Agnes Warner and the Nursing Sisters of the Great War

by Shawna M. Quinn

  The dental department have done wonderful work. They build up the frame work of the face and jaws, and then the surgeons finish the work by making new noses and lips and eyelids. I thought I had seen a good many wonderful things, but I did not believe it possible to make anything human out of some of the pieces of faces that were left, and in some of the cases they even get rid of the scars. Photos are taken when they first come in, and then in the various stages of recovery. One of the worst cases I saw the last day I was out. He has to have one more operation to fill in a small hole in one side of his nose and then he will be all right.

  Last Sunday one of the men in Miss B___’s ward was given the medal for distinguished service. He had saved his officer’s life — went right out before the guns and carried him in on his back. He was struck himself just before he got to his own lines and one leg almost torn off. When they brought him to the American Ambulance, all the doctors, except Dr. B___, said his leg would have to come off at once — he refused to do it and saved the leg for the man. It will be stiff, of course, as the knee joint is gone entirely; but will be better than a wooden leg, and the poor man is so pleased.

  I must tell you about the wonderful dog that is at the American Ambulance; perhaps you have read about him in some of the papers. His master came from Algeria, and of course did not expect to take his dog with him, but when the ship left the wharf the dog jumped into the sea and swam after it, so they put off a boat and hauled him on board, and he has been with his master all through the war. He was in the trenches with him, and one day a German shell burst in the trench and killed all of his companions and buried this man in the mud and dirt as well as injuring him terribly. Strange to say the dog was not hurt at all, and the first thing the man remembered was the dog digging the mud off his face. As soon as he realized his master was alive he ran off for help, and when they were brought into the ambulance together there were not many dry eyes about. After he was sure his master was being taken care of he consented to go and be fed, and now he is having the time of his life. He is the most important person in the place. He has a beautiful new collar and medal, lives in the diet kitchen, and is taken out to walk by the nurses, and best of all is allowed to see his master every day. I will send a photo of him to you. His master has lost one leg, the other is terribly crushed, and one hand also, but Dr. B___ thinks he can save them.

  I think I shall go back to Divonne-les-Bains — they are urging me so strongly and there seems to be more need there.

  February 19, 1915

  Back again in Divonne-les-Bains. It seems as if I had never been away — I have fallen into the old work so easily. I left Paris Sunday night about eight o’clock and arrived here at two the next day, and had a warm welcome from everybody. One poor man died of tetanus before I got back. I have nine on my floor. I have thirteen patients, nine in bed all the time, and the others up part of the day. One of the women of the village helps me in the morning, two others help with the cleaning up and serving meals; everything has to be carried up three flights of stairs, so you can imagine the work.

  I have a very comfortable room at the hotel, go to the ambulance at seven in the morning and generally get back at nine or half past. I do not know how long I shall be here — until this lot get well or more come.

  One of the patients is a chef, and was acting as cook for the regiment when a shell landed in his soup pot; he was not wounded, but his heart was knocked out of place by the shock and his back was twisted when he fell.

  February 28, 1915

  The poor man who was so very ill died on the morning of the twenty-third after three weeks of intense suffering — I stayed that night with him. The others are all out of danger with the exception of two who cannot get well — one is paralyzed and the other has tuberculosis.

  I went to the village for the first time yesterday and was quite touched by the welcome I received at every little shop and house. The people seemed genuinely glad to have me back. They cannot seem to get over the fact that I have crossed the ocean twice and come back to them. To them the ocean is a thing of terror, especially since the war broke out. Dr. R___ has a great many sick people in the country about here to take care of in addition to the soldiers. In one house they had nothing to eat but potatoes, but he is a good deal like our dear old doctor, and feeds and clothes and takes care of them himself.

  March 5, 1915

  I can scarcely believe that it is nearly three weeks since I left Paris. I have been so busy, that the days fly by. Some of the men are leaving tomorrow, and most of the others are getting along very well.

  Mr. E___ [possibly Mr. Eldridge, her patient’s husband] is indeed kind. He has just sent an order to the village people, who make beautiful lace and embroidery, for $500 worth of work. They are so happy about it, for it means food for many of them. One poor woman, who has lost her husband in the war and has a child to take care of, can earn only eighteen francs a month, that is $3.60, and that is all she has to live on.

  March 7, 1915

  One of the American doctors from the American Ambulance came to see me yesterday. He was very much interested in what he saw and is coming back in ten days. We have had one or two beautiful days, the pussy-willows are beginning to come out, and primroses everywhere.

  Dr. S___ said that the man who owned the wonderful dog that is at the American Ambulance is really getting well, and they managed to save one leg and the crushed hand.

  In Dr. B___’s service he did not do a single amputation during the months of January and February — a very wonderful record.

  Dr. S___ seems to think there is no hope of my poor paralyzed man getting better, he may live for twenty years but can never walk. I am giving him English lessons every day. He is very quick at learning; it helps pass the time. Poor man, he has already been in bed six months.

