_Sat.u.r.day, October 17th._--We are to stay here till Monday, to go on taking up the wounded from the 1st Division. They went on coming in all yesterday in motor ambulances. They come straight from the trenches, and are awfully happy on the train with the first attempts at comforts they have known. One told me they were just getting their tea one day, relieving the trenches, when "one o' them coal-boxes" sent a 256 lb.

sh.e.l.l into them, which killed seven and wounded fifteen. _One_ sh.e.l.l! He said he had to help pick them up and it made him sick.

10 P.M.--Wrote the last before breakfast, and we haven't sat down since.

We are to move back to Villeneuve to-morrow, dropping the sick probably at Versailles. Every one thankful to be going to move at last. The gas has given out, and the entire train is lit by candles.

Imagine a hospital as big as King's College Hospital all packed into a train, and having to be self-provisioned, watered, sanitated, lit, cleaned, doctored and nursed and staffed and officered, all within its own limits. No outside person can realise the difficulties except those who try to work it.

The patients are extraordinarily good, and take everything as it comes (or as it doesn't come!) without any grumbling. Your day is taken up in rapidly deciding which of all the things that want doing you must let go undone; shall they be washed or fed, or beds made, or have their hypodermics and brandies and medicines, or their dressings done? You end in doing some of each in each carriage, or in washing them after dinner instead of before breakfast.

The guns have been banging all the afternoon; some have dropped pretty near again to-day, but you haven't time to take much notice. Our meals are very funny--always candles stuck in a wine bottle--no tablecloth--everything on one plate with the same knife and fork--coffee in a gla.s.s, served by a charming dirty Frenchman; many jokes going on between the three tables--the French officials, the M.O.'s, and us. Our own bunks are quite civilised and cosy, though as small as half a big bathing-machine--swept out by our batman.

We have some French wounded and sick on the train.

I see some parsons are enlisting in the R.A.M.C. I hope they know how to scrub floors, clean lavatories, dish out the meals, sleep on the floor, go without baths, live on Maconochie rations, and heave bales and boxes about, and carry stretchers; the orderlies have a very hard life--and no glory.

Must turn in.

_Sunday, October 18th_, 9 P.M.--Got under way at 6 A.M., and are now about half-way between Paris and Rouen. We outskirted Paris. Pa.s.sed a train full of Indian troops. Put off the four wounded women at Paris; they have been a great addition to the work, but very sweet and brave; the orderlies couldn't do enough for them; they adored them, and were so indignant at their being wounded. Another man died to-day--shot through the pelvis. One of the enterics, a Skye man, thinks I'm his mother; told me to-night there was a German spy in his carriage, and that he had "50 dead Jocks to bury--and it wasn't the buryin' he didn't like but the feeling of it." He babbles continually of Germans, ammunition, guns, Jocks, and rations.

Sunday is not Sunday, of course, on a train: no Padre, no services, no nothing--not even any Time. The only thing to mark it to-day is one of the Civil Surgeons wearing his new boots.

We shan't get any letters yet till we get to the new railhead. I'm hoping we shall get time at Rouen to see the Cathedral, do some shopping, have a bath and a shampoo, but probably shan't.

_Monday, October 19th._--Rouen, 9 P.M. Got here late last night, and all the wounded were taken off straight away to the two general hospitals here.

One has 1300 cases, and has kept two people operating day and night. A great many deaths from teta.n.u.s.

Seen General French's 2nd despatch (of September) to-day in 'Daily Mail.' No mail in, alas! Had a regular debauch in cathedrals and baths to-day. This is the most glorious old city, two cathedrals of surpa.s.sing beauty, lovely old streets, broad river, hills, and lovely hot baths and hair shampooing. What with two cathedrals, a happy hour in a hot bath, a shampoo, and delicious tea in the town, we've had a happy day. The train stays here to-night and we are off to-morrow? for ----?

IV.

On No.-- Ambulance Train (2)

FIRST BATTLE OF YPRES

_October 20, 1914, to November 17, 1914_

"The thundering line of battle stands, And in the air Death moans and sings; But Day shall clasp him with strong hands, And Night shall fold him with soft wings."

