he runs an excellent chance of being killed, and inthe evening he returns and eats a good dinner in rather an uncomfortablehotel. 

In the cathedral, and amongst its crumbling battered aisles, a strangepeace rests. The pitiful columns of the church stand here and there--theroof has long since gone. On its most sheltered side is the littlegraveyard, filled with crosses, where the dead lie. Here and there ashell has entered and torn a corpse from its resting-place, and boneslie scattered. On other graves a few simple flowers are laid. 

We went to see the dim cellars which form the two "postes au secours. "In the inner recess of one a doctor has a bed, in the outer cave somesoldiers were eating food. There is no light even during the day exceptfrom the doorway. At Nieuport the Germans put in 3, 000 shells in oneday. Nothing is left. If there ever was anything to loot, it has beenlooted. One doesn't know what lies under the débris. Here one sees theinside of a piano and a few twisted strings, and there a metalumbrella-stand. I saw one wrought-iron sign hanging from the fallingwalls of an inn. 

Mr. Bevan and I wandered about in the unearthly quiet, which persistedeven when the guns began to blaze away close by us, whizzing shells overour heads, and we walked down to the river, and saw the few boards whichare all that remain of the bridge. Afterwards a German shell landed withits unpleasant noise in the middle of the street; but we had wandered upa by-way, and so escaped it by a minute or less. 

In a little burned house, where only a piece of blackened wall remained, I found a little crucifix which impressed me very much--it stood outagainst the smoke-stained walls with a sort of grandeur of pity aboutit. The legs had been shot away or burned, but "the hands were stretchedout still. "

As we came away firing began all round about, and we saw the toss ofsmoke as the shells fell. 

[Page Heading: STEENKERKE]

_31 May. _--We went to Steenkerke yesterday and called on Mrs. Knocker, and saw a terrible infirmary, which must be put right. It isn't fit fordogs. 

At the station to-day our poor Irishman died. Ah, it was terrible! Hislungs never recovered from the gas, and he breathed his last difficultbreath at 5 o'clock. 

In the evening a Zeppelin flew overhead on its way to England. 

[Page Heading: NIGHTINGALES]

There is a nightingale in a wood near here. He seems to sing louder andmore purely the heavier the fighting that is going on. When men aremurdering each other he loses himself in a rapture, of song, recallingall the old joyous things which one used to know. 

The poetry of life seems to be over. The war songs are forced andfoolish. There is no time for reading, and no one looks at pictures, butthe nightingale sings on, and the long-ago spirit of youth looks outthrough Time's strong bars, and speaks of evenings in old, dim woods athome, and of girlish, splendid drives home from some dance where "he"was, when we watched the dawn break, and saw our mother sleeping in thecarriage, and wondered what it would be like not to "thrill" all thetime, and to sleep when the nightingale was singing. 

Later there came the time when the song of the throbbing nightingalemade one impatient, because it sang in intolerable silence, and oneached for the roar of things, and for the clash of endeavour and for thestrain of purpose. Peace was at a discount then, and struggle seemed tobe the eternal good. The silent woods had no word for one, thenightingale was only a mate singing a love-song, and one wantedsomething more than that. 

And afterwards, when the struggle and the strain were given one inabundant measure, the song of the nightingale came in the lulls thatoccurred in one's busy life. One grew to connect it with coffee out onthe lawn in some houses of surpassing comfort, where (years and yearsago) one dressed for dinner, and a crinkly housemaid brought hot waterto one's room. The song went on above the smug comfort of things, andthe amusing conversation, and the smell of good cigars. Within, we sawsome pleasant drawing-room, with lamps and a big table set with candlesand cards, and we felt that the nightingale provided a very charmingorchestra. We listened to it as we listened to amusing conversation, with a sense of comfortable enjoyment and rest. Why talk of the timewhen it sang of breaking hearts and high endeavour never satisfied, andthings which no one ever knew or guessed except oneself?

It sings now above the sound of death and of tears. Sometimes I think tomyself that God has sent his angel to open the prison doors when I hearthat bird in the little wood close beside the tram-way line. 

On Thursday, June 3rd, I drove in the "bug" to Boulogne, and took thesteamer to England. I went through a nasty time in Belgium, but now agood deal of queer affection is shown me, and I believe they all ratherlike me in the corps. 

 * * * * *

The following brief impression of Miss Macnaughtan's work at thesoup-kitchen forms the most appropriate conclusion to her story of herexperiences in Belgium. She cut it out of some paper, and sent it hometo a friend in England, and we seem to learn from it--more than from anywords of her own--how much she did to help our Allies in their hour ofneed:

 "It was dark when my car stopped at the little station of Adinkerke, where I had been invited to visit a soup-kitchen established there by a Scotchwoman. In peace she is a distinguished author; in war she is being a mother to such of the Belgian Army as are lucky enough to pass her way. I can see her now, against a background of big soup-boilers and cooking-stoves, handing out woollen gloves and mufflers to the men who were to be on sentry duty along the line that night. It was bitterly cold, and the comforts were gratefully received. 

 "For a long time this most versatile lady made every drop of the soup that was prepared for the men herself, and she has, so a Belgian military doctor says, saved more lives than he has with her timely cups of hot, nourishing food. It is only the most seriously wounded men who are taken to the field hospital, the others are carried straight to the railway-station, and have to wait there, sometimes for many hours, till a train can take them on. Even then trains carrying the wounded have constantly to be shunted to let troop trains through. But, thanks to the enterprise and hard work of this clever little lady, there is always a plentiful supply of hot food ready for the men who, weak from loss of blood, are often besides faint with hunger. "

PART II

AT HOME

HOW THE MESSAGE WAS DELIVERED

_October, 1915. _--So much has happened since I came home from Flandersin June, and I have not had one moment in which to write of it. I foundmy house occupied when I returned, so I went to the Petrograd Hotel andstayed there, going out of London for Sundays. 

Everyone I met in England seemed absorbed in pale children withadenoids. No one cared much about the war. Children in houses nowadaysrequire food at weird hours, not roast mutton and a good plain Christianpudding, but, "You will excuse our beginning, I know, dear, Jane has tohave her massage after lunch, and Tom has to do his exercises, and babyhas to learn to breathe. " This one has its ears strapped, and that oneis "nervous" and must be "understood, " and nothing is talked of butchildren. My mother would never have a doctor in the house;"nervousness" was called bad temper, and was dosed, and stooping wascalled "a trick, " and was smacked. The children I now see eat far toomuch, and when they finish off lunch with gravy drunk out of tumblersit makes me feel very unwell. 

I went to the Breitmeyers, at Rushton Hall, Kettering; it's a fineplace, but I was too tired to enjoy anything but a bed. The next SundayI stayed at Chenies, with the Duchess of Bedford--always a favouriteresort of mine--and another week I went to Welwyn. 

I met a few old men at these places, but no one else. Everyone is at thefront. The houses generally have wounded soldiers in them, and theseplay croquet with a nurse on the lawn, or smoke in the sun. None of themwant to go back to fight. They seem tired, and talk of the trenches as"proper 'ell. "

There is always a little too much walking about at a "week-end. " Onefeels tired and stiff on Monday. I well remember last summer having totake people three times to a distant water garden--talking all the time, too! People are so kind in making it pleasant that they wear one out. 

[Page Heading: ERITH]

All the time I was in London I was preparing my campaign of lecturing. Ibegan with Vickers-Maxim works at Erith, on Wednesday, 9th June, and onthe 8th I went to stay with the Cameron Heads. There was great bustleand preparation for my lecture, Press people in the house at all hoursof the day, and so on. A great bore for my poor friends; but they wereso good about it, and I loved being with them. 

The lecture was rather a red-letter occasion for me, everyone praising, the Press very attentive, etc. , etc. The audience promised well forfuture things, and the emotion that was stirred nearly bowled myselfover. In some of the hushes that came one could hear men crying. TheScott Gattys and a few of my own friends came to "stand by, " and we alldrove down to Erith in motor-cars, and returned to supper with theVickers at 10. 30. 

The next day old Vickers sent for me and asked me to name my own pricefor my lectures, but I couldn't mix money up with the message, so Irefused all pay, and feel happy that I did so. I can't, and won't, profit by this war. I'd rather lose--I am losing--but that doesn'tmatter. Nothing matters much now. The former things are swept away, andall the old barriers are disappearing. Our old gods of possession andwealth are crumbling, and class distinctions don't count, and even lifeand death are pretty much the same thing. 

The Jews say the Messiah will come after the war. I think He is herealready--but on a cross as of yore!

I went up to Glasgow to make arrangements there, and my task wasn't aneasy one. Somehow I knew that I must speak, that I must arouse slackers, and tell rotters about what is going on. One goes forth (led in a way), and only then does one realise that one is going in unasked toship-building yards and munition sheds and docks, and that one is quitea small woman, alone, and up against a big thing. 

Always the answer I got was the same: "The men are not working; fortyper cent. Are slackers. The output of shells is not what it ought to be, but they _won't_ listen!"

In the face of this I arranged seven meetings in seven days, to takeplace early in August, and then I went back to give my lecture in theQueen's Hall, London. I took the large Hall, because if one has amessage to deliver one had better deliver it to as many people aspossible. It was rather a breathless undertaking, but people turned upsplendidly, and I had a full house. Sir F. Lloyd gave me the band of theColdstream Guards, and things went with a good swing. 

I am still wondering how I did it. The whole "campaign" has already gotrather an unreal atmosphere about it, and often, after crowded meetings, I have come home and lain in the dark and have seen nothing but a sea offaces, and eyes all turned my way. It has been a most curious andunexpected experience, but England did not realise the war, and she didnot realise the wave of heroism that is sweeping over the world, and Ihad to tell about it. 

Well, my lectures went on--Erith, Queen's Hall, Sheffield (a splendidmeeting, 3, 000 people inside the hall and 300 turned away at the door!), Barrow-in-Furness. I gave two lectures at Barrow, at 3 and 7. 30. Theyseemed very popular. In the evening quite a demonstration--pipe bandplaying "Auld lang syne, " and much cheering. After that Newcastle, andback to the south again to speak there. Everywhere I took mymagic-lantern and showed my pictures, and I told "good stories" toattract people to the meetings, although my heart was, and is, nearlybreaking all the time. 

[Page Heading: GLASGOW]

Then I began the Glasgow campaign--Parkhead, Whiteinch, Rose-Bank, Dumbarton, Greenock, Beardmore's, Denny's, Armour's, etc. , etc. Everywhere there were big audiences, and although I would have spoken totwo listeners gladly, I was still more glad to see the halls filled. Thecheers of horny-handed workmen when they are really roused just get meby the throat till I can't speak for a minute or two!

At one place I spoke from a lorry in the dinner-hour. All the men, withblackened faces, crowded round the car, and others swung from the irongirders, while some perched, like queer bronze images, on pieces ofmachinery. They were all very intent, and very polite and courteous, nointerruptions at any of the meetings. A keen interest was shown in thewar pictures, and the cheers were deafening sometimes. 

After Glasgow I went to dear Clemmie Waring's, at Lennel, and found herhouse full of convalescent officers, and she herself very happy withthem and her new baby. I really wanted to rest, and meant to enjoy fivedays of repose; but I gave a lecture the first night, and then had asort of breakdown and took to my bed. However, that had to be got over, and I went down to Wales at the end of the week. The Butes gave me theirown rooms at Cardiff Castle, and a nice housekeeper looked after me. 

[Page Heading: CARDIFF]

There followed a strange fortnight in that ugly old fortress, with itsfine stone-work and the execrable decorations covering every inch of it. The days passed oddly. I did a little writing, and I saw my committee, whom I like. Colonel Dennis is an excellent fellow, and so are Mr. Needle, Mr. Vivian Reece{7}, and Mr. Harrison. A Mr. Howse acted assecretary. 

The first day I gave a dock-gate meeting, and spoke from a lorry, andthat night I had my great meeting at Cardiff. Sir Frank Younghusbandcame down for it, and the Mayor took the chair. The audience wasenthusiastic, and every place was filled. At one moment they all rose totheir feet, and holding up their hands swore to fight for the right tillright was won. It was one of the scenes I shall always remember. 

Every day after that I used to have tea and an egg at 5 o'clock, and amotor would come with one of my committee to take me to different placesof meeting. It was generally up the Rhondda Valley that we went, and Icame to know well that westward drive, with the sun setting behind thehills and turning the Taff river to gold. Every night we went a littlefurther and a little higher--Aberdare, Aberystwyth, Toney Pandy, Tonepentre, etc. , etc. I gave fourteen lectures in thirteen days. Generally, I spoke in chapels, and from the pulpit, and this seemed togive me the chance I wanted to speak all my mind to these people, and toask them and teach them what Power, and Possession, and Freedom reallymeant. Oh, it was wonderful! The rapt faces of the miners, the hush ofthe big buildings, and then the sudden burst of cheering!

At one meeting there was a bumptious-looking man, with a bald head, whomI remember. He took up his position just over the clock in the gallery. He listened critically, talked a good deal, and made remarks. I began tospeak straight at him, without looking at him, and quite suddenly I sawhim, as I spoke of our men at the war, cover his face and burst intotears. 

The children were the only drawback. They were attracted by the idea ofthe magic-lantern, and used to come to the meetings and keep olderpeople out. My lectures were not meant for children, and I had to adoptthe plan of showing the pictures first and then telling the youngstersto go, and settling down to a talk with the older ones, who alwaysremained behind voluntarily. 

We had some times which I can never forget; nor can I forget those darkdrives from far up in the hills, and the mists in the valley, and my ownaching fatigue as I got back about midnight. From 5 till 12. 30 everynight I was on the stretch. 

In the day-time I used to wander round the garden. One always meetssomeone whom one knows. I had lunch with the Tylers one day, and teawith the Plymouths. It was still, bright autumn weather, and the treeswere gold in the ugly garden with the black river running through it. Igot a few lessons in motor driving, and I spoke at the hospital oneafternoon. I took the opportunity of getting a dress made at rather agood tailor's, and time passed in a manner quite solitary till theevenings. 

Never before have I spent a year of so much solitude, and yet I havebeen with people during my work. I think I know now what thousands ofmen and women living alone and working are feeling. I wish I could helpthem. There won't be many young marriages now. What are we to do forgirls all alone?

 * * * * *

_To Mrs. Keays-Young. _

CARDIFF CASTLE, CARDIFF, _31 August, 1915. _

DEAREST BABY, Many thanks for your letter, which I got on my way through London. Ispent one night there to see about some work I am having done in thehouse. 

I have a drawer quite full of press-cuttings, and I do not know what isin any of them. It is difficult to choose anything of interest, as theyare all a good deal alike, and all sound my trumpet very loudly; but Ienclose one specimen. 

We had meetings every night in Glasgow. They were mostly badly organisedand well attended. Here I have an agent arranging everything, and two ofmy meetings have been enormous. The first was at the dock-gates in theopen air, and the second in the Town Hall. The band of the WelchRegiment played, and Mr. Glover conducted, but nothing is the same, ofcourse. Alan is at Porthcawl, and came to see me this morning. 

The war news could hardly be worse, and yet I am told by men who getsealed information from the Foreign Office that worse is coming. 

Poor Russia! She wants help more than anyone. Her wounded are quiteuntended. I go there next month. 

The King of the Belgians has made me Chevalier de l'Ordre de Léopold. 

Love to all. Yours ever, S. 

 * * * * *

Press-cutting enclosed in Miss Macnaughtan's letter:

 "STORIES OF THE WAR. "

 CARDIFF LECTURE BY MISS MACNAUGHTAN. 

 AUTHORESS'S APPEAL. 

 TESTING-TIME OF NATIONAL CHARACTER. 

[Page Heading: A CROWDED MEETING]

 A large and enthusiastic audience assembled at the Park-hall, Cardiff, on Monday evening, to hear and see Miss Macnaughtan's "Stories and Pictures of the War. " Miss Macnaughtan is a well-known authoress, whose works have attained a world-wide reputation, and, in addition to her travels in almost every corner of the globe, she has had actual experience of warfare at the bombardment of Rio, in the Balkans, the South African War, and, since September last, in Belgium and Flanders. In her capacity as ministrant to wounded soldiers she has gained a unique experience of the horrors of war, and in order to bring home the realities of the situation, at the instigation of Lady Bute, she consented to address a number of meetings in South Wales. 

 At the meeting on Monday night the Lord Mayor (Alderman J. T. Richards) presided, and in introducing Miss Macnaughtan to the audience announced that for her services in Belgium the honour of the Order of Leopold had been conferred upon her. (Applause. ) We were engaged, he said, in fighting a war of right. We were not fighting only for the interests of England and our Empire, but we were fighting for the interests of humanity at large. ("Hear, hear. ")

 Miss Macnaughtan, in the course of her address, referred to the origin of the war, and how suddenly it came upon the people of this nation, who were, for the most part, engaged in summer holidays at the time. She knew what was going on at the front, and knew what the Welch Regiment had been doing, and "I must tell you, " she added, "of the splendid way in which your regiment has behaved, and how proud Cardiff must be of it. " We knew very well now that this war had been arranged by Germany for many years. The Germans used to profess exceeding kindness to us, and were received on excellent terms by our Royal House, but the veil was drawn away from that nation's face, and we had it revealed as an implacable foe. The Germans had spoken for years in their own country about "The Day, " and now "The Day" had arrived, and it was for everyone a day of judgment, because it was a test of character. We had to put ourselves to the test. We knew that for some time England had not been at her best. Her great heart was beating true all the time, but there had crept into England a sort of national coldness and selfishness, and a great deal too much seriousness in the matter of money and money-getting. Although this was discounted in great measure by her generosity, we appeared to the world at large as a greedy and money-getting nation. 

 However this might be, in all parts of the world the word of an Englishman was still as good as his bond. ("Hear, hear. ") Yet England, with its strikes and quarrels and class hatred, and one thing and another, was not at its best. It was well to admit that, just as they admitted the faults of those they loved best. 

 Had any one of them failed to rally round the flag? Had they kept anything back in this great war? She hoped not. The war had tested us more than anything else, and we had responded greatly to it; and the young manhood had come out in a way that was remarkable. We knew very well that when the war was begun we were quite unprepared for it; but she would tell them this, that our army, although small, was the finest army that ever took the field. (Applause. )

 Miss Macnaughtan then related a number of interesting incidents, one of which was, that when a party of wounded Englishmen came to a station where she was tending the Belgian wounded, every wounded Belgian gave up his bed to accommodate an English soldier. The idea of a German occupation of English soil, she said, was the idea of a catastrophe that was unspeakable. People read things in the papers and thought they were exaggerated, but she had seen them, and she would show photographs of ruined Belgium which would convince them of what the Germans were now doing in the name of God. However unprepared we were for war, the wounded had been well cared for, and she thought there never was a war in which the care of the wounded had been so well managed or so efficient. (Applause. ) They had to be thankful that there had been no terrible epidemic, and she could not speak too highly of the work of the nurses and doctors in the performance of their duties. This was the time for every man to do his duty, and strain every nerve and muscle to bring the war to an end and get the boys home again. (Applause. )

[Page Heading: SIR FRANCIS YOUNGHUSBAND, K. C. I. E. ]

 Sir Francis Younghusband, K. C. I. E. , spoke of Miss Macnaughtan as a very old friend, whom he had met in many parts of the Empire. In this crisis she might well have stayed at home in her comfortable residence in London, but she had sacrificed her own personal comforts in order to assist others. They must realise that this war was something much more than a war of defence of their homes. It was a fight on behalf of the whole of humanity. A staggering blow had been dealt by our relentless enemy at Belgium, which had been knocked down and trampled upon, and Germany had also dealt blow after blow at humanity by the use of poison-gas, the bombardment of seaside towns, and bombs thrown on defenceless places by Zeppelins. She had thrust aside all those rights of humanity which we had cherished as a nation as most dear to our hearts. What we were now fighting for was right, and he would put to them a resolution that we would fight for right till right had won. In response to an appeal for the endorsement of his sentiments the audience stood en masse, and with upraised hands shouted "Aye. " It was a stirring moment, and must have been gratifying to the authoress, who has devoted so much of her time and energy to the comfort of the wounded soldiers. 

 The Lord Mayor then proposed a vote of thanks to Miss Macnaughtan for her address, and this was carried by acclamation. 

 Miss Macnaughtan briefly responded, and then proceeded to illustrate many of the scenes she had witnessed by lantern-slides, showing the results of bombardments and the ruin of some of the fairest domains of Belgium and France. 

 The provision of stewards was arranged by the Cardiff Chamber of Trade, under the direction of the President (Mr. G. Clarry). During the evening the band of the 3rd Welch Regiment, under the conductorship of Bandmaster K. S. Glover, gave selections. 

[Page Heading: POISON-GAS]

 A statement having been made that Miss Macnaughtan was the first to discover a remedy for the poison-gas used by the Germans, a _Western Mail_ reporter interviewed the lady before the lecture on her experiences in this direction. She replied, that when the first batch of men came in from the trenches suffering from the effects of the gas, the first thing they asked was for something to drink, to take the horrible taste out of their mouths. She obtained a couple of bottles of whisky from the barge of an American lady, and some distilled water, and gave this to the soldiers, who appeared to be greatly relieved. Whenever possible, she had adopted the same course, but she was unaware that the remedy had been applied by the military authorities. Even this method of relieving their sufferings, however, was rejected by a large number of young soldiers, on the ground that they were teetotallers, but the Belgian doctors had permitted its use amongst their men. 

 * * * * *

 SHOULD THE GERMANS COME. 

 FORETASTE OF HORRORS FURNISHED BY BELGIUM. 

 During the dinner-hour Miss Macnaughtan gave an address to workmen at the Bute Docks. An improvised platform was arranged at the back of the Seamen's Institute, and some hundreds of men gathered to hear the story that Miss Macnaughtan had to give of the war. Colonel C. S. Denniss presided, and amongst those present were Messrs. T. Vivian Rees, John Andrews, W. Cocks, A. Hope, S. Fisher, and Robinson Smith. 