  March 21, 1915

  This has been the most lovely spring day. The violets are blooming in the fields, they are smaller than ours but very fragrant; the yellow primroses are beautiful and grow everywhere. There is still lots of snow on the mountains but none in the valley. If it were not for the soldiers who are here we could scarcely believe that terrible fighting is going on so near us.

  A lot of our men went off last week, some of them scarcely able to hobble, poor things, but all the hospitals are being cleared out to make room for the freshly wounded. We are expecting a new lot every day, and have prepared ten extra beds.

  I will have some letters this week to send to the Red Cross and the De Monts Chapter, I.O.D.E., thanking them for the things they sent back by me; they have been so much appreciated, done so much good, and relieved so much distress. I gave some to Mademoiselle de C___ who sent them to a small hospital in Normandy near their chateau, some to the hospital here, and some to a small hospital not far from here where they are very poor; the doctor who is in charge there nearly wept when he knew the things were for him.

  March 26, 1915

  Another beautiful day and the air is soft and balmy as a day in June. The woods and fields are full of spring flowers, there are big soft gray pussies on all the willow trees and the other trees are beginning to show a faint tinge of green. It is certainly a lovely place.

  You probably felt much relieved that I was not in Paris at the time of the last air raid when the bombs were dropped. One fell so near the ambulance at Neuilly that one of the doctors was knocked out of bed by the shock.

  I had my paralyzed man out on the balcony today, it is the first time in six months that he has been out.

  One of the men here, who has lost the use of both hands, told me today that he had six brothers in the army; two have been killed, two wounded, and two are still at the front. He was a coachman in a private family, has lost a thumb of one hand and on the other has only the thumb and one finger left. Fortunately his employer is a good man and will take care of him; but think of the poor man — horses are his chief joy, and he will never be able to drive again.

  April 2, 1915

  Ea
ster Sunday and still raining. We had a splendid service from Mr. R___ and a Communion service after. The service is more like the Presbyterian than any other. We have four new soldiers but the large convoy has not yet arrived. There has been awful fighting in Alsace lately, so the wounded must come soon.

  Today we had a specially good dinner for the men. Madam B___ gave them cigars and Easter eggs, and after dinner they sang some of their songs, then gave us three cheers. They are a fine lot of men and so grateful for everything we do for them.

  The story of the dog has gone through the whole country, but it is nice to know that it is really true, and to have seen the dog.

  Dr. B___ was able to save the other leg of the dog’s master, and after another operation he thinks he will have the use of his hand.

  April 10, 1915

  We had a severe snow storm today and yesterday also, and in between the snow storms it poured rain; all the lovely spring weather has disappeared.

  Wednesday night they announced the arrival of a train of wounded for the next morning at half-past five, but did not tell us how many to expect. We all went to the ambulance at half-past five and got everything ready for dressing and beds prepared for thirty. At seven thirteen arrived — all convalescents, and no dressings at all to do. The last time forty came, and all in a dreadful state of infection, so we never know what to expect.

  I am not sorry I came back to Divonne for I feel that I have been able to help more here than in Paris; there they have many to help and here very few.

  I am sending you a photo of three of my patients — Chasseurs d’Alpine or “Blue Devils” as the Germans call them — they are the ones who have done such wonderful work in Alsace.

  April 19, 1915

  I have had quite a busy week, for my men have been coming and going. The paralyzed man has been sent to Bourg, the two Chasseurs d’Alpine have gone and I have six new ones — this lot is ill, not wounded. There are three officers among them — one is a cousin of Madam B___ , the French lady who helped establish this ambulance. Her husband came on Thursday; he has eight days leave. He is very interesting, for he has been all up through the north of France. He is adjutant to one of the generals and travels from eighty to one hundred miles a day in a motor, carrying despatches. There is a French aviator here, but he has not got his machine, so I am afraid there is no hope for me.

  April 25, 1915

  They took down all the stoves in the ambulance last week, and the day after it snowed; we had to put some of the men to bed to keep them warm. We have been very busy all week, new patients coming every day till now we have forty. Most of them are not wounded. Poor fellows, they are utterly done out; some have pneumonia, others rheumatism, one paralyzed and all sorts of other things. This is a wonderful place for them to come to and most of them get well very quickly. They are talking of increasing the number of beds in the hospital and of making it a regular military one. In that case they will send a military doctor here and the whole thing will be re-organized. They want me to promise to take charge of it, but I do not think it would be a wise thing, there is so much red tape and so many things about the military organization I do not understand, that I am afraid I would get into hot water at once.

  I am sending you a circular of Mademoiselle de Caumont’s lace school. They do lovely work and need all the help and orders that they can get. They will be glad to execute orders by mail for anyone writing them to Divonne-les-Bains, France.

  May 2, 1915

  I have never seen anything as lovely as the country is now, it is like one great garden; how I wish you could be here. I have had a busy day, as one of my patients had to be operated on. Dr. R___ took a piece of shrapnel out of his arm, and two others have been pretty ill; four leave tomorrow, so the general clearing up will begin again.