 Colonel Denniss, in a few introductory remarks, referred to Miss Macnaughtan's reputation as a writer, and stated that since the outbreak of war she had devoted herself to the noble work of helping the wounded soldiers in Belgium and France. She had come to Cardiff to tell the working-men what she had seen, with the object, if possible, of stimulating them to help forward the great cause we were fighting for. 

 Miss Macnaughtan said she had been speaking in many parts of the country, but she was especially proud to address a meeting of Welsh working-men. Besides coming of a long line of Welsh ancestors, her brother-in-law, Colonel Young, was in command of the 9th Welch Battalion at the front, and she had also four nephews serving in the Welch Regiment. Only the day before Colonel Young had written to her: "The Welshman is the most intensely patriotic man that I know, and it is always the same thing, 'Stick it, Welch. ' His patriotism is splendid, and I do not want to fight with a better man. " Miss Macnaughtan then explained that she was not asking for funds, and was not speaking for employers or owners. She simply wished to tell them her experiences of the war as she had seen it, and to describe the heroism which was going on at the front. If they looked at the war from the point of view of men going out to kill each other they had a wrong conception of what was going on. She had been asked to speak of the conditions which might prevail should the Germans reach this country. She did not feel competent to speak on that subject, as the whole idea of Germans in this country seemed absolutely inconceivable. If the Germans were to land on our shores all the waters which surrounded this isle would not wash the land clean. She knew what the Germans were, and had seen the wreck they had made of Belgium and part of France. She knew what the women and children had suffered, and how the churches had been desecrated and demolished. It was said that this was a war of humanity, but she believed it was a war of right against wrong; and if she were asked when the war would finish, she could only say that we would fight it right on to the end until we were victorious. 

 The Germans were beaten already, and had been beaten from the day they gave up their honour. She spoke of the heroism of the troops, and stated that since September last she had been running a soup-kitchen for the wounded. In this humble vocation she had had an opportunity of gauging the spirit of the soldiers. She had seen them sick, wounded, and dying, but had never known them give in. Why should humble villages in France without soldiers in them be shelled? That was Germany, and that was what they saw. The thing was almost inconceivable, but she had seen helpless women and children brought to the hospitals, maimed and wounded by the cruel German shells. After this war England was going to be a better country than before. Up to now there had been a national selfishness which was growing very strong, and there was a terrible love of money, which, after all, was of very little account unless it was used in the proper direction. She could tell them stories of Belgians who had had to fire upon their own women and children who were being marched in front of German troops. The power of Germany had to be crushed. The spirit of England and Wales was one in this great war, and they would not falter until they had emerged triumphant. (Applause. )

[Page Heading: A CLARION CALL]

 Mr. Robinson Smith said the clarion call had been sounded, and they were prepared, if necessary, to give their last shilling, their last drop of blood, and their very selves, body, soul, and spirit, to fight for right till right had won. (Applause. )

 Cheers were given for the distinguished authoress, and the proceedings terminated. 

 * * * * *

After Cardiff (and a most cordial send-off from my committee) I cameback to London, and lectured at Eton, at the Polytechnic, and variousother places, while all the time I was preparing to go to Russia, and Iwas also writing. 

In the year that has passed my time has been fully occupied. To beginwith, when the war broke out I studied district-nursing in Walworth fora month. I attended committees, and arranged to go to Belgium, got mykit, and had a good deal of business to arrange in the way ofhouse-letting, etc. , etc. Afterwards, I went to Antwerp, till the siegeand the bombardment; then followed the flight to Ostend; after that afurther flight to Furnes. Then came the winter of my work, day and nightat the soup-kitchen for the wounded, a few days at home in January, thenback again and to work at Adinkerke till June, when I came home tolecture. 

During the year I have brought out four books, I have given thirty-fivelectures, and written both stories and articles. I have gone from townto town in England, Scotland, and Wales, and I have had a good deal ofanxiety and much business at home. I have paid a few visits, but notrestful ones, and I have written all my own correspondence, as I havenot had a secretary. I have collected funds for my work, and sent offscores of begging letters. Often I have begun work at 5. 30 a. M. , and Ihave not rested all day. As I am not very young this seems to me apretty strenuous time!

[Page Heading: THE DEATH OF YOUTH]

Now I have let my house again, and am off "into the unknown" in Russia!I shouldn't really mind a few days' rest before we begin any definitework. Behind everyone I suppose at this time lurks the horror of war, the deadly fear for one's dearest; and, above all, one feels--at least Ido--that one is always, and quite palpably, in the shadow of the deathof youth--beautiful youth, happy and healthy and free. Always I seem tosee the white faces of boys turned up to the sky, and I hear their criesand see the agony which joyous youth was never meant to bear. They aretoo young for it, far too young; but they lie out on the field betweenthe trenches, and bite the mud in their frenzy of pain; and they callfor their mothers, and no one comes, and they call to their friends, butno one hears. There is a roar of battle and of bursting shells, and whocan listen to a boy's groans and his shrieks of pain? This is war. 

A nation or a people want more sea-board or more trade, so they begin tokill youth, and to torture and to burn, and God himself may ask, "Whereis my beautiful flock?" No one answers. It is war. We must expect a"list of casualties. " "The Germans have lost more than we have done;""We must go on, even if the war lasts ten years;" "A million more menare needed"--thus the fools called men talk! But Youth looks up withhaggard eyes, and Youth, grown old, learns that Death alone is merciful. 

One sees even in soldiers' jokes that the thought of death is not faroff. I said to one man, "You have had a narrow squeak, " and he replied, "I don't mind if I get there first so long as I can stoke up for thoseGermans. " Another, clasping the hand of his dead Captain, said, "Putplenty of sandbags round heaven, sir, and don't let a German through. "

The other day, when the forward movement was made in France and Belgium, Charles's Regiment, the 9th Welch, was told to attack at a certainpoint, which could only be reached across an open space raked bymachine-gun fire. They were not given the order to move for twelve days, during which time the men hardly slept. When the charge had to be madethe roar of guns made speaking quite impossible, so directions weregiven by sending up rockets. When the rockets appeared, not a single mandelayed an instant in making the attack. One young officer, in thetrench where Charles was, had a football, and this he flung over theparapet, and shouting, "Come on, boys!" he and the men of the regimentplayed football in the open and in front of the guns. Right across thegun-raked level they kicked the ball, and when they reached the enemy'slines only a few of them were left. 

Charles wrote, "I am too old to see boys killed. "

Colonel Walton, with a handful of his regiment, was the only officer toget through the three lines of the enemy's trenches, and he and his mendug themselves in. Just in front of them where they paused, he saw afine young officer come along the road on a motor bicycle, carryingdespatches. The next minute a high-explosive shell burst, and, to usehis own words, "There was not enough of the young officer to put on athreepenny bit. " Always men tell me there is nothing left to bury. Oneminute there is a splendid piece of upstanding, vigorous manhood, andthe next there is no finding one piece of him to lay in the sod. 

[Page Heading: A LESSON FOR TURKS]

The Turks seem to have forsaken their first horrible and devilishcruelties towards English prisoners. They have been taught a lesson bythe Australians, who took some prisoners up to the top of a ridge androlled them down into the Turks' trenches like balls, firing on them asthey rolled. Horrible! but after that Turkish cruelties ceased. 

Our own men see red since the Canadians were crucified, and I fancy noprisoners were taken for a long time after. We "censor" this or that inthe newspapers, but nothing will censor men's tongues, and there is aterrible and awful tale of suffering and death and savagery going onnow. Like a ghastly dream we hear of trenches taken, and the cries ofmen go up, "Mercy, comrade, mercy!" Sometimes they plead, poor caughtand trapped and pitiful human beings, that they have wives and childrenwho love them. The slaughter goes on, the bayonet rends open the poorbody that someone loved, then comes the internal gush of blood, andanother carcase is flung into the burying trench, with some lime on thetop of it to prevent a smell of rotting flesh. 

My God, what does it all mean? Are men so mad? And why are they killingall our best and bravest? Our first army is gone, and surely such acompany never before took the field! Outmatched by twenty to one, theystuck it at Mons and on the Aisne, and saved Paris by a miracle. All myold friends fell then--men near my own age, whom I have known in manyclimes--Eustace Crawley, Victor Brooke, the Goughs, and other splendidmen. Now the sons of my friends are falling fast--Duncan Sim's boy, young Wilson, Neville Strutt, and scores of others. I know one case inwhich four brothers have fallen; another, where twins of nineteen diedside by side; and this one has his eyes blown out, and that one has hisleg torn off, and another goes mad; and boys, creeping back to the baseholding an arm on, or bewildered by a bullet through the brain, wanderout of their way till a piece of shrapnel or torn edge of shell findsthem, and they fall again, with their poor boyish faces buried in themud!

Mr. ---- dined with us last night. He had been talking of his brotherwho was killed, and he said: "I think it makes a difference if youbelong to a family which has always given its lives to the country. Weare accustomed to make these sacrifices. "

Thus bravely in the light of day, but when evening came and we sattogether, then we knew just what the life of the boy had cost him. Theytell us--these defrauded broken-hearted ones--just how tall the lad was, and how good to look at! That seems to me so sad--as if one reckonedone's love by inches! And yet it is the beauty of youth that I mournalso, and its horribly lonely death. 

"They never got him further than the dressing-station, " Mr. ---- said;"but--he would always put up a fight, you know--he lived for four days. No, there was never any hope. Half the back of his head was shattered. But he put up a fight. My brother would always do that. "

PART III

RUSSIA AND THE PERSIAN FRONT

CHAPTER I

PETROGRAD

Mrs. Wynne, Mr. Bevan, and I left London for Russia on October 16, 1915. We are attached provisionally to the Anglo-Russian hospital, with astipulation that we are at liberty to proceed to the front with ourambulances as soon as we can get permission to do so. We understand thatthe Russian wounded are suffering terribly, and getting no doctors, nurses, or field ambulances. We crossed from Newcastle to Christiania ina Norwegian boat, the _Bessheim_. It was supposed that in this shipthere was less chance of being stopped, torpedoed, or otherwiseinconvenienced. 

We reached Christiania after a wonderfully calm crossing, and went tothe Grand Hotel at 1 a. M. No rooms to be had, so we went on to theVictoria--a good old house, not fashionable, but with a nice air aboutit, and some solid comforts. We left on Wednesday, the 20th, at 7 a. M. This was something of a feat, as we have twenty-four boxes with us. Ionly claim four, and feel as if I might have brought more, but everyonehas a different way of travelling, and luggage is often objected to. 

Indeed, I think this matter of travelling is one of the most curious inthe world. I cannot understand why it is that to get into a train or aboat causes men and women to leave off restraint and to act in aprimitive way. Why should the companionship of the open road be thesupreme test of friendship? and why should one feel a certain fear ofgetting to know people too well on a journey? The last friends Itravelled with were very careful indeed, and we used to reckon upaccounts and divide the price of a bottle of "vin ordinaire" equally. Myfriends to-day seem inclined to do themselves very well, and to scatterlargesse everywhere. 

[Page Heading: STOCKHOLM]

_Stockholm. 21 October. _--After a long day in the train we reachedStockholm yesterday evening, and went to the usual "Grand Hotel. " Thistime it is very "grand, " and very expensive. Mr. Bevan has a terriblepink boudoir-bedroom, which costs £3 per night, and I have a small roomon the fourth floor, which costs 17s. 6d. Without a bath. There israther a nice court in the middle of the house, with flowers and a bandand tables for dinner, but the sight of everyone "doing himself well"always makes me feel a little sick. The wines and liqueurs, and the bigcigars at two shillings each, and the look of repletion on men's facesas they listen to the band after being fed, somewhat disgust me. 

One's instinct is to dislike luxury, but in war-time it seems horrible. We ourselves will probably have to rough it badly soon, so I don'tmind, but it's a side of life that seems to me as beastly as anything Iknow. Fortunately, the luxury of an hotel is minimised by the fact thatthere are no "necessaries, " and one lives in an atmosphere of opentrunks and bags, with things pulled out of them, which counterbalancescrystal electric fittings and marble floors. 

We rested all this morning, lunched out, and in the afternoon went tohave tea with the Crown Prince and Princess of Sweden. They were verydelightful. The British Minister's wife, Lady Isobel Howard, went withus. The Princess had just finished reading my "Diary of the War, " andwas very nice about it. The children, who came in to tea, were theprettiest little creatures I have ever seen, with curly hair, and faceslike the water-colour pictures of a hundred years ago. The Princessherself is most attractive, and reminds one of the pictures of QueenVictoria as a young woman. Her sensitive face is full of expression, andher colour comes and goes as she speaks of things that move her. 

This afternoon we went to tea at the Legation with the Howards. TheHouse is charmingly situated on the Lake, with lovely trees all aboutit. It isn't quite finished yet, but will be very delightful. 

_22 October. _--It is very strange to find oneself in a country where waris not going on. The absence of guns and Zeppelins, the well-lightedstreets, and the peace of it all, are quite striking. But the country ispro-German almost to a man! And it has been a narrow squeak to preventwar. Even now I suppose one wrong move may lead to an outbreak ofhostilities, and the recent German victories may yet bring in othercountries on her side. Bulgaria has been a glaring instance of sidingwith the one she considers the winning side (Gott strafe her!), andGreece is still wondering what to do! Thank God, I belong to a race thatis full of primitive instincts! Poor old England still barges inwhenever there is a fight going on, and gets her head knocked, and goeson fighting just the same, and never knows that she is heroic, butblunders on--simple-hearted, stupid, sublime!

_24 October. _--I went to the English church this morning with Mr. Lancelot Smith, but there was no service as the chaplain hadchicken-pox! So I came home and packed, and then lunched with Mr. EricHambro, Mr. Lancelot Smith, and Mr. ----, all rather interesting men atthis crisis, when four nations at least are undecided what to do in thematter of the war. 

About 6 o'clock we and our boxes got away from Stockholm. Our expensesfor the few days we spent there were £60, although we had very few mealsin the hotel. We had a long journey to Haparanda, where we stopped for aday. The cold was terrible and we spent the day (my birthday) on a sortof luggage barge on the river. On my last birthday we were bolting fromFurnes in front of the Germans, and the birthday before that I was onthe top of the Rocky Mountains. 

Talking of the Rockies reminds me (did I need reminding) of ElsieNorthcote, my dear friend, who married and went to live there. Theother night some friends of mine gave me a little "send-off" before Ileft London--dinner and the Palace Theatre, where I felt like a ghostreturned to earth. All the old lot were there as of yore--Viola Tree, Lady Diana Manners, Harry Lindsay, the Raymond Asquiths, etc. , etc. Isaw them all from quite far away. Lord Stanmore was in the box with us, and he it was who told me of Elsie Northcote's sudden death. It wasn'tthe right place to hear about it. Too many are gone or are going. My ownlosses are almost stupefying; and something dead within myself lookswith sightless eyes on death; with groping hands I touch it sometimes, and then I know that I am dead also. 

[Page Heading: LOVE AND PAIN]

There is only one thing that one can never renounce, and that is love. Love is part of one, and can't be given up. Love can't be separated fromone, even by death. It comes once and remains always. It is neverfulfilled; the fulfilment of love is its crucifixion; but it lives onfor ever in a passion-week of pain until pain itself grows dull; andthen one wishes one had been born quite a common little soul, when onewould probably have been very happy. 

_28 October. _--We arrived at midnight last night at Petrograd. IanMalcolm was at the hotel, and had remained up to welcome us. To-day wehave been unpacking, and settling down into rather comfortable, veryexpensive rooms. My little box of a place costs twenty-six shillings anight. We lunched with two Russian officers and Mr. Ian Malcolm, andthen I went to the British Embassy, where the other two joined me. SirGeorge Buchanan, our Ambassador, looks overworked and tired. LadyGeorgina and I got on well together. .. . 

The day wasn't quite satisfactory, but one must remember that a queerspirit is evoked in war-time which is very difficult of analysis. Primarily there is "a right spirit renewed" in every one of us. We wantto be one in the great sacrifice which war involves, and we offer andpresent ourselves, our souls and bodies in great causes, only to findthat there is some strange unexplained quality of resistance meeting useverywhere. 

Mary once said to me in her quaint way, "Your duty is to give to theQueen's Fund as becomes your position, and to get properly thanked. "

This lady-like behaviour, combined with cheque-writing on a large scale, is always popular. It can be repeated and again repeated tillcheque-writing becomes automatic. Then from nowhere there springs acurious class of persons whom one has never heard of before, with skinsof invulnerable thickness and with wonderful self-confidence. They claimalmost occult powers in the matter of "organisation, " and they generallyrequire pity for being overworked. For a time their names are in greatcirculation, and afterwards one doesn't hear very much about them. Florence Nightingale would have had no distinction nowadays. It isdoubtful if she would have been allowed to work. Some quite inept personin a high position would have effectually prevented it. Most people areon the offensive against "high-souled work, " and prepared to put theirfoot down heavily on anything so presumptuous as heroism except of theorthodox kind, and even the right kind is often not understood. 

There is a story I try to tell, but something gets into my throat, and Itell it in jerks when I can. 

[Page Heading: FOOTBALL UNDER FIRE]

It is the story of the men who played football across the open betweenthe enemy's line of trenches and our own when it was raked by fire. WhenI had finished, a friend of mine, evidently waiting for the end of apointless story, said, "What did they do that for?" (Oh, ye gods, havepity on men and women who suffer from fatty degeneration of the soul!)

Still, in spite of it all, the Voice comes, and has to be obeyed. 

_30 October. _--We lunched at the Embassy yesterday to meet the GrandDuchess Victoria. She is a striking-looking woman, tall and strong, andshe wore a plain dark blue cloth dress and a funny little blue silk cap, and one splendid string of pearls. At the front she does very fine work, and we offered our services to her. I have begun to write a little, butafter my crowded life the days feel curiously empty. Lady Heron Maxwellcame to call. 

We were telling each other spy stories the other night. Some of themwere very interesting. The Germans have lately adopted the plan ofwriting letters in English to English prisoners of war in Germany. These, of course, are quite simple, and pass the Censor in England, but, once on the other side, they go straight to Government officials, andwhereas "Dear Bill" may mean nothing to us, it is part of a German codeand conveys some important information. Mr. Philpotts at Stockholmdiscovered this trick. 

On the Russian front a soldier was found with his jaw tied up, speechless and bleeding. A doctor tried to persuade him to take coverand get attention; but he shook his head, and signified by actions thathe was unable to speak owing to his damaged jaw. The doctor shoved himinto a dug-out, and said kindly, "Just let me have a look at you. " Onstripping the bandages off there was no wound at all, and the German inRussian uniform was given a cigarette and shot through the head. 

In Flanders we used to see companies of spies led out to be shot--firsta party of soldiers, then the spies, after them the burying-party, andthen the firing-party--marching stolidly to some place of execution. 

How awful shell-fire must be for those who really can't stand it! Iheard of a Colonel the other day--a man who rode to hounds, and seemedquite a sound sort of fellow--and when the first shell came over, heleapt from his horse and lay on the ground shrieking with fear, and withevery shell that came over he yelled and screamed. He had to be senthome, of course. Some people say this sort of thing is purely physical. That is never my view of the matter. 

[Page Heading: MISS CAVELL]

Miss Cavell's execution has stirred us all to the bottom of our hearts. The mean trickiness of her trial, the refusal to let facts be known, andthen the cold-blooded murder of a brave English woman at 2 a. M. On aSunday morning in a prison yard!

It is too awful to think about. She was not even technically a spy, buthad merely assisted some soldiers to get away because she thought theywere going to be shot. A rumour reached the American and SpanishLegations that she had been condemned and was to be shot at once, andthey instantly rang up on the telephone to know if this was true. Theywere informed by the Military Court which had tried and condemned herthat the verdict would not be pronounced till three days later. But thetwo Legations, still not satisfied, protested that they must be allowedto visit the prisoner. This was refused. 

The English chaplain was at last permitted to enter the prison, and hesaw Miss Cavell, and gave her the Sacrament. She said she was happy todie for her country. They led her out into the prison yard to standbefore a firing-party of soldiers, but on her way there she fainted, andan officer took out his revolver and shot her through the head. 

 * * * * *

Petrograd! the stage of romance, and the subject of dazzling pictures, is one of the most commonplace towns I have ever been in. It has its onebig street--the Nevski Prospect--where people walk and shop as they doin Oxford Street, and it has a few cathedrals and churches, which arenot very wonderful. The roadways are a mass of slush and are seldomswept; and there are tramways, always crowded and hot, and many ricketylittle victorias with damp cushions, in which one goes everywhere. Evenin the evening we go out in these; and the colds in the head whichfollow are chronic. 

The English colony seems to me as provincial as the rest of Petrograd. The town and its people disappoint me greatly. The Hôtel Astoria is awould-be fashionable place, and there is a queer crowd of peoplelistening to the band and eating, as surely only in Russia they can eat. It is all wrong in war-time, and I hate being one of the people here. 

N. B. --Write "Miss Wilbraham" as soon as possible, and write it in gusts. Call one chapter "The Diners, " and try to convey the awful solemnity ofmeals--the grave young men with their goblets of brandy, in which theyslowly rotate ice, the waiter who hands the bowl where the ice is thrownwhen the brandy is cool enough, and then the final gulp, with a noseinside the large goblet. Shade of Heliogabalus! If the human tummy mustindeed be distended four times in twenty-four hours, need it be done sosolemnly, and with such a pig-like love of the trough? If they wouldeven eat what there is with joy one wouldn't mind, but the talk aboutfood, the once-enjoyed food, the favourite food, is really too tiresome. "Where to dine" becomes a sort of test of true worth. Grave young mengive the names of four or five favoured places in London. Others, hailedand acknowledged as really good judges, name half-a-dozen more in Pariswhere they "do you well. " The real toff knows that Russia is the placeto dine. We earnestly discuss blue-point oysters and caviare, which, ifyou "know the man, " you can get sent fresh on the Vienna Express fromMoscow. 

[Page Heading: BERNARD SHAW]

I once asked Bernard Shaw to dinner, and he replied on a postcard:"Never! I decline to sit in a hot room and eat dead animals, even withyou to amuse me!"

I always seem to be sitting in hot rooms and eating dead animals, andthen paying amazing high prices for them. 

_4 November. _--I dined with the ----s the other night. Either the hotrooms, or the fact that I am anæmic at present, causes me to be sosleepy in the evenings that I dislike dining out. I sway with sleep evenwhen people are talking to me. It was a middle-class little party, suchas I often enjoy. One's friends would fain only have one see a few fineblooms, but I love common flowers. 

We have been to see "Peter's little house. " There was a tiny shrine, crowded with people in wraps and shawls, who crossed themselvesceaselessly, to the danger of their neighbours' faces, for so fervidwere their gesticulations that their hands flew in every direction! Theyshoved with their elbows to get near the wax candles that dripped beforethe pictures of the black-faced Virgin and Child, who were "allowing"soldiers to be painfully slaughtered by the million. 

Ye gods, what a faith! What an acrobatic performance to try andreconcile a Father's personal care for His poor little sparrows and Hisindifference at seeing so many of them stretched bleeding on the ground!

Religion so far has been a success where martyrs are concerned, but wemust go on with courage to something that teaches men to _live_ for thebest and the highest. This should come from ourselves, and lead up toGod. It should not require teaching, or priests, or even prayer. Humanity is big enough for this. It should shake off cords and chainsand old Bible stories of carnage and killing, and get to work to find anew, responsible, clean, sensible, practical scheme of life, in whicheach man will have to get away from silly old idols and step out byhimself. 

There is nothing very difficult about it, but we are so beset by bogies, and so full of fears and fancies that we are half the time either in astate of funk, or in its antithesis, a state of cheekiness. Schoolmaster-ridden, we are behaving still like silly children, and ourhighest endeavour is (school-boy-like) to resemble our fellows as nearlyas possible. The result is stagnation, crippled forms, wasted energy, people waiting for years by some healing pool and longing for someone todip them in. All the release that Christ preached to men is beingsmothered in something worse than Judaism. We love chains, and when theyare removed we either turn and put them on again, or else caper like madthings because we have cast them off. Freedom is still as distant as thestars. 

_5 November. _--Yesterday we lunched with the English chaplain, Mr. Lombard. He and I had a great talk walking home on a dark afternoonthrough the slush after we had been to call on the Maxwells. I think heis one of the "exiles" whom one meets all the world over, one of thosewho don't transplant well. I am one myself! And Mr. Lombard and I nearlywept when we found ourselves in a street that recalled the MaryleboneRoad. We pretended we were in sight of Euston Station, and talked oftaking a Baker Street bus till our voices grew choky. 

How absurd we islanders are! London is a poky place, but we adore it. St. James's Street is about the length of a good big ship, yet we don'tfeel we have lived till we get back to it! And as for Piccadilly and St. Paul's, well, we see them in our dreams. 

Our little unit has not found work yet. I was told before I joined itthat it had been accepted by the Russian Red Cross Society. 

[Page Heading: "CHARITY" AND WAR]

I have been hearing many things out here, and thinking many things. There is only one way of directing Red Cross work. Everything shouldbe--and must be in future--put under military authority and used bymilitary authority. "Charity" and war should be separate. It is absurdthat the Belgians in England should be housed and fed by a Governmentgrant, and our own soldiers are dependent on private charity for thevery socks they wear and the cigarettes they smoke. Aeroplanes had to beinstituted and prizes offered for them by a newspaper, and ammunitionwasn't provided till a newspaper took up the matter. To be mob-ridden isbad enough, but to be press-ridden is worse!

Now, war is a military matter, and should be controlled by militaryauthorities. Mrs. Wynne, Mr. Bevan, and I should not be out here waitingfor work. We ought to be sent where we are needed, and so ought all RedCross people. This would put an end, one hopes, to the horrid businessof getting "soft jobs. "

_7 November. _--Whenever I am away from England I rejoice in the passingof each week that brings me nearer to my return. I had hardly realisedto-day was the 7th, but I am thankful I am one week nearer the greylittle island and all the nice people in it. 

Yesterday I went to Lady Georgina Buchanan's soup-kitchen, and helped tofeed Polish refugees. They strike me as being very like animals, but notso interesting. In the barracks where they lodge everyone crowds in. There is no division of the sexes, babies are yelling, and families aresleeping on wooden boards. The places are heated but not aired, and thesmell is horrid; but they seem to revel in "frowst. " All the women aredandling babies or trying to cook things on little oil-stoves. Atnight-time things are awful, I believe, and the British Ambassador hasbeen asked to protect the girls who are there. 

_8 November. _--This afternoon I went to see Mrs. Bray, and then I had anunexpected pleasure, for I met Johnnie{8} Parsons, who is Naval Attachéto Admiral Phillimore, and we had a long chat. When one is in a strangeland, or with people who know one but little, these encounters arewonderfully nice. 

The other night I dined with the Heron Maxwells, and had a nice eveningand a game of bridge. Some Americans, called de Velter, were there. Ithink most people from the States regret the neutrality of theircountry. 

[Page Heading: VISIONS OF PEACE]

Everyone brings in different stories of the war. Some say Germany isexhausted and beaten, others say she is flushed with victory, and withenormous reserves of men, food, and ammunition. I try to believe all thegood I hear, and when even children or fools tell me the war will soonbe over, I want to embrace them--I don't care whether they are talkingnonsense or not. Sometimes I seem to see a great hushed cathedral, andourselves returning thanks for Peace and Victory, and the vision is toomuch for me. I must either work or be chloroformed till that time comes. 

_9 November. _--I think there is only one thing I dislike more thansitting in an hotel bedroom and learning a new language, and that issitting in an hotel bedroom and nursing a cold in my head. Lately I havebeen learning Russian--and now I am sniffing. My own fault. I wouldsleep with my window open in this unhealthiest of cities, and smells andmarsh produced a feverish cold. 

Out in the square the soldiers drill all the time in the snow, lying init, standing in it, and dressed for the most part in cotton clothing. Wool can't be bought, so a close cotton web is made, with the insideteased out like flannelette, and this is all they have. The necessariesof life are being "cornered" right and left, mostly by the commercialhouses and the banks. The other day 163 railway trucks of sugar werediscovered in a siding, where the owners had placed it to wait for arise. Meanwhile, sugar has been almost unprocurable. 

Everyone from the front describes the condition of the refugees as beingmost wretched. They are camping in the snow by the thousand, and arestill tramping from Poland. 

And here we are in the Astoria Hotel, and there is one pane of glassbetween us and the weather; one pane of glass between us and thepeasants of Poland; one pane of glass dividing us from poverty, andkeeping us in the horrid atmosphere of this place, with its evil womenand its squeaky band! How I hate money!

I hope soon to join a train going to Dvinsk with food and supplies. 

_13 November. _--I have felt very brainless since I came here. It is theresult, I believe, of the Petrograd climate. Nearly everyone feels it. Ihad a little book in my head which I thought I could "dash off, " andthat writing it would fill up these waiting days, but I can't write aword. 

The war news is not good, but the more territory that Germany takes, themore the British rub their hands and cry victory. Their courage andoptimism are wonderful. 

To-day I spent with the Maxwells, and met a nurse, newly returned fromGalicia, who had interesting tales to tell. One about some Russianairmen touched me. There had been a fierce fight overhead, when suddenlythe German aeroplane began to wheel round and round like a leaf, when itwas found that the machine was on fire. One of the airmen had been shotand the other burnt to death. The Russians refused to come and look atthe remains even of the aeroplane, and said sadly, "All we men of theair are brothers. " They gave the dead Germans a military funeral, andthen sailed over the enemy's lines to drop a note to say that allhonour had been done to the brave dead. 

[Page Heading: BULGARIA]

I met Monsieur Jecquier, who was full of the political situation--saidBulgaria would have joined us any day if we had promised to give herBukowina; and blamed Bark, the Russian Finance Minister, for the termsof England's loan (the loan is for thirty millions, and repayment ispromised in a year, which is manifestly impossible, and the situationmay be strained). He said also that Motono, the Japanese Ambassador, isfar the finest politician here; and he told me that while Russia oughtto have been protecting the road to Constantinople she was quarrellingabout what its new name was to be, and had decided to call it"Czareska. " Now, I suppose, the Germans are already there. Lloyds hasbeen giving £100 at a premium of £5 that King Ferdinand won't be on histhrone next June. The premium has gone to £10, which is good news. IfFerdie is assassinated the world will be rid of an evil fellow who hasplayed a mean and degraded part in this war. 

We dined at the British Embassy last night. I was taken in to dinner byMr. George Lloyd, who was full of interesting news. I had a nice chatwith Lady Georgina. 

_20 November. _--It has been rather a "hang-on" ever since I wrote last, nothing settled and nothing to do. No one ever seems at their best inPetrograd. It is a cross place and a common place. I never understoodTolstoi till I came here. On all sides one sees the same insane love ofmoney and love of food. 

A restaurant here disgusts me as nothing else ever did. From a menu afoot long no one seems able to choose a meal, but something fresh mustbe ordered. The prices are quite silly, and, oddly enough, people seemto revel in them. They still eat caviare at ten shillings a head; thelarger the bill the better they are pleased. 

Joseph, the Napoleon of the restaurant, keeps an eye on everyone. He isyellow, and pigeon-breasted, but his voice is like grease, and he speakscaressingly of food, pencils entries in his pocket-book, and stimulatesjaded appetites by signalling the "voiture aux hors d'oeuvres" toapproach. The rooms are far too hot for anyone to feel hungry, the bandplays, and the leader of it grins all the time, and capers about on hislittle platform like a monkey on an organ. 

Always in this life of restaurants and gilt and roubles I am reminded ofthe fact that the only authentic picture we have of hell is of a manthere who all his life had eaten good dinners. 

[Page Heading: STAGNATION]

I have been busy seeing all manner of people in order to try and getwork to do. I hear of suffering, but I am never able to locate it or todo anything for it. No distinct information is forthcoming; and when Igo to one high official he gives me his card and sends me to another. Nothing is even decided about Mrs. Wynne's cars, although she isoffering a gift worth some thousands of pounds. I go to Lady Georgina'swork-party on Mondays and meet the English colony, and on Wednesdays andSaturdays I distribute soup; but it is an unsatisfactory business, andthe days go by and one gets nothing done. One isn't even storing uphealth, because this is rather an unhealthy place, so altogether we arefeeling a bit low. I can never again be surprised at Russian "laissezfaire, " or want of push and energy. It is all the result of the placeitself. I feel in a dream, and wish with all my heart I could wake up inmy own bed. 

_21 November. _--Sunday, and I have slept late. At home I begin work at 6a. M. Here, like everyone else, I only wake up at night, and the "besthours of the day, " as we call them, are wasted, à la Watts' hymn, inslumber. If it was possible one would organise one's time a bit, buthotel life is the very mischief for that sort of thing. There are nofacilities for anything. One must telephone in Russian or spend roubleson messengers if one wants to get into touch with anyone. I took a taxiout to lunch one day. It cost 16 roubles--_i. E. _, 32s. 

Dear old Lord Radstock used to say in the spring, "The Lord is callingme to Italy, " and a testy parson once remarked, "The Lord always callsyou at very convenient times, Radstock. " I don't feel as if the Lord hadcalled me here at a very convenient time. 

I called on Princess Hélène Scherbatoff yesterday, and found her and herpeople at home. The mother runs a hospital-train for the wounded in theintervals of hunting wolves. Her son has been dead for some months, andshe says she hasn't had time to bury him yet! One assumes he isembalmed! Yet I can't help saying they were charming people to meet, sowe must suppose they are somewhat cracked. The daughter is lovely, andthey were all in deep mourning for the unburied relative. 

_24 November. _--This long wait is trying us a bit high. There isliterally nothing to do. We arrange pathetic little programmes forourselves. To-day I shall lunch with Mr. Cunard, and see the lace he hasbought: yesterday I did some shopping with Captain Smith: one day I sewat Lady Georgina's work-party. 

Heavens, what a life! I realise that for years I have not drawn rein, and I am sure I don't require holidays. Moses was a wise man, and heknew that one day in seven is rest enough for most humans. I always"keep the Sabbath, " and it is all the rest I want. Even here I mightwrite and get on with something, but there is something paralysing aboutthe place, and my brain won't work. I can't even write a diary! Everyoneis depressed and everyone longs to be out of Petrograd. To-day we hearthat the Swedes have closed the Haparanda line, and Archangel is frozen, so here we are. 

Now I have got to work at the hospital. There are 25, 000 amputationcases in Petrograd. The men at my hospital are mostly convalescent, but, of course, their wounds require dressing. This is never done in theirbeds, as the English plan is, but each man is carried in turn to the"salle des pansements, " and is laid on an operating-table and has hisfresh dressings put on, and is then carried back to bed again. It is agood plan, I think. The hospital keeps me busy all the morning. Oncemore I begin to see severed limbs and gashed flesh, and the oldquestion arises, "Why, what evil hath he done?" This war is thecrucifixion of the youth of the world. 

[Page Heading: "SPEAKING ONE'S MIND"]

In a way I am learning something here. For instance, I have alwaysdisliked "explanations" and "speaking one's mind, " etc. , etc. , more thanI can say. I dare say I have chosen the path of least resistance inthese matters. Here one must speak out sometimes, and speak firmly. Itisn't all "being pleasant. " One girl has been consistently rude to me. To-day, poor soul, I gave her a second sermon on our way back fromchurch; but, indeed she has numerous opportunities in this war, and sheis wasting them all on gossip, and prejudices, and petty jealousies. Sowe had a straight talk, and I hope she didn't hate it. At any rate, shehas promised amendment of life. One hears of men that "this war givesthem a chance to distinguish themselves. " Women ought to distinguishthemselves, too. 

 "Hesper! Venus! were we native to their splendour, or in Mars, We should see this world we live in, fairest of their evening stars. Who could dream of wars and tumults, hate and envy, sin and spite, Roaring London, raving Paris, in that spot of peaceful light? Might we not, in looking heavenward on a star so silver fair, Yearn and clasp our hands and murmur, 'Would to God that we were there!'"

Always when I see war, and boys with their poor dead faces turned up tothe sky, and their hands so small in death, and when I see wounded men, and hear of soldiers going out of the trenches with a laugh and a joketo cut wire entanglements, knowing they will not come back, then I amashamed of meanness and petty spite. So my poor young woman got a "fairdose of it" this morning, and when she had gulped once or twice I thinkshe felt better. 

Yesterday one saw enough to stir one profoundly, and enough to makesmall things seem small indeed! It was a fine day at last, after weeksof black weather and skies heavy with snow, and although the cold wasintense the sun was shining. I got into one of the horrid littledroshkys, in which one sits on very damp cushions, and an "izvoztchik"in a heavy coat takes one to the wrong address always!

The weather has been so thick, the rain and snow so constant, that I hadnot yet seen Petrograd. Yesterday, out of the mists appeared goldenspires, and beyond the Neva, all sullen and heavy with ice, I saw towersand domes which I hadn't seen before. I stamped my feet on the shakylittle carriage and begged the izvoztchik to drive a little quicker. Wehad to be at the Finnish station at 10 a. M. , and my horse, with a longtail that embraced the reins every time that the driver urged speed, seemed incapable of doing more than potter over the frozen roads. Ipicked up Mme. Takmakoff, who was taking me to the station, and we wenton together. 

[Page Heading: BLIND]

At the station there was a long wooden building and, outside, aplatform, all frozen and white, where we waited for the train to comein. Mme. Sazonoff, a fine well-bred woman, the wife of the Minister forForeign Affairs, was there, and "many others, " as the press notices say. The train was late. We went inside the long wooden building to shelterfrom the bitter cold beside the hot-water pipes, and as we waited weheard that the train was coming in. It came slowly and carefullyalongside the platform with its crunching snow, almost with the creepingmovement of a woman who carries something tenderly. Then it stopped. Itswindows were frozen and dark, so that one could see nothing. I heard avoice behind me say, "The blind are coming first, " and from the trainthere came groping one by one young men with their eyes shot out. Theyfelt for the step of the train, and waited bewildered till someone cameto lead them; then, with their sightless eyes looking upwards more thanours do, they moved stumbling along. Poor fellows, they'll never _see_home; but they turned with smiles of delight when the band, in its greyuniforms and fur caps, began to play the National Anthem. 

These were the first wounded prisoners from Germany, sent home becausethey could never fight again--quite useless men, too sorely hurt tostand once more under raining bullets and hurtling shell-fire--so backthey came, and like dazed creatures they got out of the train, carryingtheir little bundles, limping, groping, but home. 

After the blind came those who had lost limbs--one-legged men, men stillin bandages, men hobbling with sticks or with an arm round a comrade'sneck, and then the stretcher cases. There was one man carrying hiscrutches like a cross. Others lay twisted sideways. Some never movedtheir heads from their pillows. All seemed to me to have about them asplendid dignity which made the long, battered, suffering company intosome great pageant. I have never seen men so lean as they were. I havenever seen men's cheek-bones seem to cut through the flesh just wherethe close-cropped hair on their temples ends. I had never seen suchhollow eyes; but they were Russian soldiers, Russian gentlemen, and theywere home again!

In the great hall we greeted them with tables laid with food, and spreadwith wine and little presents beside each place. They know how to dothis, the princely Russians, so each man got a welcome to make himproud. The band was there, and the long tables, the hot soup and thecigarettes. All the men had washed at Torneo, and all of them wore cleancotton waistcoats. Their hair was cut, too, but their faces hadn'trecovered. One knew they would never be young again. The Germans haddone their work. Semi-starvation and wounds had made old men of thesepoor Russian soldiers. All was done that could be done to welcome themback, but no one could take it in for a time. A sister in blackdistributed some little Testaments, each with a cross on it, and thesoldiers kissed the symbol of suffering passionately. 

They filed into their places at the tables, and the stretchers wereplaced in a row two deep up the whole length of the room. In the middleof it stood an altar, covered with silver tinsel, and two priests intinsel and gold stood beside it. Upon it was the sacred ikon, and theeverlasting Mother and Child smiled down at the men laid in helplessnessand weakness at their feet. 

A General welcomed the soldiers back; and when they were thanked in thename of the Emperor for what they had done, the tears coursed down theirthin cheeks. It was too pitiful and touching to be borne. I rememberthinking how quietly and sweetly a sister of mercy went from one groupof soldiers to another, silently giving them handkerchiefs to dry theirtears. We are all mothers now, and our sons are so helpless, so much inneed of us. 

[Page Heading: WOUNDED RUSSIANS]

Down the middle of the room were low tables for the men who lay down allthe time. They saluted the ikon, as all the soldiers did, and someservice began which I was unable to follow. I can't tell what thesoldiers said, or of what they were thinking. About their comrades theysaid to Mme. Takmakoff that 25, 000 of them had died in two days fromneglect. We shall never hear the worst perhaps. 

There were three officers at a table. One of them was shot through thethroat, and was bandaged. I saw him put all his food on one side, unableto swallow it. Then a high official came and sat down and drank hishealth. The officer raised his glass gallantly, and put his lips to thewine, but his throat was shot through, he made a face of agony, bowed tothe great man opposite, and put down his glass. 

Some surgeons in white began to go about, taking names and particularsof the men's condition. Everyone was kind to the returned soldiers, butthey had borne too much. Some day they will smile perhaps, but yesterdaythey were silent men returned from the dead, and not yet certain thattheir feet touched Russia again. 

CHAPTER II

WAITING FOR WORK

We paid our heavy bills and left Petrograd on Monday, the 29th November. Great fuss at the station, as our luggage and the guide had disappearedtogether. A comfortable, slow journey, and Colonel Malcolm met us atMoscow station and took us to the Hôtel de Luxe--a shocking bad pub, butthe only one where we could get rooms. We went out to lunch, and I had aplate of soup, two faens (little wheat cakes), and the fifth part of abottle of Graves. This modest repast cost sixteen shillings per head. Weturned out of the Luxe Hotel the following day, and came to theNational, where four hundred people were waiting to get in. But ourguide Grundy had influence, and managed to get us rooms. It is quitecomfortable. 

None of us was sorry to leave Petrograd, and that is putting the casemildly. People there are very depressed, and it was a case of "she said"and "he said" all the time. Everyone was trying to snuff everyone elseout. "I don't know them"--and the lips pursed up finished many areputation, and I heard more about money and position than I ever heardin my life before. "Bunty" and I used to say that the world wasinhabited by "nice people and very nice people, " and once she added athird class, "fearfully nice people. " That is a world one used toinhabit. I suppose one must make the best of this one!

[Page Heading: MOSCOW]

_Moscow. 2 December. _--Hilda Wynne was rather feverish to-day, and layin bed, so I had a solitary walk about the Kremlin, and saw a fine viewfrom its splendid position. But, somehow, I am getting tired ofsolitude. I suppose the war gives us the feeling that we must holdtogether, and yet I have never been more alone than during this lasteighteen months. 

 * * * * *

_To Miss Macnaughtan's Sisters. _

CRÉDIT LYONNAIS, MOSCOW, _3 December. _

MY DEARS, I have just heard that there is a man going up to Petrograd to-night whowill put our letters in the Embassy bag, so there is some hope of thisreaching you. It is really my Christmas letter to you all, so may it bepassed round, please, although there won't be much in it. 

We are now at Moscow, _en route_ for the Caucasus _via_ Tiflis, and ourbase will probably be Julfa. We have been chosen to go there by theGrand Duchess Cyril, but the reports about the roads are so conflictingthat we are going to see for ourselves. When we get there it will bedifficult to send letters home, but the banks will always be incommunication with each other, so I shall get all you send to CréditLyonnais, Petrograd. 

So far we have been waiting for our cars all this time. They had tocome by Archangel, and they left long before we did, but they have notarrived yet. There are six ambulance cars, on board three differentships (for safety), and no news of any of them yet. 

Now, at least, _we_ have got a move on, and, barring accidents, we shallbe in Tiflis next week. It's rather a fearsome journey, as the trainonly takes us to the foot of the mountains in four days, and then wemust ride or drive across the passes, which they say are too cold foranything. You must imagine us like Napoleon in the "Retreat from Moscow"picture. 