  My poor old lady who had a stroke of paralysis died yesterday. I have been helping take care of her. The only son is at the front. So many old people are dying this year; when they get ill they don’t seem to have any power of resistance; poor things, they have endured so much they cannot stand any more.

  There is a poor little woman here who comes from Dinant that was destroyed by the Germans in the early part of the war.2 She has lost all trace of her father and mother; her husband and brother have both been killed and their property utterly destroyed. Mr. B___, the pastor of the Protestant Church, has not been able to find his mother, who disappeared last August. Every day we hear of something new.

  The papers are full of accounts of the gallant fighting of the Canadians, but the losses have been very heavy.3

  May 9, 1915

  It is just a year today since I sailed from New York, starting on our trip with Mrs. Eldridge. Little did we think of the horrors that have happened since.

  Seven more men went off last night, so we have only twenty left. I have ten on my floor, but only four in bed; the others are able to be out all day. Charrel, one of my patients who just left, was one of six brothers, all of whom went off the first days of the war; three have been killed, the other three wounded.

  I am going to Lyon on Thursday for a few days to visit some of the hospitals.

  The French papers are full of the heroism of the Canadian troops; they have done wonderful work at Ypres, but at what a terrible cost.

  I feel so proud every time I see the dressing gowns the De Monts Chapter sent me — they are the nicest we have.

  May 18, 1915

  I left here Thursday at noon with Madam B___ who went to Paris. Before I left I telegraphed to Madam M___, the wife of the soldier who was here such a long time, asking her to get me a room, but when I arrived I found the whole family at the station to meet me and they insisted on my going home to stay with them. They are very simple people, but so kind and hospitable. I think it is quite an event having a stranger stay with them. We ate in the kitchen, and the whole family seemed to sleep in a cupboard opening off of it.

  I saw a lot of hospitals and was rather favorably impressed with them. At the Hotel Dieu, they had received seven hundred patients within twenty-four hours. I think the saddest part was the eye ward, there were so many who would never see again and some of them so young. There were some with both legs gone and others both feet, and many with one arm or leg missing.

  The boats on the river that were fitted up as hospitals were very interesting, but I fancy would be very hot in the summer and the mosquitoes would be terrible.

  Saturday I spent the day with Mademoiselle R___, who had been staying at the hotel at Divonne for a time. The R___s are a wealthy family who have lived in Lyon for generations. Mademoiselle was able to take me to a good many of the hospitals, as they have done a good deal for them. We visited them in the morning, which was much more interesting, as we saw the work going on. At two of the hospitals wounded were arriving when we left there, so we saw the whole thing. I also saw the dressing being done in one of the large military hospitals. In the afternoon we went to a Red Cross hospital, where she worked in the lingerie; there are fifty beds and the patients are taken care of by the sisters. They seemed to be very cheerful and well looked after.

  Sunday morning I got up at 3:30 and took a train at 4:30 for Romans where Mrs. C___ is working in a military hospital. At eight I arrived at Tournon and had to walk from there to a small village called Tain, where I got a tramway to Romans. I arrived at eleven, had my lunch on the sidewalk before a café — a most excellent meal for fifty cents. I found Mrs. C___ at the convent, where she is staying; fortunately she had the afternoon off. She has charge of the dressings and all of the infected operations. At the hospital where she is they have forty wounded Germans; they seem very contented and glad to be there. Mrs. C___ says it is dreadful to do their dressings, for they have no self-control at all; they have a certain dogged courage that makes them fight as they do in the face of certain death, but when they are wounded they cannot stand the pain. The French, on the contrary, seldom say a word; they will let one do anything, and if the pain is very bad they moan occa
sionally or say a swear word, but I have never seen one who lost control of himself and screamed.

  I had dinner with Mrs. C___ at the convent, and at 7:15 took the train for Valence where I changed and waited two hours for the train to Lyon, but there was so much going on at the station that the time did not seem long — troops coming and going all the time and a hospital train with three hundred wounded arrived.

  Monday morning I left for Divonne and arrived back very tired but well satisfied with my trip.

  I found two new patients, one with a leg as big as an elephant and the other out of his head. I have twelve now on my floor.

  Just think! Lily of the valley grows wild here, and you can get a bushel in a morning; the whole place is sweet with the perfume.

  May 29, 1915

  We got twelve more patients Wednesday — six left. I still have fifteen; this lot were all ill. One man is quite a character. The doctor put him on milk diet the first day — but he did not approve, so he went to the village and bought a loaf of bread and some ham.

  Between the florist of the village and the wife of one of the soldiers I am kept well supplied with roses. I wish I could share my riches with you.

  I am anxiously waiting to hear of the safe arrival of the 26th;4 as we have heard nothing, they must be all right. It is hard to have them go but I cannot understand the attitude of those who will not go or who object to their men and boys going. You are just beginning to feel now what they have been suffering here since August last.