Petrograd is a singularly unpleasant town, where the sun never shines, and it rains or snows every day. The river is full of ice, but it lookssullen and sad in the perpetual mist. There are a good many Englishpeople there; but one is supposed to know the Russians, which meansspeaking French all the time. Moscow is a far superior place, and isreally most interesting and beautiful, and very Eastern, while Petrogradmight be Liverpool. I filled up my time there in the hospital andsoup-kitchen. 

The price of everything gets worse, I do believe! Even a glass offiltered water costs one shilling and threepence! I have just left anhotel for which my bill was £3 for one night, and I was sick nearly allthe time!

[Page Heading: "WHEN WILL THE WAR END?"]

Now, my dears, I wish you all the best Christmas you can have this year. I am just longing for news of you, but I never knew such a cut-off placeas this for letters. Tell me about every one of the family. Writelengthy letters. When do people say the war will end?

Your lovingSARAH BROOM. 

 * * * * *

_Tiflis. 12 December. _--It is evening, and I have only just rememberedit is Sunday, a thing I can't recollect ever having happened before. Ihave been ill in my room all day, which no doubt accounts for it. 

We stayed at Moscow for a few days, and my recollection of it is of agreat deal of snow and frequent shopping expeditions in cold littlesleighs. I liked the place, and it was infinitely preferable toPetrograd. Mr. Cazalet took us to the theatre one night, and there wasrather a good ballet. These poor dancers! They, like others, have losttheir nearest and dearest in the war, but they still have to dance. Ofcourse they call themselves "The Allies, " and one saw rather a staleballet-girl in very sketchy clothes dancing with a red, yellow, andblack flag draped across her. Poor Belgium! It was such a travesty ofher sufferings. 

Mr. Cazalet came to see us off at the station, and we began our longjourney to Tiflis, but we changed our minds, and took the local trainfrom ---- to Vladikavkas, where we stayed one night rather enjoyably ata smelly hotel, and the following day we got a motor-car and started at7 a. M. For the pass. The drive did us all good. The great snow peakswere so unlike Petrograd and gossip! I had been rather ill on the train, and I got worse at the hotel and during the drive, so I was quite apoor Sarah when I reached Tiflis. Still, the scenery had been lovelyall the time, and we had funny little meals at rest houses. 

When we got to Tiflis I went on being seedy for a while. I finishedStephen Graham's book on Russia which he gave me before I left home. Itis charmingly written. The line he chooses is mine also, but his is amore important book than mine. 

_Batoum. 22 December. _--We have had a really delightful time since Ilast wrote up the old diary! (A dull book so far. ) We saw a good manyimportant people at Tiflis--Gorlebeff, the head of the Russian RedCross, Prince Orloff, Prince Galitzin (a charming man), General Bernoff, etc. , etc. 

Mrs. Wynne's and Mr. Bevan's cars are definitely accepted for the Tehrandistrict. My own plans are not yet settled, but I hope they may be soon. People seem to think I look so delicate that they are a little bitafraid of giving me hard work, and yet I suppose there are not manywomen who get through more work than I do; but I believe I am lookingrather a poor specimen, and my hair has fallen out. I think I am ratherlike those pictures on the covers of "appeals"--pictures of smallchildren, underneath which is written, "This is Johnny Smith, or ElizaJones, who was found in a cellar by one of our officers;weight--age--etc. , etc. "

If I could have a small hospital north of Tehran it would be a goodcentre for the wounded, and it would also be a good place for the othersto come to. Mr. Hills and Dr. Gordon (American missionaries) seem tothink they would like me to join them in their work for the Armenians. These unfortunate people have been nearly exterminated by massacres, andit has been officially stated that 75 per cent. Of the whole race hasbeen put to the sword. This sounds awful enough, but when we considerthat there is no refinement of torture that has not been practised uponthem, then something within one gets up and shouts for revenge. 

The photographs which General Bernoff has are proof of the devildom ofthe Turks, only that the devil could not have been so beastly, and abeast could not have been so devilish. The Kaiser has convinced theTurks that he is now converted from Christianity to Mahomedanism. Inevery mosque he is prayed for under the title of "Hájed MahometWilhelm, " and photographs of burned and ruined cathedrals in France andBelgium are displayed to prove that he is now anti-Christian. Heavenknows it doesn't want much proving!

[Page Heading: RASPUTIN]

There are rumours of peace offers from Germany, but we must go onfighting now, if only for the sake of the soldiers, who will be the onesto suffer, but who _can't_ be asked to give in. The Russians areterribly out of spirits, and very depressed about the war. The Germaninfluence at Court scares them, and there is, besides, the mysteriousRasputin to contend with! This extraordinary man seems to exercise amalign influence over everyone, and people are powerless to resist him. Nothing seems too strange or too mad to recount of this man and hisdupes. He is by birth a moujik, or peasant, and is illiterate, adrunkard, and an immoral wretch. Yet there is hardly a great lady atCourt who has not come under his influence, and he is supposed by thisset of persons to be a reincarnation of Christ. Rasputin's figure is oneof those mysterious ones round which every sort of rumour gathers. 

We left Tiflis on Friday, 17th December, and had rather a panic at thestation, as our passports had been left at the hotel, and our ticketshad gone off to Baku. However, the unpunctuality of the train helped us, and we got off all right, an hour late. The train was about a thousandyears old, and went at the rate of ten miles an hour, and we could onlyget second-class ordinary carriages to sleep in! But morning showed ussuch lovely scenery that nothing else mattered. One found oneself in asemi-tropical country, with soft skies and blue sea, and palms andflowers, and with tea-gardens on all the hillsides. When will peoplediscover Caucasia? It is one of the countries of the world. 

We had letters to Count Groholski, a most charming young fellow, whoarranged a delightful journey for us into the mountains, and as we hadbrought no riding things we began to search the small shops forriding-boots and the like. Then, in the evening we dined with CountOulieheff, and had an interesting pleasant time. Two Japanese were atdinner, and, although they couldn't speak any tongue but their own, Japanese always manage to look interesting. No doubt much of thatdepends upon being able to say nothing. 

[Page Heading: GEORGIA]

Early next day we motored out to the Count's Red Cross camp at ----. Here everyone was sleeping under tents or in little wooden huts, and wemet some good-mannered, nice soldier men, most of them Poles. Thescenery was grand, and we were actually in the little known andwonderful old kingdom of Georgia. Very little of it is left. {9} Thereare ruins all along the river of castles and fortresses and oldstone bridges now crumbling into decay, but of the country, once soproud, only one small dirty city remains, and that is Artvin, on themountain-side. It was too full of an infectious sort of typhus for us togo there, but we drove out to the hospital on the opposite side of thevalley, and the doctor in charge there gave us beds for the night. 

On Sunday, December 19th, I wandered about the hillside, found somewell-made trenches, and saw some houses which had been shelled. TheTurks were in possession of Artvin only a year ago, and there was a lotof fighting in the mountains. It seems to me that the population of theplace is pretty Turkish still; and there are Turkish houses with smallMoorish doorways, and little windows looking out on the glorious view. In all the mountains round here the shooting is fine, and consists oftoor (goats), leopards, bears, wolves, and on the Persian front, tigersalso. Land can be had for nothing if one is a Russian. 

On Sunday afternoon we drove in a most painful little carriage to avillage which seemed to be inhabited by good-looking cut-throats, butthere was not much to see except the picturesque, smelly, old brownhouses. We met a handsome Cossack carrying a man down to the militaryhospital. He was holding him upright, as children carry each other; theman was moaning with fever, and had been stricken with the virulenttyphus, which nearly always kills. But what did the handsome Cossackcare about infection? He was a mountaineer, and had eyes with a littleflame in them, and a fierce moustache. Perhaps to-morrow he will begone. People die like flies in these unhealthy towns, and the Russiansare supremely careless. 

We went back to the hospital for dinner, and then went out into crisp, beautiful moonlight, and motored back to the Red Cross camp. I had alittle hut to sleep in, which had just been built. It contained a bedand two chairs, upon one of which was a tin basin! The cold in themorning was about as sharp as anything I have known, but everyone wasjolly and pleasant, and we had a charming time. 

The Count told us of the old proud Georgians when there was a famine inthe country and a Russian Governor came to offer relief to the starvinginhabitants. Their great men went out to receive him, and saidcourteously, "We have not been here, Gracious One, one hundred or twohundred years, but much more than a thousand years, and during that timewe have not had a visit from the Russian Government. We are pleased tosee you, and the honour you have done us is sufficient in itself--forthe rest we think we will not require anything at your hands. "

On Monday I motored with the others out to the ferry; then I had toleave them, as they were going to ride forty miles, and that was thoughttoo much for me. Age has _no_ compensations, and it is not much usefighting it. One only ends by being "a wonderful old woman of eighty":reminiscent, perhaps a little obstinate, and in the world tocome--always eighty?

Came back to Batoum with Count Stanislas Constant, and went for a drivewith him to see the tea-gardens. 

 * * * * *

[Page Heading: TIFLIS]

Christmas Eve at Tiflis, and here we are with cars still stuck in theice thirty miles from Archangel, and ourselves just holding on andtrying not to worry. But what a waste of time! Also, fighting is goingon now in Persia, and we might be a lot of use. We came back from Batoumin the hottest and slowest train I have ever been in. Still, Georgiadelighted me, and I am glad to have seen it. They have a curious customthere (the result of generations of fighting). Instead of saying"Good-morning, " they say "Victory"; and the answer is, "May the victorybe yours. " The language is Georgian, of course; and then there isTartar, and Polish, and Russian, and I can't help thinking that theTower of Babel was the poorest joke that was ever played on mankind. Nothing stops work so completely. 

What will Christmas Day be like at home? I think of all the villagechurches, with the holly and evergreens, and in almost every one thelittle new brass plates to the memory of beautiful youth, dead andmangled, and left in the mud to await another trumpet than that whichcalled it from the trenches. There is nothing like a boy, and all thelife of England and the prayers of mothers have centred round them. One's older friends died first, and now the boys are falling, and fromevery little vicarage, from school-houses and colleges, the endlessstream goes, all with their heads up, fussing over their little bits ofpacking, and then away to stand exploding shells and gas and bombs. Noone except those who have seen knows the ghastly tale of human sufferingthat this war involves every day. Down here 550, 000 Armenians have beenbutchered in cold blood. The women are either massacred or driven intoTurkish harems. 

Yesterday we heard some news at last in this most benighted corner ofthe world! England has raised four million volunteers. Hurrah! Over onemillion men volunteered in one week. French takes command at home andHaig at the front. 

 * * * * *

_To Mrs. Charles Young. _

HOTEL ORIENT, TIFLIS, _26 December. _

DARLING J. , It seems almost useless to write letters, or even to wire! Letterssometimes take forty-nine days to get to England, and telegrams are_always_ kept a fortnight before being sent. We have had greatdifficulty about the ambulance cars, as they all got frozen into theriver at Archangel; however, as you will see from the newspapers, thereisn't a great deal going on yet. 

I do hope you and all the family are safe and sound. I wired to ---- forher birthday to ask news of you all, and I prepaid the reply, but, ofcourse, none came, so I am sure she never got the wire. I have wiredtwice to ----, but no reply. At last one gives up expecting any. I gotsome newspapers nearly a month old to-day, and I have been devouringthem. 

This is rather a curious place, and the climate is quite good; no snow, and a good deal of pleasant sun, but the hills all round are very bareand rugged. 

I have had a cough, which I think equals your best efforts in that line. How it does shake one up! I had some queer travelling when it was at itsworst: for the first night we were given a shakedown in a littlemountain hospital, which was fearfully cold; and the next night I wasput into a newly-built little place, made of planks roughly nailedtogether, and with just a bed and a basin in it. 

The cold was wonderful, and since then--as you may imagine--theMacnaughtan cough has been heard in the land!

[Page Heading: GRAND DUKE NICHOLAS]

Yesterday (Christmas Day) we were invited to breakfast with the GrandDuke Nicholas. A Court function in Russia is the most royal that you canimagine--no half measures about it! The Grand Duke is an adorablyhandsome man, quite extraordinarily and obviously a Grand Duke. Hemeasures 6 feet 5 inches, and is worshipped by every soldier in theArmy. 

We went first into a huge anteroom, where a lady-in-waiting received us, and presented us to "Son Altesse Impériale, " and then to the Grand Dukeand to his brother, the Grand Duke Peter. Some scenes seem to move asin a play. I had a vision of a great polished floor, and many tall menin Cossack dress, with daggers and swords, most of them different gradesof Princes and Imperial Highnesses. 

A great party of Generals, and ladies, and members of the Household, then went into a big dining-room, where every imaginable hors d'oeuvrewas laid out on dishes--dozens of different kinds--and we each atecaviare or something. Afterwards, with a great tramp and clank of spursand swords, everyone moved on to a larger dining-room, where there werea lot of servants, who waited excellently. 

In the middle of the déjeuner the Grand Duke Nicholas got up, andeveryone else did the same, and they toasted us! The Grand Duke made aspeech about our "gallantry, " etc. , etc. , and everyone raised glassesand bowed to one. Nothing in a play could have been more of a real finesort of scene. And certainly S. Macnaughtan in her wildest dreams hadn'tthought of anything so wonderful as being toasted in Russia by theImperial Staff. 

It's quite a thing to be tiresome about when one grows old!

In the evening we tried to be merry, and failed. The Grand Duchess sentus mistletoe and plum-pudding by the hand of M. Boulderoff. He took usshopping, but the bazaars are not interesting. 

Good-bye, and bless you, my dear, Yours as ever, S. MACNAUGHTAN. 

 * * * * *

_To Miss Julia Keays-Young. _

HOTEL D'ORIENT, TIFLIS, CAUCASUS, RUSSIA, _27 December. _

DARLING JENNY, I can't tell you what a pleasure your letters are. I only wish I couldget some more from anybody, but not a line gets through! I want so muchto hear about Bet and her marriage, and to know if the nephews andCharles are safe. 

There seems to be the usual winter pause over the greater part of thewar area, but round about here, there are the most awful massacres;550, 000 Armenians have been slaughtered in cold blood by the Turks, andwith cruelties that pass all telling. One is quite impotent. 

I expect to be sent into Persia soon, and meanwhile I hope to join someAmerican missionaries who are helping the refugees. Our ambulances areat last out of the ice at Archangel, and will be here in a fortnight;but we are not to go to Persia for a month. "The Front" is alwaysaltering, and we never have any idea where our work will be wanted. 

[Page Heading: HOMESICK]

We are still asking when the war will end, but, of course, no one knows. One gets pretty homesick out here at times, and there was a chance Imight have to go back to England for equipment, but that seems off atpresent. 

Your always lovingA. S. 

 * * * * *

_29 December. _--I have still got a horrid bad cough, and my big, dullroom is depressing. We are all depressed, I am afraid. Being accustomedto have plenty to do, this long wait is maddening. 

Whatever Russia may have in store for us in the way of useful work, nothing can exceed the boredom of our first seven weeks here. We arejust spoiling for work. I believe it is as bad as an illness to feellike this, and we won't be normal again for some time. Oddly enough, itdoes affect one's health, and Hilda Wynne and I are both seedy. We arealways trying to wire for things, but not a word gets through. 

We were summoned to dine at the palace last night. Everyone verycharming. 

_31 December. _. --Prince Murat came to dine and play bridge. CountGroholski turned up for a few days. My doctor vetted me for my cold. Business done--none. No sailor ever longed for port as I do for home. 

CHAPTER III

SOME IMPRESSIONS OF TIFLIS AND ARMENIA

_Tiflis. 1 January, 1916. _--Kind wishes from the Grand Duke andeverybody. Not such an aimless day as usual. I got into a newsitting-room and put it straight, and in the evening we went to PrinceOrloff's box for a performance of "Carmen. " It was very Russian andwealthy. At the back of the box were two anterooms, where we sat andtalked between the acts, and where tea, chocolates, etc. , were served. They say the Prince has £200, 000 a year. He is gigantically fat, with areal Cossack face. 

Scandal is so rife here that it hardly seems to mean scandal. They don'tappear to be so much immoral as non-moral. Everyone sits up late; thenmost of them, I am told, get drunk, and then the evening orgies begin. No one is ostracised, everyone is called upon and "known" whatever theyhave done. I suppose English respectability would simply make themsmile--if, indeed, they believed in it. 

_2 January. _--I don't suppose I shall ever write an article on warcharities, but I believe I ought to. A good many facts about them havecome my way, and I consider that the public at home should be told howthe finances are being administered. 

I know of one hospital in Russia which has, I believe, cost England£100, 000. The staff consists of nurses and doctors, dressers, etc. , allfully paid. The expenses of those in charge of it are met out of thefunds. They live in good hotels, and have "entertaining allowances" forentertaining their friends, and yet one of them herself volunteered theinformation that the hospital is not required. The staff arrived weeksago, but not the stores. Probably the building won't be opened for sometime to come, and when it is opened there will be difficulty in gettingpatients to fill it. 

In many parts of Russia hospitals are _not_ wanted. In Petrograd thereare five hundred of them run by Russians alone. 

Then there is a fund for relief of the Poles, which is administered byPrincess ----. The ambulance-car which the fund possesses is used by thePrincess to take her to the theatre every night. 

A great deal of money has been subscribed for the benefit of theArmenians. Who knows how much this has cost the givers? yet thedistribution of this large sum seems to be conducted on most haphazardlines. An open letter arrived the other day for the Mayor of Tiflis. There is no Mayor of Tiflis, so the letter was brought to Major ----. Itsaid: "Have you received two cheques already sent? We have had noacknowledgment. " There seems to be no check on the expenditure, andthere is no local organisation for dispensing the relief. I don't saythat it is cheating: I only say as much as I know. 

[Page Heading: ILL-BESTOWED CHARITY]

A number of motor-ambulances were sent to Russia by some generous peoplein England the other day. They were inspected by Royalty before beingdespatched, and arrived in the care of Mr. ----. When their engines wereexamined it was found that they were tied together with bits ofcopper-wire, and even with string. None of them could be made to go, andthey were returned to England. 

We are desperately hard up at home just now, and we are denyingourselves in order to send these charitable contributions to the richestcountry in the world. Gorlebeff himself (head of the Russian Red CrossSociety) has £30, 000 a year. Armenians are literally rolling in money, and it is common to find Armenian ladies buying hats at 250 Rs. (£25) inTiflis. The Poles are not ruined, nor do they seem to object to Germanrule, which is doing more for them than Russia ever did. Tiflis peopleare now sending money for relief to Mesopotamia. Of the 300, 000 Rs. Sentby England, 70, 000 Rs. Have stuck to someone's fingers. 

In Flanders there were many people living in comfort such as they hadprobably never seen before, at the expense of the charitable public, anddoing very little indeed all the time: cars to go about in, chauffeursat their disposal, petrol without stint, and even their clothes (calleduniforms for the nonce!) paid for. 

And the little half-crowns that come in to run these shows, "how hardlythey are earned sometimes! with what sacrifices they are given!" A manin Flanders said to me one day: "We could lie down and roll in tobacco, and we all help ourselves to every blooming thing we want; and here is anote I found in a poor little parcel of things to-night: 'We are sosorry not to be able to send more, but money is very scarce this week. '"

My own cousin brought four cars over to France, and he told me he wassimply an unpaid chauffeur at the command of young officers coming in toshop at Dunkirk. 

I am thankful to say that Mrs. Wynne and Mr. Bevan and I have paid ourown expenses ever since the war began, and given things too. And I thinka good many of our own corps in Flanders used to contribute liberallyand pay for all they had. People here tell us that their cars have allbeen commandeered, and they are used for the wives of Generals, whonever had entered one before, and who proudly do their shopping in them. 

War must be a military matter, and these things must end, unless moneyis to find its way into the possession of the vultures who are always athand when there is any carcase about. 

_5 January. _--Absolutely nothing to write about. I saw Gorlebeff, Domerchekoff, and Count Tysczkievcz{10} of the Croix Rouge about myplans. They suggest my going to Urumiyah in Persia, where workers seemto be needed. The only other opening seems to be to go to CountGroholski's new little hospital on the top of the mountains. Mr. Hills, the American missionary, wants me first to go with him to see theArmenian refugees at Erivan, but we can't get transports for his giftsof clothing for them. 

[Page Heading: A PRESENTIMENT]

Before I left England I had a very strange, almost an overwhelmingpresentiment that I had better not come to Russia. I had by that timepromised Mrs. Wynne that I would come, and I couldn't see that it wouldbe the right thing to chuck her. I thought the work would suffer if Istayed at home, as she might find it impossible to get any other womanwho would pay her own way and consent to be away for so long a time. Ourprayers are always such childish things--prayer itself is only acry--and I remember praying that if I was "meant to stay at home" somesubstitute might be found for me. This all seems too absurd when oneviews it in the light of what afterwards happened. My vision of "honour"and "work" seem for the moment ridiculous, and yet I know that I was notso foolish as I seem, for I got a written statement from Mr. HumeWilliams (Mrs. Wynne's trustee), saying, "A unit has been formed, consisting of Mrs. Wynne, Miss Macnaughtan, etc. , and it has beenaccepted by the Russian Red Cross. " The idea of being in Russia andhaving to look for work never in my wildest moments entered my head--andthis is the end of the "vision, " I suppose. 

_Russian Christmas Day. _--Took a car and went for a short run into thecountry. Weather fine and bright. 

There is severe fighting in Galicia, and the rumour is thatUrumiyah--the place to which I am going--has been evacuated. 

My impression of Russia deepens--that it is run by beautiful women andrich men; and yet how charming everyone is to meet! Hardly anyone isuninteresting, and half the men are good-looking. The Cossack-dress isvery handsome, and nearly everyone wears it. When the colour is dark redand the ornaments are of silver the effect is unusually good. They allwalk well. One is amongst a primitive people, but a remarkably fine one!

_10 January. _--I am taking French lessons. This would appear to be asimple matter, even in Russia, but it has taken me three weeks to get ateacher. The first to come required a rest, and must decline; the secondwas recalled by an old employer; the third had too many engagements; thefourth came and then holidays began, as they always do! First ourChristmas, then the Russian Christmas, then the Armenian Christmas, leading on to three New Year Days! After that the Baptism, with itsholidays and its vigils. 

There is only one sort of breakfast-roll in this hotel which is softenough to eat; it is not made on festivals, nor on the day after afestival. I can honestly say we hardly ever see one. 

With much fear and trembling I have bought a motor-car. No work seemspossible without it. The price is heavy, but everyone says I shall beable to get it back when I leave. All the same I shake in my shoes--achauffeur, tyres, petrol, mean money all the time. One can't stopspending out here. It is like some fate from which one can't escape. Still the car is bought, and I suppose now I shall get work. 

[Page Heading: DIFFICULTIES]

We are all in the same boat. Mrs. Wynne has waited for her ambulancesfor three months, and I hear that even the Anglo-Russian hospital, withevery name from Queen Alexandra's downwards on the list of its patrons, is in "one long difficulty. " It is Russia, and nothing but Russia, thatbreaks us all. Everything is promised, nothing is done. The only _hope_of getting a move on is by bribery, and one may bribe the wrong peopletill one finds one's way about. 

_13 January. _--The car took us up the Kajour road, and behaved well; butthe chauffeur drove us into a bridge on the way down, and had to bedismissed. Tried to go to Erivan, but the new chauffeur mistook theroad, so we had to return to Tiflis. N. B. --Another holiday was comingon, and he wanted to be at home. _I actually used to like difficulties!_

_15 January. _--Started again for Erivan. All went well, and we had alovely drive till about 6 p. M. The dusk was gathering and we were up inthe hills, when "bang!" went something, and nothing on earth would makethe car move. We unscrewed nuts, we lighted matches, we got out the"jack, " but we could not discover what was wrong. So where were we tospend the night?

In a fold of the grey hills was a little grey village--just a few hutsbelonging to Mahomedan shepherds, but there was nothing for it but toask them for shelter. Fortunately, Dr. Wilson knew the language, and hepersuaded the "head man" to turn out for us. His family consisted ofabout sixteen persons, all sleeping on the floor. They gave us theclay-daubed little place, and fortunately it contained a stove, butnothing else. The snow was all round us, but we made up the fire and gotsome tea, which we carried with us, and finally slept in the littleplace while the chauffeur guarded the car. 

In the morning nothing would make the car budge an inch, and, seeing ourdifficulty, the Mahomedans made us pay a good deal for horses to tow thething to the next village, where we heard there was a blacksmith. Wefollowed in a hay-cart. We got to a Malokand settlement about 5 o'clock, and found ourselves in an extraordinarily pretty little village, andwere given shelter in the very cleanest house I ever saw. The woman wasa perfect treasure, and made us soup and gave us clean beds, and honeyfor breakfast. The chauffeur found that our shaft was broken, and thewhole piece had to go back to Tiflis. 

It was a real blow, our trip knocked on the head again, and now how werewe to get on? The railway was 48 versts away, and the railway had to bereached. We hired one of those painful little carts, which are made ofrough poles on wheels, and, clinging on by our eyelids, we drove as faras an Armenian village, where a snowstorm came on, and we took shelterwith a "well-to-do" Armenian family, who gave us lunch and displayedtheir wool-work and were very friendly. From there we got into another"deelyjahns" of the painful variety, and jolted off for about 25 miles, till, as night fell, we struck the railway, and were given two woodenbenches to sleep on in a small waiting-room. People came and went allnight, and we slept with one eye open till 2 a. M. , when the chauffeurtook a train to Tiflis. We sat up till 6 a. M. , when the train, two hourslate, started for Erivan, where we arrived pretty well "cooked" at 11p. M. 

[Page Heading: ERIVAN]

_Erivan. 20 January. _--Last night's experiences were certainly very"Russian. " We had wired for rooms, but although the message had beenreceived nothing was prepared. The miserable rooms were an inch thick indust, there were no fires, and no sheets on the beds! We went to arestaurant--fortunately no Russian goes to bed early--and found thequeerest place, empty save for a band and a lady. The lady and the bandwere having supper. She, poor soul, was painted and dyed, but sheoffered her services to translate my French for me when the waiterscould understand nothing but Russian. I was thankful to eat somethingand go to bed under my fur coat. 

To-day we have been busy seeing the Armenian refugees. There are 17, 000of them in this city of 30, 000 inhabitants. We went from one place toanother, and always one saw the same things and heard the same tales. 

Since the war broke out I think I have seen the actual breaking of thewave of anguish which has swept over the world (I often wonder if I can"feel" much more!). There was Dunkirk and its shambles, there was ruinedBelgium, and there was, above all, the field hospital at Furnes, withits horrible courtyard, the burning heap of bandages, and the mattressesset on edge to drip the blood off them and then laid on some bed again. I can never forget it. I was helping a nurse once, and all the time Iwas sitting on a dead man and never knew it!

And now I am hearing of one million Armenians slaughtered in cold blood. The pitiful women in the shelters were saying, "We are safe because weare old and ugly; all the young ones went to the harems. " Nearly all themen were massacred. The surplus children and unwanted women were putinto houses and burned alive. Everywhere one heard, "We were 4, 000 inone village, and only 143 escaped;" "There were 30 of us, and now only afew children remain;" "All the men are killed. " These were things onesaw for oneself, heard for oneself. There was nothing sensational in theway the women told their stories. 

Russia does what she can in the way of "relief. " She gives 4-1/2 Rs. Permonth to each person. This gives them bread, and there might be fires, for stoves are there, but no one seems to have the gumption to put themup. Here and there men and women are sleeping on valuable rugs, whichlook strange in the bare shelters. Most of the women knitted, and somewove on little "fegir" looms. The dullness of their existence matchesthe tragedy of it. The food is so plain that it doesn't wantcooking--being mostly bread and water; but sometimes a few rags arewashed, and there is an attempt to try and keep warm. Yet I have heardan English officer say that nothing pleases a Russian more than to ask, "When is there to be another Armenian massacre?"

The Armenians are hated. I wonder Christ doesn't do more for themconsidering they were the first nation in the world to embraceChristianity; but then, one wonders about so many things during thiswar. Oh, if we could stamp out the madness that seems to accompanyreligion, and just live sober, kind, sensible lives, how good it wouldbe; but the Turks must burn women and children, alive, because, poorsouls, they think one thing and the Turks think another! And men andwomen are hating and killing each other because Christ, says one, had anature both human and divine, and, says another, the two were merged inone. And a third says that Christ was equal to the Father, while a wholeChurch separated itself on the question of Sabellianism, or "TheProcession of the Son. "

Poor Christ, once crucified, and now dismembered by your own disciples, are you glad you came to earth, or do you still think God forsook you, and did you, too, die an unbeliever? The crucifixion will never beunderstood until men know that its worst agony consisted in thedisbelief which first of all doubts God and then must, by all reason, doubt itself. The resurrection comes when we discover that we are Godand He is us. 

[Page Heading: ETCHMIADZIN]

_21 January. _--To-day, I drove out to Etchmiadzin with Mr. Lazarienne, an Armenian, to see that curious little place. It is the ecclesiasticalcity of Armenia--its little Rome, where the Catholicus lives. He wasill, but a charming Bishop--Wardepett by name--with a flowing brownbeard and long black silk hood, made us welcome and gave us lunch, andthen showed us the hospital--which had no open windows, and smelthorrible--and the lovely little third-century "temple. " Then he took usround the strange, quiet little place, with its peaceful park and itsthree old brown churches, which mark what must once have been a greatcity and the first seat of a national Christianity. Now there areperhaps 300 inhabitants, but Mount Ararat dominates it, and Mount Araratis not a hill. It is a great white jewel set up against a sheet ofdazzling blue. 

Hills and ships always seem to me to be alive, and I think they have apersonality of their own. Ararat stands for the unassailable. It is likesome great fact, such as that what is beautiful must be true. It isgrand and pure and lovely, and when the sun sets it is more than this, for then its top is one sheet of rose, and it melts into a mystic hill, and one knows that whatever else may "go to Heaven" Ararat goes thereevery night. 

We visited the old Persian palace built on the river's cliff, and lookedout over the gardens to the hills beyond, and saw the mosque, with itsblue roof against the blue sky, and its wonderful covering of old tiles, which drop like leaves and are left to crumble. 

_Tiflis. 24 January. _--I left Erivan on Sunday, January 23rd. It wascold and sharp, and the train was crowded. People were standing all downthe corridors, as usual. Nothing goes quicker than eight miles an hour, nothing is punctual, nothing arrives. The stations are filthy, and thefood is quite uneatable. I often despair of this country, and if theRussians were not our Allies I should feel inclined to say that nothingwould do them so much good as a year or two of German conquest. No one, after the first six months, has been enthusiastic over the war, and thesoldiers want to get home. One young officer, 26 years old, has beenloafing in Tiflis for six months, and has at last been arrested. Anothertook his ticket on eight successive nights to leave the place and nevermoved. At last he was locked in his room, and a motor-car ordered totake him to the station. He got into it, and was not heard of for threedays, when his wife appeared, and found her husband somewhere in thetown. 

Mrs. Wynne and Mr. Bevan have gone on ahead to Baku, but I must wait formy damaged car. A young officer in this hotel shot himself dead thismorning. No one seems to mind much. 

[Page Heading: RUSSIAN SOCIETY]

_25 January. _--Last night I was invited to play bridge by one of therichest women in Russia. Her room was just a converted bedroom, with adirty wall-paper. The packs of cards were such as one might seerailway-men playing with in a lamp-room. Our stakes were a few kopeks, and the refreshments consisted of one tepid cup of tea, without eithermilk or lemon, and not a biscuit to eat. We all sat with shawls on, asour hostess said it wasn't worth while to light a fire so late at night. A nice little Princess Musaloff and Prince Napoleon Murat played withme. We were rich in titles, but our shoulders were cold. 

I have not seen a single nice or even comfortable room since I leftEngland, and although some women dress well, and have prettycigarette-boxes from the renowned Faberjé, other things about them areall wrong. The furniture in their rooms is covered with plush, and theornaments (to me) suggest a head-gardener's house at home with "anenlargement of mother" over the mantelpiece; or a Clapham drawing-room, furnished during some happy year when cotton rose, or copper wascornered. In this hotel the carpets are in holes in the passages, andthere are few servants; but I don't fancy that the people here noticethings very much. 

I went to see Mme. ---- one day in her new house. The rooms were largeand handsome. There was a picture of a cow at one end of thedrawing-room, and a mirror framed in plush at the other!

I must draw a "character" one day of the very charming woman who isabsolutely indifferent to people's feelings. The fact that some humblesoul has prepared something for her, or that a sacrifice has been made, or that one kind speech would satisfy, does not occur to her. These arethe people who chuck engagements when they get better invitations, andalways I seem to see them with expensive little bags and chains andFaberjé enamels. Men will slave for such women--will carry things forthem, and serve them. They have "success" until they are quite old, andafter they have taken to rouge and paint. A tired woman hardly ever getsanything carried for her. 

_26 January. _--A day's march nearer home! This is the Feast of St. Nina. There is always a feast or a fête here. People walk about the streets, they give each other rich cakes, and work a little less than usual. 

This hotel still keeps its cripples. Prince Murat sits on his littlechair on the landing. Prince Tschelikoff has his heart all wrong; thereis the man with one leg. 

Now Mlle. Lepnakoff, the singer, Musaloff, in his red coat, and someheavy Generals are here. We have the same food every day. 

[Page Heading: ENFORCED IDLENESS]

Perhaps I was pretty near having a breakdown when I came abroad, and theenforced idleness of this life may have been Providential (all my hairwas falling out, and my eyes were very bad, and the war was wearing medown rather); but to sit in an hotel bedroom or to potter over triflesin sitting-rooms seems a poor sort of way of passing one's time. To resthas always seemed to me very hard work. I can't even go to bed without apile of papers beside me to work at during the night or in the earlymorning!

When the power of writing leaves me, as it does fitfully and withoutwarning, I have a feeling of loneliness, which helps to convince me ofwhat I have always felt, that this power comes from outside, and canonly be explained psychically. I asked a great writer once if he everexperienced the feeling I had of being "left, " and he told me thatsometimes during the time of desolation he had seriously contemplatedsuicide. 

_30 January. _--I got a telephone message from Mr. Bevan last night. Hesays Baku is too horrible, and there is no news of the cars. People aretelling me now that if instead of cars we had given money, we shouldhave been fêted and decorated and extolled to the skies; but then, wherewould the money have gone? Last week the two richest Armenian merchantsin this town were arrested for cheating the soldiers out of thousands ofyards of stuff for their coats. A Government official could easily befound to say that the cloth had been received, and meanwhile what hasthe soldier to cover him in the trenches?

Armenians are certainly an odious set of people, and their ingratitudeis equalled by their meanness and greed. Mr. Hills, who is doing theArmenian relief work here, pays all his own expenses, and he can't get atruck to take his things to the refugees without paying for it, while heis often asked the question, "Why can't you leave these things alone?"Now that Mrs. Wynne has left I am asked the same question about her. Russia can "break" one very successfully. 

The weather has turned cold, and there is tearing wind and snow. 

_1 February. _--"No, " says I to myself, in a supremely virtuous manner, "I shall not be beaten by this enervating existence here. I'll do_something_--if it's only sewing a seam. "

So out came needles and cotton and mending and hemming, but, would it bebelieved, I am afflicted with two "doigts blancs" (festered fingers), and have to wear bandages, which prevent my doing even the mildest seam. Oddly enough, this "maladie" is a sort of epidemic here. The fact is, the dust is full of microbes, and no one is too well nourished. 

[Page Heading: SOME "MALADES IMAGINAIRES"]

I am rather amused by those brave strong people who "don't make a fussabout their health. " One hears from them almost daily that theirtemperature has gone up to 103°; "but it's nothing, " they sayheroically, "or if it is, it's only typhoid, and who cares for a littletyphoid?" Does a head ache, there is "something very queer about it, but"--pushing back hair from hot brow--"no one is to worry about it. Itwill be better to-morrow; or if it really is going to be fever, we mustjust try to make the best of it. " A sty in the eye is cataract, "butlots of blind people are very happy;" and a bilious attack is generallythat mysterious, oft-recurring and interesting complaint "camp fever. "Cheer up, no one is to be discouraged if the worst happens! Athermometer is produced and shaken and applied. The temperature is toolow now; it is probably only typhus, and we mean to be brave and get up. 

_3 February. _--Last night we played bridge. All the princes andprincesses moistened their thumbs before dealing, and no one is aboveusing a "crachoir" on the staircase! Oh for one hour of England! In allmy travels I have only found one foreign race which seemed to me to bewell-bred (as I understand it), and that is the native of India. Thevery best French people come next; and the Spaniard knows how to bow, but he clears his throat in an objectionable manner. None of them havebeen licked! That is the trouble. An Eton boy of fifteen could give themall points, and beat them with his hands in his pockets. 

I am quite sure that the British nation is really superior to allothers. Ours is the only well-bred race, and the only generous orhospitable nation. Fancy a foreigner keeping "open house"! Here theentertainment is a glass of thickened tea, and the stove is frequentlynot lighted even on a chilly evening. Since I have been in Russia I havehad nothing better or more substantial given to me (by the Russians)than a piece of cake, except by the Grand Duke. We brought heaps ofletters of introduction, and people called, but that is all, or elsethey gave an "evening" with the very lightest refreshments I have everseen. Someone plays badly on the piano, there is a little bridge, and asamovar!

_6 February. _--The queer epidemic of "gathered fingers" continues here. Having two I am in the fashion. They make one awkward, and more idlethan ever. A lot of people come in and out of my sitting-room to "cheerme up, " and everyone wants me to tell their fortune. Mrs. Wynne and Mr. Bevan are still at Baku. 

Last night I went to Prince Orloff's box to hear Lipkofskaya in "Faust. "

My car has come back, and is running well, but the weather has been coldand stormy, with snow drifting in from the hills. I took Mme. Derfeldenand her husband to Kajura to-day. Now that I have the car everyone wantsme to work with them. The difficulty of transport is indescribable. Without a car is like being without a leg. One simply can't get about. In order to get a seat on a train people walk up the line and bribe theofficials at the place where it is standing to allow them to get onboard. {11}

CHAPTER IV

ON THE PERSIAN FRONT

_8 February. _--A "platteforme" having been found for my car, I and M. Ignatieff of the Red Cross started for Baku to-day. We found our littleparty at the Métropole Hotel. Went to the MacDonell's to lunch. He isConsul. They are quite charming people, and their little flat was opento us all the time we were at Baku. 

The place itself is wind-blown and fly-blown and brown, but the harbouris very pretty, with its crowds of shipping, painted with red hulls, which make a nice bit of colour in the general drab of the hills and thetown. There are no gardens and no trees, and all enterprise in the wayof town-planning and the like is impossible owing to the Russian habitof cheating. They have tried for sixteen years to start electric trams, but everyone wants too much for his own pocket. The morals becomedingier and dingier as one gets nearer Tartar influence, and no shame isthought of it. Most of the stories one hears would blister the pages ofa diary. When a house of ill-fame is opened it is publicly blessed bythe priest!

_Kasvin. 18 February. _. --We spent a week at Baku and grumbled all thetime, although really we were not at all unhappy. The MacDonells werealways with us, and we had good games of bridge with Ignatieff in theevenings. We went to see the oil city at Baku, and one day we motored tothe far larger one further out. One of the directors, an Armenian, wentwith us, and gave us at his house the very largest lunch I have everseen. It began with many plates of zakouska (hors d'oeuvres), and wenton to a cold entrée of cream and chickens' livers; then grilled salmon, with some excellent sauce, and a salad of beetroot and cranberries. Thiswas followed by an entrée of kidneys, and then we came to soup, the bestI have ever eaten; after soup, roast turkey, followed by chicken pilau, sweets and cheese. It was impossible even to taste all the things, butthe Georgian cook must have been a "cordon bleu. "

On February 16th one of the long-delayed cars arrived, and we were inecstasies, and took our places on the steamer for Persia; but theradiator had been broken on the way down, and Mrs. Wynne was delayedagain. I started, as my car was arranged for, and had to go on board. Also, I found I could be of use to Mr. Scott of the Tehran Legation, whowas going there. We travelled on the boat together, and had an excellentcrossing to Enzeli, a lovely little port, and then we took my car anddrove to Resht, where Mr. And Mrs. McLaren, the Consul and his wife, kindly put us up. Their garden is quiet and damp; the house is damp too, and very ugly. There are only two other English people (at the bank) toform the society of the place, and it must be a bit lonely for a youngwoman. I found the situation a little tragic. 

[Page Heading: KASVIN]

We drove on next day to this place (Kasvin), and Mr. And Mrs. Goodwinwere good enough to ask us to stay with them. The big fires in the housewere very cheering after our cold drive in the snow. The moonlight wasmarvellous, and the mountain passes were beyond words picturesque. Wepassed a string of 150 camels pacing along in the moonlight and thesnow. All of them wore bells which jingled softly. Around us were theweird white hills, with a smear of mist over them. The radiant moon, thesnow, and the chiming camels I shall never forget. 

Captain Rhys Williams was also at the Goodwins; and as he was in verygreat anxiety to get to Hamadan, I offered to take him in my car, andlet Mr. Scott do the last stage of the journey in the Legation car toTehran. We were delayed one day at Kasvin, which was passed verypleasantly in the sheltered sunny compound of the house. My little whitebedroom was part of the "women's quarters" of old days, and with itsbright fire at night and the sun by day it was a very comfortable placein which to perch. 

_Hamadan. 24 February. _--Captain Williams and I left Kasvin at 8 a. M. OnFebruary 19th. 

I had always had an idea that Persia was in the tropics. _Where_ I gotthis notion I can't say. As soon as we left sheltered Kasvin and got outon to the plains the cold was as sharp as anything I have known. Snowlay deep on every side, and the icy wind nearly cut one in two. Westopped at a little "tschinaya" (tea-house), and ate some sandwicheswhich we carried with us. I also had a flask of Sandeman's port, givenme last Christmas by Sir Ivor Maxwell. I think a glass of this justprevented me from being frozen solid. We drove on to the top of thepass, and arrived there about 3 o'clock. We found some Russian officershaving an excellent lunch, and we shared ours and had some of theirs. Wesaw a lot of game in the snow--great coveys of fat partridges, hares bythe score, a jackal, two wolves, and many birds. The hares were veryodd, for after twilight fell, and we lit our lamps, they seemed quiteparalysed by the glare, and used to sit down in front of the car. 

We passed a regiment of Cossacks, extended in a long line, and comingover the snow on their strong horses. We began to get near war oncemore, and to see transport and guns. General Baratoff wants us up hereto remove wounded men when the advance begins towards Bagdad. 

The cold was really as bad as they make after the sun had sunk, and anicy mist enveloped the hills. We got within sight of the clay-built, flat Persian town of Hamadan about 10 p. M. , but the car couldn't makeany way on the awful roads, so I left Captain Williams at the barracks, and came on to the Red Cross hospital with two Russian officers, one alittle the worse for drink. 

[Page Heading: ARRIVAL AT HAMADAN]

With the genius for muddling which the Russians possess in a remarkabledegree no preparations had been made for me. Rather an unpleasant Jewdoctor came to the gateway with two nurses, and the officers began toflirt with the girls, and to pay them compliments. Some youngEnglishmen, one of whom was the British Consul, then appeared on thescene, so we began to get forward a little (although it seemed to methat we stood about in the snow for a terrible long time and I got quitefrozen!). As it was then past midnight I felt I had had enough, so Imade for the American missionary's house, which was pointed out to me, and he and his wife hopped out of bed, and, clad in curious greydressing-gowns, they came downstairs and got me a cup of hot tea, whichI had wanted badly for many hours. There was no fireplace in my room, and the other fires of the house were all out, but the old couple werekindness and goodness itself, and in the end I rolled myself up in myfaithful plaid and slept at their house. 

The next day--Sunday, the 20th--Mr. Cowan, the young Consul, and a Mr. Lightfoot, came round and bore me off to the Consulate. On Monday Ibegan to settle in, but even now I find it difficult to take mybearings, as we have been in a heavy mountain fog ever since I got here. There is a little English colony, the bank manager, Mr. MacMurray, andhis wife--a capable, energetic woman, and an excellent workingpartner--Mr. McLean, a Scottish clerk, a Mr. McDowal, also a Scot, and afew other good folk; whom in Scotland one would reckon the farmer class, but none the worse for that, and never vulgar however humbly born. 

On Monday, the 21st, I called on the Russian element--Mme. Kirsanoff, General Baratoff, etc. They were all cordial, but nothing will convinceme that Russians take this war seriously. They do the thing ascomfortably as possible. "My country" is a word one never hears fromtheir lips, and they indulge in masterly retreats too often for myliking. The fire of the French, the dogged pluck of the British, seemquite unknown to them. Literally, no one seems much interested. There isa good deal of fuss about a "forward movement" on this front; but Ifancy that at Kermanshah and at ---- there will be very littleresistance, and the troops there are only Persian gendarmerie. No doubtthe most will be made of the Russian "victory, " but compared with thewestern front, this is simply not war. I often think of the guns firingday and night, and the Taubes overhead, and the burning towns ofFlanders, and then I find myself living a peaceful life, with anoccasional glimpse of a regiment passing by. 

 * * * * *

_To Mrs. Charles Percival. _

BRITISH VICE-CONSULATE, HAMADAN. _23 February, 1916. _

MY DEAREST TABBY, We are buried in snow, and every road is a dug-out, with parapets ofsnow on either side. All journeys have to be made by road, and generallyover mountain passes, where you may or may not get through the snow. Onesees "breakdowns" all along the routes, and everywhere we go we have totake food and blankets in case of a camp out. I have had to buy amotor-car, and I got a very good one in Tiflis, but they are so scarceone has to pay a ransom for them. I am hoping it won't be quite smashedup, and that I shall be able to sell it for something when I leave. 

[Page Heading: THE DIFFICULTY OF TRANSPORT]

Transport is the difficulty everywhere in these vast countries, withtheir persistent want of railways; so that the most necessary way ofhelping the wounded is to remove them as painlessly and expeditiously aspossible, and this can only be done by motor-cars. Only one of Mrs. Wynne's ambulances has yet arrived, and in the end I came on herewithout her and Mr. Bevan. I was wanted to give a member of the Legationat Tehran a lift; and, still more important, I had to bring a soldier ofconsequence here. So long as one can offer a motor-car one iseverybody's friend. 

Yesterday I was in request to go up to a pass and fetch two doctors, whohad broken down in the snow. The wind is often a hurricane, and I amtold there will be no warm weather till May. I look at a light silkdressing-gown and gauze underclothing, and wonder why it is that no oneseems able to tell one what a climate will be like. I have warm thingstoo, I am glad to say, although our luggage is now of the lightest, andis only what we can take in a car. The great thing is to be quiteindependent. No one would dream of bringing on heavy luggage or anythingof that sort, except, of course, Legation people, who have their owntransport and servants. 

On journeys one is kindly treated by the few Scottish people (they allseem to be Scots) scattered here and there. Everywhere I go I find theusual Scottish couple trying to "have things nice, " and longing formails from home. One woman was newly married, and had only one wish inlife, and that was for acid drops. Poor soul, she wasn't well, and Imean to make her the best imitation I can and send them to her. Theymake their houses wonderfully comfortable; _but_ the difficulty ofgetting things! Another woman had written home for her child's frock inAugust, and got it by post on February 15th. Cases of things coming byboat or train take far longer, or never arrive at all. 

I shall be working with the Russian hospital here till our next move. There are 25 beds and 120 patients. Of course we are only waiting topush on further. The political situation is most interesting, but I mustnot write about it, of course. It is rather wonderful to have seen thewar from so many quarters. 

The long wait for the cars was quite maddening, but I believe it did megood. I was just about "through. " Now I am in a bachelor's little house, full of terrier dogs and tobacco smoke; and when I am not at thehospital I darn socks and play bridge. 

Now that really is all my news, I think. Empire is not made for nothing, and one sees some plucky lives in these out-of-the-way parts. I did nottake a fancy to my host at one house where we stayed, and something mademe think his wife was bullied and not very happy. A husband would haveto be quite all right to compensate for exile, mud, and solitude. Alwaysmy feeling is that we want far more people--especially educated people, of course--to run the world; yet we continue to shoot down our best andnoblest, and when shall we ever see their like again?

Always, my dear, Your lovingS. MACNAUGHTAN. 

I hope to get over to Tehran on my "transport service, " and there I mayfind a mail. Some people called ----, living near Glasgow, had ninesons, eight of whom have been killed in the war. The ninth is delicate, and is doing Red Cross work. 

 * * * * *

_26 February. _--On Tuesday a Jew doctor took my motor-car by fraud, sothere had to be an enquiry, and I don't feel happy about it yet. WithRussians _anything_ may happen. I have begun to suffer from my chillsometime getting here, and also my mouth and chin are very bad; so I havehad to lie doggo, and see an ancient Persian doctor, who prescribed andtalked of the mission-field at the same time. 

[Page Heading: MISSIONARIES AND RELIGION]

I am struck by one thing, which is so naïvely expressed out here that itis very humorous, and that is the firm and formidable front which thebest sort of men show towards religion. To all of them it meansmissionaries and pious talk, and to hear them speak one would imagine itwas something between a dangerous disease and a disgrace. The best theycan say of any clergyman (whom they loathe) or missionary, is, "He nevertried the Gospel on with me. " A religious young man means a sneak, andone who swears freely is generally rather a good fellow. When one livesin the wilds I am afraid that one often finds that this view is theright one, although it isn't very orthodox; but the pi-jaw which passesfor religion seems deliberately calculated to disgust the natural man, who shows his contempt for the thing wholesomely as becomes him. Hemeans to smoke, he means to have a whisky-peg when he can get it, and agame of cards when that is possible. His smoke is harmless, he seldomdrinks too much, and he plays fair at all games, but when he finds thatthese harmless amusements preclude him from a place in the Kingdom ofHeaven he naturally--if he has the spirit of a mouse--says, "All right. Leave me out. I am not on in this show. "

_27 February. _--On Sunday one always thinks of home. I am ratherinclined to wonder what my family imagine I am actually doing on thePersian front. No doubt some of my dear contemporaries saddle me withnoble deeds, but I still seem unable to strike the "noble" tack. Even mywork in hospital has been stopped by a telegram from the Red Cross, saying, "Don't let Miss Macnaughtan work yet. " A typhus scare, I fancy. Such rot. But I am used now to hearing all the British out here murmur, "What _can_ be the good of this long delay?"

[Page Heading: HOW NEWS TRAVELS IN PERSIA]

I am still staying at the British Consulate. The Consul, Mr. Cowan, is agood fellow, and Mr. Lightfoot, his chum, is a real backwoodsman, fullof histories of adventures, fights, "natives, " and wars in many lands. He seems to me one of those headstrong, straight, fine fellows whom oneonly meets in the wilds. England doesn't agree with them; they haven'talways a suit of evening clothes; but in a tight place one knows howcool he would be, and for yarns there is no one better. He tells one alot about this country, and he knows the Arabs like brothers. Theirsystem of communicating with each other is as puzzling to him as it isto everyone else. News travels faster among them than any messenger orpost can take it. At Bagdad they heard from these strange people of thefall of Basra, which is 230 miles away, within 25 hours of its havingbeen taken. Mr. Lightfoot says that even if he travels by car Arab newsis always ahead of him, and where he arrives with news it is knownalready. Telegraphy is unknown in the places he speaks of, except inBagdad, of course, and Persia owns exactly one line of railway, eightmiles long, which leads to a tomb!

More important than any man here are the dogs--Smudge, Jimmy, and thepuppy. Most of the conversation is addressed to them. All of it is aboutthem. 

_28 February. A day on the Persian front. _--I wake early because it isalways so cold at 4 a. M. , and I generally boil up water for my hot-waterbottle and go to sleep again. Then at 8 comes the usual Resident Sahib'sservant, whom I have known in many countries and in many climes. He isalways exactly alike, and the Empire depends upon him! He is thin, he ismysterious. He is faithful, and allows no one to rob his master buthimself. He believes in the British. He worships British rule, and hespeaks no language but his own, though he probably knows Englishperfectly, and listens to it at every meal without even the cock of anear! He is never hurried, never surprised. What he thinks his privateidol may know--no one else does. His master's boots--especially thebrown sort--are part of his religion. He understands an Englishman, andis unmoved by his behaviour, whatever it may be. I have met him inIndia, in Kashmir, at Embassies, in Consulates, on steamers, and I havenever known his conduct alter by a hair's breadth. He is piped in red, and let that explain him, as it explains much else that is British. Justa thin red line down the length of a trouser or round a coat, and theman thus adorned is part of the Empire. 

The man piped in red lights my fire every morning in Persia, andarranges my tub, and we breakfast very late because there is nothing todo on three days of the week--_i. E. _, Friday, the Persian Sabbath, Saturday, the Jewish Sabbath, and Sunday, the Armenian Sunday. On thesethree days neither bazaars nor offices are open. Business is at astandstill. The Consulate smokes pipes, develops photographs, and readsold novels. On the four busy days we breakfast at 10 o'clock, and duringthe meal we learn what the dogs have done during the night--whetherJimmy has barked, or Smudge has lain on someone's bed, or the puppy"coolly put his head on my pillow. "

About 11 o'clock I, who am acting as wardrobe-mender to some very untidyclothes and socks, get to work, and the young men go to the town andappear at lunch-time. We hear what the local news is, and what Mr. MacMurray has said and Mr. McLean thought, and sometimes one of thepeople from the Russian hospital comes in. About 3 we put on goloshesand take exercise single-file on the pathways cut in the snow. At 5 thesamovar appears and tea and cake, and we talk to the dogs and to eachother. We dress for dinner, because that is our creed; and we burn agood deal of wood, and go to bed early. 

Travel really means movement. Otherwise, it is far better to stay athome. I am beginning to sympathise with the Americans who insist upondoing two cities a day. We got some papers to-day dated October 26th, and also a few letters of the same date. 

 * * * * *

[Page Heading: UNFINISHED ARTICLE ON PERSIA]

_Unfinished Article on Persia found among Miss Macnaughtan's papers. _

Persia is a difficult country to write about, for unless one colours thepicture too highly to be recognisable, it is apt to be uninterestingeven under the haze of the summer sun, while in wintertime the countrydisappears under a blanket of white snow. Of course, most of us thoughtthat Persia was somewhere in the tropics, and it gives us a little shockwhen we find ourselves living in a temperature of 8 degrees below zero. The rays of the sun are popularly supposed to minimise the effect ofthis cold, and a fortnight's fog on the Persian highlands has still leftone a believer in this phenomenon, for when the sun does shine, it doesit handsomely, and, according to the inhabitants, it is only whenstrangers are here that it turns sulky. Be that as it may, the mostloyal lover of Persia will have to admit that Persian mud is the deepestand blackest in the world, and that snow and mud in equal proportions toa depth of 8 inches make anything but agreeable travelling. Snow isindiscriminately shovelled down off the roofs of houses on to the headsof passers-by, and great holes in the road are accepted as theinevitable accompaniment to winter traffic. 

In the bazaars--narrow, and filled with small booths, where Manchestercotton is stacked upon shelves--the merchants sit huddled up on theircounters, each with a cotton lahaf (quilt) over him, under which is asmall brazier of ougol (charcoal). In this way he manages to remain in athawed condition, while a pipe consoles him for his little trade and thehorrible weather. Before him, in the narrow alleys of the bazaar, Persians walk with their umbrellas unfurled, and Russians have put theconvenient bashluk (a sort of woollen hood) over their heads and ears. The Arab, in his long camel-skin coat, looks impervious to the weather, and women with veiled faces and long black cloaks pick their way throughthe mire. Throngs of donkeys, melancholy and overladen, their small feetsinking in the slush, may be with the foot-passengers. Some pariah dogsmake a dirty patch in the snow, and a troop of Cossacks, their longcloaks spotted with huge snow-flakes, trot heavily through the narrowlanes. 

But it is not only, nor principally, of climate that one speaks inPersia at the present time. 

Persia has been stirring, if not with great events, at least withimportant ones, and at the risk of telling stale news, one must take aglance at the recent history of the country and its people. It isproverbial to say that Persia has been misgoverned for years. It is acountry and the Persians are people who seem fated by circumstances andby temperament to endure ill-government. A ruler is either a despot or aknave, and frequently both. Any system of policy is liable to change atany moment. Property is held in the uneasy tenure of those who havestolen it, and a long string of names of rulers and politicians revealsthe fact that most of them have made what they could for themselves byany means, and that perhaps, on the whole, violence has been lessdetrimental to the country than weakness. 

[Page Heading: THE YOUNG PERSIAN MOVEMENT]

The worst of it is that no one seems particularly to want theDeliverer--the great and single-minded leader who might free and upliftthe country. Persia does not crave the ideal ruler; he might make itvery unpleasant for those who are content and rich in their own way. Itis this thing, amongst many others, which helps to make the situation inPersia not only difficult but almost impossible to follow or describe, and it is, above all, the temperament of the Persians themselves whichis the baffling thing in the way of Persian reform. Yet reform has beenspoken of loudly, and again and again in the last few years, and thereformation is generally known as the Nationalist or Young PersianMovement. To follow this Movement through its various ramificationswould require a clue as plain and as clear as a golden thread, and thebest we can do in our present obscurity is to give a few of the leadingfeatures. 

The important and critical situation evident in Persia to-day owes itsbeginning to the disturbances in 1909, when the Constitutional Partycame into power, forcibly, and with guns ready to train on Tehran, andwhen, almost without an effort, they obtained their rights, and lostthem again with even less effort. .. . 

 * * * * *

_29 February. _--The last day of a long month. The snow falls withoutceasing, blotting out everything that there may be to be seen. To-day, for the first time, I realised that there are hills near. Mr. Lightfootand I walked to the old stone lion which marks the gateway ofEkmadan--_i. E. _, ancient Hamadan. I think the snow was rather thickerthan usual to-day. Mr. Lightfoot and I went to Hamadan, plodding our waythrough little tramped-down paths, with snow three feet deep on eitherside. By way of being cheerful we went to see two tombs. One was an old, old place, where slept "the first great physician" who ever lived. In ita dervish kept watch in the bitter cold, and some slabs of dung kept asmouldering fire not burning but smoking. These dervishes have beencarrying messages for Germans. Mysterious, like all religious men, theytravel through the country and distribute their whispers and messages. The other tomb is called Queen Esther's, though why they should bury herat Ekmadan when she lived down at Shushan I don't know. 

We went to see Miss Montgomerie the other day. She is an Americanmissionary, who has lived at Hamadan for thirty-three years. She hasschools, etc. , and she lives in the Armenian quarter, and devotes herlife to her neighbours. Her language is entirely Biblical, and it soundsalmost racy as she says it. 

There is nothing to record. Yesterday I cleaned out my room forsomething to do, and in the evening a smoky lamp laid it an inch thickin blacks. The pass here is quite blocked, and no one can come or go. The snow falls steadily in fine small flakes. My car has disappeared, with the chauffeur, at Kasvin. I hear of it being sent to Enzeli; butthe whole thing is a mystery, and is making me very anxious. There areno answers to any of my telegrams, and I am completely in the dark. 

_3 March. _--I think that to be on a frozen hill-top, with fever, someboils, three dogs, and a blizzard, is about as near wearing down one'sspirits as anything I know. 

_5 March, Sunday. _--In bed all day, with the ancient Persian inattendance. 

 * * * * *

[Page Heading: THE RETURN OF THE PILGRIM]

_The Return of the Pilgrim. _

This is not a story for Sunday afternoon. It is true for one thing, andSunday afternoon stories are not, as a rule, true. They nearly all tellof the return of the Prodigals, but they leave out the return of thePilgrims, and that is why this parable is not for Sunday afternoon. Iwrite it because I never knew a true thing yet that was not of use tosomeone. 

Most of us leave home when we are grown up. The people who never grow upstop at home. The journey and the outward-bound vision are the signs ofan active mind stirring wholesomely or unwholesomely as the case may be. The Prodigal is generally accounted one of those whose sane mind demandsan outlet; but he lands in trouble, and gets hungry, and comes backpenitent, as we have heard a thousand million times. The Far Country isalways barren, the husks of swine are the only food to be had, andbankruptcy is inevitable. 

The story has been accepted by many generations of men as a picture ofthe world, with its temptations, its sins, its moral bankruptcy, and itsillusionary and unsatisfying pleasures. Preachers have always been fondof allusions to the husks and swine, and the desperate hunger whichthere is nothing to satisfy in the Far Country. The story is true, Godwot; it gives many a man a wholesome fright, and keeps him at home, andits note of forgiveness for a wasted life has proved the salvation ofmany Prodigals. 

But there is another journey, far more often undertaken by the young andby all those who needs must seek--the brave, the energetic, the good. Itis towards a country distant yet ever near, and it lies much removedfrom the Far Country where swine feed. Its minarets stand up against aclear and cloudless sky, its radiancy shines from afar off. It is set ona hill, and the road thither is very steep and very long, but thePilgrims start out bravely. They know the way! They carry torches! Theyhave the Light within and without, and "watchwords" for every night, andsongs for the morning. Some walk painfully, with bleeding feet, on thepath that leads to the beautiful country, and some run joyously witheager feet. Whatever anyone likes to say, it is a much more crowded paththan the old trail towards the pigsty. At the first step of the journeystand Faith and Hope and Charity, and beyond are more wondrous things byfar--Glory, Praise, Vision, Sacrifice, Heroism, sublime Trust, theNeed-to-Give, and the Love that runs to help. And some of thePilgrims--most of them--get there. 

[Page Heading: DISAPPOINTMENT]

But there is a little stream of Pilgrims sometimes to be met with goingthe other way. They are returning, like the Prodigal, but there is noone to welcome them. Some are very tragic figures, and for them the sunis for ever obscured. But there are others--quite plain, sober men andwomen, some humorists, and some sages. They have honestly sought theCountry, and they, too, have unfurled banners and marched on; but theyhave met with many things on the road which do not match the watchwords, and they have heard many wonderful things which, truthfully considered, do not always appear to them to be facts. They have called Povertybeautiful, and they have found it very ugly; and they have called Moneynaught, and they have found it to be Power. They have found Sacrificeaccepted, and then claimed by the selfish and mean, and even Love hasnot been all that was expected. The Pilgrims return. Their poor tummies, too, are empty, but no calf is killed for them, there is no feastingand no joy. They stay at home, but neither Elder Son nor Prodigal hasany use for them. In the end they turn out the light and go to sleep, regretting--if they have any humour--their many virtues, which for solong prevented them enjoying the pleasant things of life. 

 * * * * *

_March. _--I lie in bed all day up here amongst these horrible snows. Theengineer comes in sometimes and makes me a cup of Benger's Food. For therest, I lean up on my elbow when I can, and cook some littlething--Bovril or hot milk--on my Etna stove. Then I am too tired to eatit, and the sickness begins all over again. Oh, if I could leave thisplace! If only someone would send back my car, which has been takenaway, or if I could hear where Mrs. Wynne and Mr. Bevan are! But no, thedoor of this odious place is locked, and the key is thrown away. 

I have lost count of time. I just wait from day to day, hoping someonewill come and take me away, though I am now getting so weak I don'tsuppose I can travel. 

One wonders whether there can be a Providence in all thisdisappointment. I think not. I just made a great mistake coming outhere, and I have suffered for it. Ye gods, what a winter it hasbeen--disillusioning, dull, hideously and achingly disappointing!

[Page Heading: MEMORIES OF HOME]

It is too odd to think that until the war came I was the happiest womanin the world. It is too funny to think of my house in London, whichpeople say is the only "salon"--a small "salon, " indeed! But I canhardly believe now in my crowds of friends, my devoted servants, mypleasant work, the daily budget of letters and invitations, and thepress notices in their pink slips. Then the big lectures and theapplause--the shouts when I come in. The joy, almost the intoxication oflife, has been mine. 

Of course, I ought to have turned back at Petrograd! But I thought allmy work was before me, and in Russia one can't go about alone withoutknowing the way and the language of the people. Permits are difficult, nothing is possible unless one is attached to a body. And now I havereached the end--_Persia! And there is no earthly use for us, and thereare no roads. _

CHAPTER V

THE LAST JOURNEY

My car turned up at Hamadan on March 9th, and on the 13th I saidgood-bye to my friends at the Consulate, and left the place with aTartar prince, who cleared his throat from the bottom of his soul, andspat luxuriously all the time. The mud was beyond anything that onecould imagine. There was a sea of it everywhere, and men waded knee-deepin slush. My poor car floundered bravely and bumped heavily, till atlast it could move no more. Two wheels were sunk far past the hubs, andthe step of the car was under mud. 

The Tartar prince hailed a horse from some men and flung himself acrossit, and then rode off through the thick sea of mud to find help to movethe car. His methods were simple. He came up behind men, and cloutedthem over the head, or beat them with a stick, and drove them in frontof him. Sometimes he took out a revolver and fired over the men's heads, making them jump; but nothing makes them really work. We pushed on for amile or two, and then stuck again. This time there were no men near, andthe prince walked on to collect some soldiers at the next station. Itwas a wicked, blowy day, and I crept into a wrecked "camion" andsheltered there, and ate some lunch and slept a little. I wasn't feelinga bit well. 

That night we only made twenty miles, and then we put up at a littlerest-house, where the woman had ten children. They all had colds, andcoughed all the time. She promised supper at 8 o'clock, but kept uswaiting till 10 p. M. , and then a terrible repast of batter appeared in abig tin dish, and everyone except me ate it, and everyone drank my wine. Then six children and their parents lay in one tiny room, and I and anurse occupied the hot supper-room, and thus we lay until the coldmorning came, and I felt very ill. 

So the day began, and it did not improve. I was sick all the time untilI could neither think nor see. The poor prince could do nothing, ofcourse. 

[Page Heading: ILLNESS AT KASVIN]

At last we came to a rest-house, and I felt I could go no further. I wasquite unconscious for a time. Then they told me it was only two hours toKasvin, and somehow they got me on board the motor-car, and the horriblejourney began again. Every time the car bumped I was sick. Of course wepunctured a tyre, which delayed us, and when we got into Kasvin it was 9o'clock. The Tartar lifted me out of the car, and I had been told that Imight put up at a room belonging to Dr. Smitkin, but where it was I hadno idea, and I knew there would be no one there. So I plucked up courageto go to the only English people in the place--the Goodwins, with whom Ihad stayed on my way up--and ask for a bed. This I did, and they let mespread my camp-bed in his little sitting-room. I was ill indeed, andaching in every bone. 

The next day I had to go to Smitkin's room. It was an absolutely bareapartment, but someone spread my bed for me, and there were some RedCross nurses who all offered to do things. The one thing I wanted wasfood, and this they could only get at the soldiers' mess two miles away. So all I had was one tin of sweet Swiss milk. The day after this Idecided I must quit, whatever happened, and get to Tehran, where thereare hotels. After one night there I was taken to a hospital. I was alonein Persia, in a Russian hospital, where few people even spoke French!

On March 19th an English doctor rescued me. He heard I was ill, and cameto see me, and took me off to be with his wife at his own home at theLegation. I shall never forget it as long as I live--the blessed changefrom dirty glasses and tin basins and a rocky bed! What does illnessmatter with a pretty room, and kindness showered on one, and everythingclean and fragrant? I have a little sitting-room, where my meals areserved, and I have a fire, a bath, and a garden to sit in. 

God bless these good people!

 * * * * *

[Page Heading: A LETTER FROM TEHRAN]

_To Lady Clémentine Waring. _

BRITISH LEGATION, TEHRAN, _22 March. _

DARLING CLEMMIE, I am coming home, having fallen sick. Do you know, I was thinking aboutyou so much the other night, for you told me that if ever I was really"down and out" you would know. So I wondered if, about a week ago, yousaw a poor small person (who has shrunk to about half her size!) in anempty room, feeling worth nothing at all, and getting nothing to eat andno attention! Persia isn't the country to be ill in. I was taken to theRussian hospital--which is an experience I don't want to repeat!--butnow I am in the hands of the Legation doctor, and he is going to nurseme till I am well enough to go home. 

There are no railways in this country, except one of eight miles to atomb! Hence we all have to flounder about on awful roads in motor-cars, which break down and have to be dug out, and always collapse at thewrong moment, so we have to stay out all night. 

You thought Persia was in the tropics? So did I! I have been in deepsnow all the time till I came here. 

I think the campaign here is nearly over. It might have been a lotbigger, for the Germans were bribing like mad, but you can't make aPersian wake up. 

Ever, dear Clemmie, Your lovingS. MACNAUGHTAN. 

So nice to know you think of me, as I know you do. 

 * * * * *

_26 March. _--I am getting stronger, and the days are bright. As a greattreat I have been allowed to go to church this morning, the first I havebeen to since Petrograd. 

 * * * * *

_To Miss Julia Keays-Young. _

BRITISH LEGATION, TEHRAN. _1 April. _

DARLING JENNY, In case you want to make plans about leave, etc. , will you come and stopwith me when first I get home, say about the 5th or 6th May, I can't sayto a day? It will be nice to see you all and have a holiday, and then Ihope to come out to Russia again. Did I tell you I have been ill, but amnow being nursed by a delightful English doctor and his wife, andgetting the most ideal attention, and medicines changed at every changein the health of the patient. 

I've missed everything here. I was to be presented to the Shah, etc. , etc. , and to have gone to the reception on his birthday. All the timeI've lain in bed or in the garden, but as I haven't felt up to anythingelse I haven't fashed, and the Shah must do wanting me for the present. 

The flowers here are just like England, primroses and violets and Lentlilies, but I'm sure the trees are further out at home. 

Your most lovingAUNT SALLY. 

 * * * * *

_To Mrs. Keays-Young. _

BRITISH LEGATION, TEHRAN, _8 April. _

DEAREST BABY, I don't think I'll get home till quite the end of April, as I am notsupposed to be strong enough to travel yet. My journey begins with amotor drive of 300 miles over fearful roads and a chain of mountainsalways under snow. Then I have to cross the lumpy Caspian Sea, and Ishall rest at Baku two nights before beginning the four days journey toPetrograd. After that the fun really begins, as one always loses allone's luggage in Finland, and one finishes up with the North Sea. Whatdo you think of that, my cat?

[Page Heading: CONVALESCENCE]

Dr. Neligan is still looking after me quite splendidly, and I neverdrank so much medicine in my life. No fees or money can repay the dearman. 

Tehran is _the_ most primitive place! You can't, for instance, get onescrap of flannel, and if a bit of bacon comes into the town there is astampede for it. People get their wine from England in two-bottleparcels. 

Yours as ever, S. 

 * * * * *

_Tehran. April. _--The days pass peacefully and even quickly, which isodd, for they are singularly idle. I get up about 11 a. M. , and am prettytired when dressing is finished. Then I sit in the garden and have mylunch there, and after lunch I lie down for an hour. Presently teacomes; I watch the Neligans start for their ride, and already I wonderif I was ever strong and rode!

It is such an odd jump I have taken. At home I drifted on, never feelingolder, hardly counting birthdays--always brisk, and getting through aheap of work--beginning my day early and ending it late. And now thereis a great gulf dividing me from youth and old times, and it is filledwith dead people whom I can't forget. 

In the matter of dying one doesn't interfere with Providence, but itseems to me that _now_ would be rather an appropriate time to depart. Iwish I could give my life for some boy who would like to live very much, and to whom all things are joyous. But alas! one can't swop lives likethis--at least, I don't see the chance of doing so. 

I should like to have "left the party"--quitted the feast of life--whenall was gay and amusing. I should have been sorry to come away, but itwould have been far better than being left till all the lights are out. I could have said truly to the Giver of the feast, "Thanks for anexcellent time. " But now so many of the guests have left, and the firesare going out, and I am tired. 

END OF THE DIARY. 

 * * * * *

The rest of the story is soon told. 

Miss Macnaughtan left Tehran about the middle of April. The Persian hotweather was approaching, and it would have been impossible for her totravel any later in the season. The long journey seemed a sufficientlyhazardous undertaking for a person in her weak state of health, but inDr. Neligan's opinion she would have run an even greater risk byremaining in Persia during the hot weather. 

[Page Heading: STARTING FOR HOME]

Dr. Neligan's goodness and kindness to Miss Macnaughtan will always beremembered by her family, and he seems to have taken an enormous amountof trouble to make arrangements for her journey home. He found an escortfor her in the shape of an English missionary who was going toPetrograd, and gave her a pass which enabled her to travel asexpeditiously as possible. The authorities were not allowed to delay orhinder her. She was much too ill to stop for anything, and drove nightand day--even through a cholera village--to the shores of the CaspianSea. 

We know very few details concerning the journey home, and I think myaunt herself did not remember much about it. One can hardly bear tothink of the suffering it caused her. A few incidents stood out in hermemory from the indeterminate recollection of pain and discomfort inwhich most of the expedition was mercifully veiled, and we learnt themafter she returned. 

There was the occasion when she reached the port on the Caspian Sea onehour after the English boat had sailed. She called it the "English"boat, but whether it could have belonged to an English company, or wasmerely the usual boat run in connection with the train service toEngland, I do not know. A "Russian" vessel was due to leave in a coupleof hours' time, but for some reason Miss Macnaughtan was obliged to walkthree-quarters of a mile to get permission to go by it. We can neverforget her piteous description of how she staggered and crawled to theoffice and back, so ill that only her iron strength of will could forceher tired body to accomplish the distance. She obtained the necessarysanction, and started forth once more upon her way. 

She stayed for a week at the British Embassy in Petrograd, where herescort was obliged to leave her, so the rest of the journey wasundertaken alone. 

We know nothing of how she got to Helsingfors, but I believe it was atthat place that she had to walk some considerable distance over a frozenlake to reach the ship. She was hobbling along, leaning heavily on twosticks, and just as she stumbled and almost fell, a young Englishmancame up and offered her his arm. 

In an old diary, written years before in the Argentine, during a timewhen Miss Macnaughtan was faced with what seemed overwhelmingdifficulties, and when she had in her charge a very sick man, a kindstranger came to the rescue. Her diary entry for that day is one ofheartfelt gratitude, and ends with the words: "God always sendssomeone. "

Certainly at Helsingfors some Protecting Power sent help in a bigextremity, and this young fellow--Mr. Seymour--devoted himself to herfor the rest of the journey in a marvellously unselfish manner. He couldnot have been kinder to her if she had been his mother, and he actuallyaltered all his plans on arriving in England, and brought her to thevery door of her house in Norfolk Street. Without his help I sometimeswonder whether my aunt would have succeeded in reaching home, and herown gratitude to him knew no bounds. She used to say that in herexperience if people were in a difficulty and wanted help they ought togo to a young man for it. She said that young men were the kindestmembers of the human race. 

[Page Heading: ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND]

It was on the 8th of May that Miss Macnaughtan reached home, and hertravels were over for good and all. One is only thankful that the lastweeks of her life were not spent in a foreign land but among her ownpeople, surrounded by all the care and comfort that love could supply. Two of her sisters were with her always, and her house was thronged withvisitors, who had to wait their turn of a few minutes by her bedside, which, alas! were all that her strength allowed. 

She was nursed night and day by her devoted maid, Mary King, as she didnot wish to have a professional nurse; but no skill or care could saveher. The seeds of her illness had probably been sown some years before, during a shooting trip in Kashmir, and the hard work and strain of thefirst year of the war had weakened her powers of resistance. But it wasRussia that killed her. 

Before she went there many of her friends urged her to give up theexpedition. Her maid had a premonition that the enterprise would end indisaster, and had begged her mistress to stay at home. 

"I feel sure you will never return alive ma'am, " she had urged, and MissMacnaughtan's first words to her old servant on her return were: "Youwere right, Mary. Russia has killed me. "

Miss Macnaughtan rallied a little in June, and was occasionally carrieddown to her library for a few hours in the afternoon, but even thatamount of exertion was too much for her. For the last weeks of her lifeshe never left her room. 

Surely there never was a sweeter or more adorable invalid! I can see hernow, propped up on pillows in a room filled with masses of mostexquisite flowers. She always had things dainty and fragrant about her, and one had a vision of pale blue ribbons, and soft laces, and lovelyflowers, and then one forgot everything else as one looked at the dearface framed in such soft grey hair. She looked so fragile that onefancied she might be wafted away by a summer breeze, and I have neverseen anyone so pale. There was not a tinge of colour in face or hands, and one kissed her gently for fear that even a caress might be too muchfor her waning strength. 

Her patience never failed. She never grumbled or made complaint, andeven in the smallest things her interest and sympathy were as fresh asever. A new dress worn by one of her sisters was a pleasure, and shewould plan it, and suggest and admire. 

It was a supreme joy to Miss Macnaughtan to hear, some time in June, that she had received the honour of being chosen to be a Lady of Graceof the Order of St. John of Jerusalem. Any recognition of her good workwas an unfailing source of gratification to her sensitive nature, sensitive alike to praise or blame. 

She was so wonderfully strong in her mind and will that it seemedimpossible in those long June days to believe that she had such a littletime to live. She managed all her own business affairs, personallydictated or wrote answers to her correspondence, and was full of schemesfor the redecoration of her house and of plans for the future. 

I have only been able to procure three of my aunt's letters writtenafter her return to England. They were addressed to her eldest sister, Mrs. Ffolliott. I insert them here:

 * * * * *

[Page Heading: MISS MACNAUGHTAN'S LAST LETTERS]

1, NORFOLK STREET, PARK LANE, W. _Tuesday. _

MY DEAREST OLD POOT, How good of you to write. I was awfully pleased to see a letter fromyou. I have been a fearful crock since I got home, and I have to lie inbed for six weeks and live on milk diet for eight weeks. The illness isof a tropical nature, and one of the symptoms is that one can't eat, soone gets fearfully thin. I am something over six stone now, but I wasvery much less. 

We were right up on the Persian front, and I went on to Tehran. One sawsome most interesting phases of the war, and met all the distinguishedGenerals and such-like people. 

The notice you sent me of my little book is charming. 

Your lovingS. B . M. 

 * * * * *

1, NORFOLK STREET, PARK LANE, W. , _9 June. _

DARLING POOT, I must thank you myself for the lovely flowers and your kind letters. Iam sure that people's good wishes and prayers do one good. I so nearlydied!

Your lovingS. M. 

 * * * * *

_17th June_

Still getting on pretty well, but it is slow work. Baby and Julia bothin town, so they are constantly here. I am to get up for a little bitto-morrow. 

Kindest love. It _was_ naughty of you to send more flowers. 

As ever fondly, SARAH. 

 * * * * *

As the hot weather advanced it was hoped to move Miss Macnaughtan to thecountry. Her friends showered invitations on "dear Sally" to come andconvalesce with them, but the plans fell through. It became increasinglyclear that the traveller was about to embark on that last journey fromwhich there is no return, and, indeed, towards the end her sufferingswere so great that those who loved her best could only pray that shemight not have long to wait. She passed away in the afternoon of Monday, July 24th, 1916. 

A few days later the body of Sarah Broom Macnaughtan was laid to rest inthe plot of ground reserved for her kinsfolk in the churchyard at ChartSutton, in Kent. It is very quiet there up on the hill, the great Wealdstretches away to the south, and fruit-trees surround the Hallowed Acre. But even as they laid earth to earth and dust to dust in this peacefulspot the booming of the guns in Flanders broke the quiet of the sunnyafternoon, and reminded the little funeral party that they were indeedburying one whose life had been sacrificed in the Great War. 

[Page Heading: THE GRAVE IN CHART SUTTON]

Surely those who pass through the old churchyard will pause by thegrave, with its beautiful grey cross, and the children growing up in theparish will come there sometimes, and will read and remember the simpleinscription on it:

 "In the Great War, by Word and Deed, at Home and Abroad, She served her Country even unto Death. "

And if any ghosts hover round the little place, they will be the ghostsof a purity, a kindness, and of a love for humanity which are not oftenmet with in this workaday world. 

CONCLUSION

Perhaps a review of her war work by an onlooker, and a slight sketch ofMiss Macnaughtan's character, may form an appropriate conclusion to thisbook. 

I stayed with my aunt for one night, on August 7th, 1914. One may bepardoned for saying that during the previous three days one had scarcelybegun to realise the war, but I was recalled by telegram fromNorthamptonshire to the headquarters of my Voluntary Aid Detachment inKent, and spent a night in town en route, to get uniform, etc. Certainlyat my aunt's house my eyes were opened to a little of what lay beforeus. She was on fire with patriotism and a burning wish to help hercountry, and I immediately caught some of her enthusiasm. 

Every hour we rushed out to buy papers, every minute seemed consecratedto preparation for what we could do. There were uniforms to buy, notesof Red Cross lectures to "rub up, " and, in my aunt's case, she was busyoffering her services in every direction in which they could be of use. 

[Page Heading: VOLUNTARY RATIONING]

Miss Macnaughtan must surely have been one of the first people to beginvoluntary rationing. We had the simplest possible meals during my visit, and although she was proud of her housekeeping, and usually gave onerather perfect food, on this occasion she said how impossible it was forher to indulge in anything but necessaries, when our soldiers would sosoon have to endure hardships of every kind. She said that we ought tobe particularly careful to eat very little meat, because there wouldcertainly be a shortage of it later on. 

I recollect that there was some hitch about my departure from NorfolkStreet on August 8th. It did not seem clear whether my Voluntary AidDetachment was going to provide billets for all recalled members, and Iremember my aunt's absolute scorn of difficulties at such a time. 

"Of course, go straight to Kent and obey orders, " she cried. "If youcan't get a bed, come back here; but at least go and see what you cando. "

That was typical of Miss Macnaughtan. Difficulties did not exist forher. When quite a young girl she made up her mind that no lack of money, time, or strength should ever prevent her doing anything she wanted todo. It certainly never prevented her doing anything she felt she _ought_to do. 

The war provided her with a supreme opportunity for service, and she didnot fail to take advantage of it. Of her work in Belgium, especially atthe soup-kitchen, I believe it is impossible to say too much. Accordingto _The Times_, "The lady with the soup was everything to thousands ofstricken men, who would otherwise have gone on their way fasting. "

Among individual cases, too, there were many men who benefited by somespecial care bestowed on them by her. There was one wounded Belgian towhom my aunt gave my address before she left for Russia that he mighthave someone with whom he might correspond. I used to hear from himregularly, and every letter breathed gratitude to "la dame écossaise. "He said she had saved his life. 

Miss Macnaughtan's lectures to munition-workers were, perhaps, the bestwork that she did during the war. She was a charming speaker, and Inever heard one who got more quickly into touch with an audience. As Isaw it expressed in one of the papers "Stiffness and depression vanishedfrom any company when she took the platform. " Her enunciation wasextraordinarily distinct, and she had an arresting delivery whichcompelled attention from the first word to the last. 

She never minced the truth about the war, but showed people at home howfar removed it was from being a "merry picnic. "

"They say recruiting will stop if people know what is going on at theFront, " she used to tell them. "I am a woman, but I know what I would doif I were a man when I heard of these things. _I would do my durndest. _"

All through her life the idea of personal service appealed to MissMacnaughtan. She never sent a message of sympathy or a gift of helpunless it was quite impossible to go herself to the sufferer. 

She was only a girl when she heard of what proved to be the fatalaccident to her eldest brother in the Argentine. She went to him by thenext ship, alone, save for the escort of his old yacht's skipper, and ajourney to the Argentine in those days was a big undertaking for adelicate young girl. On another occasion she was in Switzerland whenshe heard of the death, in Northamptonshire, of a little niece. She leftfor England the same day, to go and offer her sympathy, and try tocomfort the child's mother. 

"When I hear of trouble I always go at once, " she used to say. 

I have known her drive in her brougham to the most horrible slum in theEast End to see what she could do for a woman who had begged from her inthe street--yes, and go there again and again until she had done allthat was possible to help the sad case. 

[Page Heading: ZEAL TO HELP OTHERS]

It was this burning zeal to help which sent her to Belgium and carriedher through the long dark winter there, and it was, perhaps, the samefeeling which obscured her judgment when her expedition to Russia wascontemplated. She was a delicate woman, and there did not seem to bemuch scope for her services in Russia. She was not a qualified nurse, and the distance from home, and the handicap of her ignorance of theRussian language, would probably have prevented her organising anythinglike comforts for the soldiers there as she had done in Belgium. Tothose of us who loved her the very uselessness of her efforts in Russiaadds to the poignancy of the tragedy of the death which resulted fromthem. 

The old question arises: "To what purpose is this waste?" And the oldanswer comes still to teach us the underlying meaning and beauty of whatseems to be unnecessary sacrifice: "She hath done what she could. "

Indeed, that epitaph might fitly describe Miss Macnaughtan's war work. She grudged nothing, she gave her strength, her money, her very life. The precious ointment was poured out in the service of her King andCountry and for the Master she served so faithfully. 

 * * * * *

I have been looking through some notices which appeared in the pressafter Miss Macnaughtan's death. Some of them allude to her wit, herenergy and vivacity, the humour which was "without a touch of cynicism";others, to her inexhaustible spirit, her geniality, and the "powers ofsarcasm, which she used with strong reserve. " Others, again, see throughto the faith and philosophy which lay behind her humour, "Scottish inits penetrating tenderness. "

In my opinion my aunt's strongest characteristic was a dazzling purityof soul, mind, and body. She was a person whose very presence lifted thetone of the conversation. It was impossible to think of telling her anasty story, a "double entendre" fell flat when she was there. She wasthe least priggish person in the world, but no one who knew her coulddoubt for an instant her transparent goodness. I have read every word ofher diary; there is not in it the record of an ugly thought, or of oneaction that would not bear the full light of day. About her books sheused to say that she had tried never to publish one word which herfather would not like her to have written. 

She had a tremendous capacity for affection, and when she once lovedshe loved most faithfully. Her devotion to her father and to her eldestbrother influenced her whole life, and it would have been impossible forthose she loved to make too heavy claims on her kindness. 

[Page Heading: SOCIAL CHARM]

Miss Macnaughtan had great social charm. She was friendly and easy toknow, and she had a wonderful power of finding out the interesting sideof people and of seeing their good points. Her popularity wasextraordinary, although hers was too strong a personality to commanduniversal affection. Among her friends were people of the most varieddispositions and circumstances. Distinction of birth, position, orintellect appealed to her, and she was always glad to meet a celebrity, but distinction was no passport to her favour unless it was accompaniedby character. To her poorer and humbler friends she was kindness itself, and she was extraordinarily staunch in her friendships. Nothing wouldmake her "drop" a person with whom she had once been intimate. 

In attempting to give a character-sketch of a person whose nature was ascomplex as Miss Macnaughtan's, one admits defeat from the start. She hadso many interests, so many sides to her character, that it seemsimpossible to present them all fairly. Her love of music, literature, and art was coupled with an enthusiasm for sport, big-game shooting, riding, travel, and adventure of every kind. She was an ambitious woman, and a brilliantly clever one, and her clearness of perception andwonderful intuition gave her a quick grasp of a subject or idea. She hada thirst for knowledge which made learning easy, but hers was the brainof the poet and philosopher, not of the mathematician. Accuracy ofthought or information was often lacking. Her imagination led the way, and left her with a picture of a situation or a subject, but she wasvery vague about facts and statistics. As a woman of business she wasshrewd, with all a Scotchwoman's power of looking at both sides of abawbee before she spent it, but she was also extraordinarily generous ina very simple and unostentatious way, and her hospitality was boundless. 

Miss Macnaughtan was almost hypersensitive to criticism. Her intensedesire to do right and to serve her fellow-beings animated her wholelife, and it seemed to her rather hard to be found fault with. Indeed, she had not many faults, and the defects of her character were mostlytemperamental. 

As a girl she was unpunctual, and subject to fits of indecision when itseemed impossible for her to make up her mind one way or the other. Theinconvenience caused by her frequent changes of times and plans wasprobably not realised by her. Later in life, when she lived so muchalone, she did not always see that difficulties which appeared nothingto her might be almost insuperable to other people, and that in houseswhere there are several members of a family to be considered, noindividual can be quite as free to carry out his own plans as a personwho is independent of family ties. But when one remembered howsplendidly she always responded to any claim on her own kindness oneforgave her for being a little exacting. 

Perhaps Miss Macnaughtan's greatest handicap in life was her immensecapacity for suffering--suffering poignantly, unbearably, not only forher own sorrows but for the sorrows of others. Only those who appealedto her in trouble knew the depth of her sympathy, and how absolutely sheshared the burden of the grief. But perhaps they did not always know howshe agonised over their misfortunes, and at what price her sympathy wasgiven. 

[Page Heading: RELIGIOUS VIEWS]

My aunt was a passionately religious woman. Her faith was theinspiration of her whole life, and it is safe to say that from thesmallest to the greatest things there was never a struggle betweenconscience and inclination in which conscience was not victorious. Asshe grew older, I fancy that she became a less orthodox member of theChurch of England, to which she belonged, but her love for Christ andfor His people never wavered. 

As each Sunday came round during her last illness, when she could not goto church, she used to say to a very dear sister, "Now, J. , we must haveour little service. " Then the bedroom door was left ajar, and her sisterwould go down to the drawing-room and play the simple hymns they hadsung together in childhood. And on the last Sunday, the day before herdeath, when the invalid lay in a stupor and seemed scarcely conscious, that same dear sister played the old hymns once more, and as the soundfloated up to the room above those who watched there saw a gleam ofpleasure on the dying woman's face. 

My aunt had no fear of death. There had been a time, some weeks beforethe end, when her feet had wandered very close to the waters whichdivide us from the unknown shore, and she told her sisters afterwardsthat she had almost seemed to see over to the "other side, " and that somany of those she loved were waiting for her, and saying, "Come over tous, Sally. We are all here to welcome you. "

Perhaps just at the last, when her body had grown weak, the journeyseemed rather far, and she clung to earth more closely, but suchweakness was purely physical. The brave spirit was ready to go, and asthe music of her favourite hymn pierced her consciousness when she laydying, so surely the words summed up all that she felt or wished to say, and formed her last prayer in death, as they had been her constantprayer in life:

 "In death's dark vale I fear no ill With Thee, dear Lord, beside me; Thy rod and staff my comfort still, Thy Cross before to guide me. 

 "And so through all the length of days Thy goodness faileth never; Good Shepherd, may I sing Thy praise Within Thy house for ever. "

INDEX

Aberdare, 164

Aberystwyth, 164

Adinkerke, 116; soup-kitchen, 82, 86, 157; bombardment, 139

Airships, German, over Antwerp, 5, 9; Dunkirk, 81; Furnes, 80; St. Malo-les-Bains, 55; destroyed, 27, 194

Andrews, John, 171

Antwerp, 1; Hospital, 2; arrival of wounded, 2, 3, 5, 12; siege, 3-21; reinforcements, 12, 16; shelled, 18-21; retreat of the Marines, 28

Arabs, rapid system of communication, 247

Ararat, Mount, 230

Armenians, massacres of, 209, 214, 217, 228; refugees, 227; character, 234

Artvin, 211

Asquith, Raymond, 183

Australians, treatment of the Turks, 177

Bagdad, 247

Bagot, Lady, 100; at St. Malo-les-Bains, 49, 55; hospital, 104, 113, 114; arrival of wounded, 144; entertains them, 147

Bailey, Sister, 22, 24

Baku, 233, 237

Baratoff, General, 240, 241

Bark, M. , Russian Finance Minister, 195

Barrow-in-Furness, lectures by Miss Macnaughtan, 162

Bartlett, Ashmead, war correspondent, at Furnes, 35

Batoum, 208, 213

"Beau Garde, " farm, 140

Bedford, Adeline, Duchess of, 59

Belgians, King of the, 141

Belgians, Queen of the, visits the Hospital at Furnes, 38

Benjamin, Miss, 2, 20

Bernoff, General, 208, 209

_Bessheim_, the, 179

Bevan, Mr. , at Furnes, 80, 83; Calais, 86; Nieuport, 151; Christiania, 179; Stockholm, 180; Baku, 231, 233

Bible, the, a Universal Human Document, 101

Boulderoff, M. , 216

Boulogne, 55; wounded at, 114

Bray, Mrs. , 192

British man-of-war, 125

Brockville, Mr. , at Dixmude, 35

Brooke, Victor, 178

Buchanan, Sir George, Ambassador at Petrograd, 184

Buchanan, Lady Georgina, at Petrograd, 184; soup-kitchen, 192; work-party, 196

Bute Docks, 171

Cabour hospital, 151

Calais, 83, 86

Cardiff, lecture by Miss Macnaughtan, 164, 167-171

Cardiff Castle, 163

Carlile, Mr. , 120

Caspian Sea, 265

Caucasia, 210

Cavell, Miss, execution, 186

Cazalet, Mr. , 207

Chart Sutton, churchyard at, 270

Chenies, 160

Children wounded, 116, 118

Chimay, Countess de Caraman, dame d'honneur of the Queen of the Belgians, 139

Chisholm, Miss, 26, 63

Christiania, 179

Churchill, Winston, at Antwerp, 12, 16; Dunkirk, 44

Clarry, Mr. G. , President of the Cardiff Chamber of Trade, 170

Clegg, Mr. , 105, 143

Clitheroe, Mrs. , 86, 93

Close, Miss Etta, barge, 97, 126, 135; work for the refugees, 140

Cocks, W. , 171

Constant, Count Stanislas, 213

Cooper, Mr. , 115

Courage, definition of, 24

Coventry, Mr. , 112

Cowan{12}, Mr. , Consul at Hamadan, 241, 246

Coxide, bombardment of, 69; refugees at, 138

Crawley, Eustace, 178

Cunard, Mr. , 198

Cunliffe, Miss, 2

Curie, Mme. , at Furnes, 68

Cyril, Grand Duchess, 205

Decies, Lady, 55

Decker, Mrs. , 26

Denniss, Colonel, 164; speech at the Bute Docks, 171

Derfelden, Mme. , 236

Dick, Miss, 2

Dinant, atrocities of the Germans at, 137

Dixmude, 127; bombardment, 35, 39

Donnisthorpe, Miss, 2, 22

Drogheda, Lady, 97

Dunkirk, 25, 43, 57, 73, 86, 87, 94, 123, 151; arrival of wounded, 44; bombs on, 81; condition of the station, 96; shelled by the Germans, 115

Elliot, Lady Eileen, at Boulogne, 58

Elliott, Maxine, 94, 97, 126

Enzeli, 238

Erivan, 225, 227

Etchmiadzin, 229

Ferdinand, King of Bulgaria, 195

ffolliott, Mrs. , letters from Miss Macnaughtan, 131, 269, 270

Fielding, Lady Dorothy, 12, 26, 63

Findlay, Mr. , 82

Fisher, S. , 171

France, armament works, 149

French, Sir John, at Dunkirk, 44

Frere, Sir Bartle, at Furnes, 68

Furley, Sir John, 112

Furnes hospital, 33; arrival of wounded, 37, 68; evacuated, 41, 43; hopeless cases, 46; soup-kitchen, 60; shelled by the Germans, 75, 86, 122; bombs on, 80, 81

Fyfe, Miss, 43

Galicia, fighting in, 223

Galitzin, Prince, 208

Gas, asphyxiating, cases of, 114, 145, 171

Georgia, 211; custom at, 213

German army, siege of Antwerp, 3-21; driven back, 18{13}; two regiments surrounded, 121; atrocities, 126, 132, 137, 138; throw vitriol, 144

Germany, preparations for war, 30; treatment of prisoners, 132

Ghent, 12

Gibbs, Mr. , war correspondent, at Furnes, 35

Gienst, Mme. Van der, 143

Gilbert, 34

Glade, Mr. , 2

Glasgow, munition works, output, 149, 161; lectures by Miss Macnaughtan, 163

Gleeson, Mr. , 33, 35

Glover, Bandmaster, K. S. , 170

Godfrey, Miss, 2

Goodwin, Mr. And Mrs. , 239

Gordon, Dr. , American Missionary, 208

Gorlebeff, head of the Russian Red Cross, 208, 221, 222

Graham, Stephen, book on Russia, 208

Groholski, Count, 210, 218

Guest, Mrs. , at Adinkerke, 119

Hamadan, 240; climate, 243, 247; tombs, 252

Hambro, Mr. Eric, 182

Hanson, Dr. , 2, 23

Hanson, Mr. , Vice-Consul at Constantinople, at Dunkirk, 151

Haparanda, 182

Harrison, Mr. , 164

Haye, M. De la, 139, 140

Helsingfors, 266

_Hermes_, the, torpedoed, 43

Herslet, Sir Cecil, Surgeon-General, at Antwerp, 9

Hills, Mr. , American missionary, 208, 222

Holland, Mr. , 88

Hoogstadt, 87; wounded at, 121

Hope, A. , 171

Howard, Lady Isobel, 181

Howse, Mr. , 164

Ignatieff, M. , 237

_Invicta_, the, 43, 52

Jecquier, M. , 195

Joffre, Marshal, at Dunkirk, 44

Joos, Dr. , 77; villa at Furnes, 48, 79

Joos, Mme. , 77

Kajura, 236

Kasvin, 239, 259

Keays-Young, Mrs. , letters from Miss Macnaughtan, 3, 106, 166, 262

Keays-Young, Miss Julia, letters from Miss Macnaughtan, 217, 262

King, Mary, 267; letters from Miss Macnaughtan, 63, 109

Kirsanoff, Mme. , 241

Kitchener, Lord, at Dunkirk, 44

Kluck, General von, at Mons, 133

Knocker, Mrs. , 45, 63, 155

La Bassée, British casualties at, 107

Lampernesse, church shelled, 67

La Panne, 87, 93, 97

Lazarienne, Mr. , 229

Leigh, Lord, 94

Lennel, 163

Lepnakoff{14}, Mlle. , 233

Lightfoot, Mr. , at Hamadan, 241, 246, 252

Lindsay, Harry, 183

Lloyd, Sir F. , 162

Lloyd, George, 195

Logan, Miss, 87

Logette, Mrs. , 72

Lombaertzyde, farm at, 138

Lombard, Mr. , 190

_Lusitania_ torpedoed, 123

McDonald, gunner, wounded, 118, 124

MacDonald{15}, Mr. Ramsay, 73

MacDonell, Consul, at Baku, 237

McDowal, Mr. , 241

McLaren, Mr. And Mrs. , 238

McLean, Mr. , 241, 248

MacMurray, Mr. , 241, 248

Macnaughtan, Lieut. Colin, 144

Macnaughtan, Sarah, at Antwerp 1; work in the Hospital, 8; incentive to keep up, 17; leaves Antwerp, 21; at Ostend, 22; joins Dr. Munro's convoy, 25; at Dunkirk, 25, 43, 57, 73, 86; St. Malo-les-Bains, 26, 49; Furnes, 34-43, 46, 57; flight to Poperinghe, 43; description of the ruins of Nieuport, 46, 152-155; request for travelling-kitchens, 51, 58; visits her nephew at Boulogne, 55-57; starts a soup-kitchen, 59-61; feeding the wounded, 61, 69; "charette, " 69; at the Villa Joos, 72, 77; attends a Church service, 74; return to England, 83, 111, 157, 267; at Rayleigh House, 85; soup-kitchen at Adinkerke, 86, 116, 157; illness, 87, 104, 207, 245, 256, 259-264, 267-270; at La Panne, 93, 111; publication of war book, 111; difficulties in getting her passport, 112; at Boulogne, 114; presented with a car, 120; at Poperinghe, 135; method of relieving cases of poison gas, 145, 171; lectures on the war, 160-174, 274; at Lennel, 163; Cardiff Castle, 163; Chevalier de l'Ordre de Léopold conferred, 167; journey to Russia, 179-183; at Christiania, 179; Stockholm, 180; Petrograd, 183-204, 265; waiting for work, 191-198, 218; studies Russian, 193; works in a hospital, 198; at Moscow, 204; Tiflis, 208-210, 214, 230; delicate appearance, 208; at Caucasia, 210; entertained by the Grand Duke Nicholas, 215; on the administration of war charities, 219-222; lessons in French, 224; buys a motor-car, 224; journey to Erivan, 225-227; car breaks down, 225; festered fingers, 234; at Baku, 237; Resht, 238; Kasvin, 239, 259; Hamadan, 240-257; a day on the Persian front, 247-249; unfinished article on Persia, 249-252; _Return of the Pilgrim_, 253-256; Tehran, 260-264; journey home, 264-266; at Helsingfors, 266; appearance, 268; appointed Lady of Grace of the Order of St. John of Jerusalem, 268; death, 270, 280; funeral, 270; review of her war work, 272-276; ideal of personal service, 274; sketch of her character, 276-279; religious views, 279

Malcolm, Colonel Ian, at Boulogne, 58; Petrograd, 183; at Moscow, 204

Malokand settlement, 226

Manners, Lady Diana, 183

Marines, British, at Antwerp, 12, 16; retreat from, 28

Marines, French, 105{16}

Maxwell, Lady Heron, 185

Millis, General, 87

Mons, retreat from, 133; vision at, 133

Montgomerie, Miss, American missionary at Hamadan, 252

Moorhouse, Rhodes, heroism, 129

Morgan, Mr. , 83, 86

Morris, Dr. , 2

Moscow, 204

Motono, M. , at Petrograd, 195

Munitions, shortage of, 148

Munro, Dr. Hector, 12; convoy, 25, 90; at Dixmude, 35; knocked over by a shell, 49

Murat, Prince Napoleon, 218, 231, 233

Murray, Mr. John, xii

Musaloff, Princess, 231

Needle, Mr. , 164

Neligan, Dr. , care of Miss Macnaughtan, 260, 263, 264

Neuve Chapelle, ruins of, 123

Neva, the, 200

Nevinson, Mr. , at Furnes, 38

Nicholas, Grand Duke, 215

Nieuport, 71, 151; ruins of, 46, 123, 152-155

Nightingale, song of the, 155-157

Nightingale, Florence, 184

Northcote, Elsie, 182; death, 183

Ochterlony, gunner, wounded, 118

O'Gormon, Mrs. , 16

Oostkerke, Belgian "observateur" killed at, 153

Orloff, Prince, 208; appearance, 219

Ostend, 22, 24

Oulieheff, Count, 210

Page, Dr. De, 118

Parsons, Johnny{17}, 192

Passport, difficulties, 112

Percival, Mrs. Charles, letters from Miss Macnaughtan, 65, 242-245

Perrin, Dr. , 86, 87

Perry, Miss, 2

Persia, climate, 239, 249; railway, 247; system of administration, 251; unfinished article on, 249-252

Pervyse, 63, 64; bombardment, 81; ruins of, 123

Peter, Grand Duke, 215

Petrograd, 183, 187, 206, 265; climate, 194; number of amputation cases, 198; return of wounded prisoners, 201-203; number of hospitals, 220

Philpotts, Mr. , 186

_Pilgrim, Return of the_, 253-256

"Pinching, " habit of, 98

Poincaré, M. , at Dunkirk, 44

Polish refugees, at Petrograd, 192, 193

Pont, Major du, 138

Poperinghe, 43, 135-137; shelled, 116

Powell, Miss Hilda, xii

Prisoners, German, treatment in England, 132

Queen's Hall, London, lecture by Miss Macnaughtan, 162

Radstock, Lord, anecdote of, 197

Ramsay, Sir William, on the result of the war, 149

Ramsey, Dr. , 2, 22

Randell, Miss, 2

Rasputin, malign influence, 209

Rayleigh House, 85

Reading, Mr. "Dick, " 42

Rees{18}, T. Vivian, 164, 171

Resht, 238

Rhondda Valley, 164

Richards, Alderman J. T. , speech at Cardiff, 167

Roberts, Lord, death, 63, 111

Rocky Mountains, 182

Rotsartz, M. , 125; portrait of Miss Macnaughtan, 104

Rushton Hall, Kettering, 160

Russian army, return of wounded prisoners to Petrograd, 201-203

St. Clair, Miss, 12

St. Gilles, convent at, 22

St. Idesbald, 150

St. Malo-les-Bains, 26, 49; wounded at, 50

Samson, Commander, 88

Sarrel, Mr. , 151

Sawyer, Mr. , 112

Sazonoff, Mme. , 200

Scherbatoff, Princess Hélène, 197

Scott, Lord Francis, at Boulogne, 58

Scott, Mr. , 238

Scott, Miss, 82

Secher, Mr. , wounded, 49

Seymour, Mr. , kindness to Miss Macnaughtan, 266

Shaw, Bernard, 189

Sheffield, lecture by Miss Macnaughtan, 162

Shoppe, Lieutenant, 132; at Nieuport, 153

"Should the Germans come, " lecture on, 171-173

Sim, 178

Sindici, Mme. {19}, 83, 86

Slippers for the wounded, 66, 98

Smith, Captain, 198

Smith, Mr. Lancelot, 182

Smith, Mr. Robinson, 171, 173

Smitkin, Dr. , 259

Sommerville, Mr. R. , xii

Soup-kitchen at Adinkerke, 82, 97, 157; Furnes, 60

Spies, German, shot, 44, 186

Stanley, Miss, 2

Stanmore, Lord, 183

Stear, Miss, 4

Steen, Mme. Van den, 137

Steenkerke, 122, 155

Stenning, Mr. , xii

Stobart, Mrs. St. Clair, head of the hospital unit at Antwerp, 2; office, 7, 10; issues orders, 18; leaves Antwerp, 21; return to England, 22

Stockholm, 180

Stoney, Dr. F. , 2

"Stories and Pictures of the War, " lecture on, 167

Streatfield, Mr. , 74

Stretchers, size of, 66, 69

Strickland, Mr. , 87

Strutt, Emily, 85

Strutt, Neville, 178

Sutherland, Duchess of, 93; hospital at St. Malo-les-Bains, 44

Sweden, Crown Prince of, 181

Sweden, Crown Princess of, appearance, 181

Taff river, 164

Takmakoff, Mme. , 200, 203

Tapp, Mr. , 64

Teck, Prince Alexander of, 141; at Furnes, 75, 83

Tehran, 260

Thompson, Mr. , 138

Tiflis, 208, 214, 230

Tonepentre, 164

Toney Pandy, 164

Travelling-kitchens, 51

Tree, Viola, 183

Tschelikoff, Prince, 233{20}

Turks, cruelties, 177, 209

Turner, Dr. Rose, 2

Tyrell, Major, 151

Tysczkievez{21}, Count, 222

Urumiyah, evacuated, 223

Vaughan, Miss, at Furnes, 68

Vickers-Maxim works, Erith, lecture by Miss Macnaughtan, 160

Victoria, Grand Duchess, 185

Villiers, Sir Francis, British Minister at Antwerp, 9

Vladikavkas, 207

Wales, 163

Walker, Colonel, 112

Walter, Mr. Hubert, 143

Walton, Colonel, 176

War, {22} charities, administration, 219-222; cost of the, 104; cruelties, 175-178; result, 115; souvenirs, 143

Wardepett, Bishop, 229

Ware, Mr. F. , 85

Waring, Lady Clémentine, letters from Miss Macnaughtan, 50-52, 58, 260; at Lennel, 163

Warship, British, shelled by the Germans, 105

Watts, Dr. , 2

Welwyn, 160

Westminster{23}, Duke of, at Dixmude, 127

Whiting, Captain, 73

William II. , Emperor of Germany, supposed conversion toMahomedanism{24}, 209

William, Capt. Rhys, 239

Williams, Mr. Hume, 223

Wilson, Dr. , 69, 225

Wilson, 178

Wood, Mr. , 119, 121

Wynne, Mrs. , 132, 140; at Christiania, 179; Moscow, 205; Baku, 231

Young, Capt. Alan, at Boulogne, 55; experiences in the war, 56; wounded, 57

Young, Mrs. Charles, letter from Miss Macnaughtan, 214

Younghusband, Sir Frank, 164; speech at Cardiff, 169

Ypres, 114, 137; battle at, 144, 146

Yser, the, 64, 71, 121, 141

Billing and Sons, Ltd. , Printers, Guildford, England

 * * * * *

Transcriber's corrections and comments:

 1. Added period missing in original. 

 2. Added comma missing in original. 

 3. Original had "Rotsarzt"; changed to "Rotsartz" to be consistent with later occurrences. 

 4. Original had "vise"; changed to "visé". 

 5. Original had "pasport"; changed to "passport". 

 6. Original had ". .. Road to Calais s blocked. .. "; changed to ". .. Road to Calais is blocked. .. ". 

 7. Note inconsistency in spelling: text has "Reece", index has "Rees". 

 8. Note inconsistency in spelling: text has "Johnnie", index has "Johnny". 

 9. Changed from comma in original to period. 

 10. Note inconsistency in spelling: text has "Tysczkievcz", index has "Tysczkievez"; most likely meant to be the Polish name "Tyszkiewicz". 

 11. Added period missing in original. 

 12. Original had "Cowen"; changed to "Cowan", which is the spelling used in both instances in the text. 

 13. Original reference to page 10; changed to page 18, as this contains the actual reference to the German army being driven back. 

 14. Original had "Lipnakoff"; changed to "Lepnakoff" as the more likely spelling and to be consistent with the text. 

 15. Original had "Macdonald"; changed to "MacDonald". 

 16. Original reference to page 165; changed to page 105, as this contains the actual reference to the French Marines. 

 17. Note inconsistency in spelling: text has "Johnnie", index has "Johnny". 

 18. Note inconsistency in spelling: text has "Reece", index has "Rees". 

 19. Added period missing in original. 

 20. Removed comma that was superfluous in the original. 

 21. Note inconsistency in spelling: text has "Tysczkievcz", index has "Tysczkievez"; most likely meant to be the Polish name "Tyszkiewicz". 

 22. Added comma missing in original. 

 23. Original had "Westminister"; changed to "Westminster". 

 24. Original had "Mahommedanism"; changed to "Mahomedanism" to be consistent with the text.