--JULIAN GRENFELL.

IV.

On No.-- Ambulance Train (2).

FIRST BATTLE OF YPRES.

_October 20, 1914, to November 17, 1914._

Rouen--First Battle of Ypres--At Ypres--A rest--A General Hospital.

_Tuesday, October 20th_, 6 P.M.--Just leaving Rouen for Boulogne. We've seen some of the Indians. The Canadians seem to be still on Salisbury Plain. No one knows what we're going to Boulogne empty for.

We have been busy to-day getting the train ready, stocking dressings, &c. All the 500 blankets are sent in to be fumigated after each journey, and 500 others drawn instead. And well they may be; one of the difficulties is the lively condition of the men's shirts and trousers (with worse than fleas) when they come from the trenches in the same clothes they've worn for five weeks or more. You can't wonder we made tracks for a bath at Rouen.

We've just taken on two Belgian officers who want a lift to Boulogne.

_Wednesday, October 21st._--Arrived at Boulogne 6 A.M. Went on to Calais, and reached St Omer at 2 P.M., where I believe we are to take up from the motor ambulances. A train of Indians is here. Some Belgian refugees boarded the train at Boulogne, and wanted a lift to Calais, but had to be turned off reluctantly on both sides. Have been going through bedding equipment to-day.

No mail for me yet, but the others have had one to-day.

3.30 P.M.--Off for Steenwerck, close to the Belgian frontier, N.W. of Lille. Good business Just seen five aeroplanes. Have been warned by Major ---- to wear bra.s.sards in prominent place, owing to dangerous journey in view!

4.30.--This feels like the Front again. Thousands and thousands of Indian troops are marching close to the line, with long fair British officers in turbans, mounted, who salute us, and we wave back; transport on mules. Gorgeous sunset going on; perfectly flat country; no railway traffic except _de la Guerre_.

6 P.M., _Steenwerck_.--Pitch dark; saw big guns flashing some way off.

The motor ambulances are not yet in with the wounded. The line is cut farther on.

8 P.M.--We have had dinner, and have just been down the line to see the place about 100 yards off. The Germans were here six days ago; got into a big sewer that goes under the line, and blew it up. There is a hole 30 feet long, 15 across and 15 deep--very good piece of work. They occupied the station, and bragged about getting across to England from Calais.

The M.O. who lives here, to be the link (with a sergeant and seven men) between the field ambulances and the trains, dined with us. It is a wee place. The station is his headquarters.

_Thursday, October 22nd._--Took on from convoys all night in pitch darkness--a very bad load this time; going to go septic; swelling under the bandages. There was a fractured spine and a malignant oedema, both dying; we put these two off to-day at St Omer. We came straight away in the morning, and are now nearly back at Boulogne.

YPRES.

_Friday, October 23rd._--All unloaded by 11 P.M. last night. (1800 in a day and a night.) No.-- A.T. was in; visited M. and S. Bed by 12; clothes on for forty hours. Slept alongside quay. Two hospital ships in; watched them loading up from ambulances. No time to go ash.o.r.e. The wounded officers we had this time said the fighting at the Front is very heavy. The men said the same. They slept from sheer exhaustion almost before their boots were got off, and before the cocoa came round. In the morning they perked up very pleased with their sleep, and talked incessantly of the trenches, and the charges, and the odds each regiment had against them, and how many were left out of their company, and all the most gruesome details you can imagine. They seem to get their blood up against the Germans when they're actually doing the fighting--"you're too excited to notice what hits you, or to think of anything but your life" ("and your country," one man added). "Some of us has got to get killed, and some wounded, and some captured, and we wonder which is for us."

11.15.--Just off for ----? I was in the act of trotting off into the town to find the baths, when I met a London Scottish with a very urgent note for the O.C.; thought I'd better bide a wee, and it was to say "Your train is urgently required; how soon can you start?" So I had a lucky escape of being left behind. (We had leave till 1 P.M.) Then the Major nearly got left; we couldn't start that minute, because our stores weren't all in, and the R.T.O. came up in a great fuss that we were holding up five supply trains and reinforcements; so the British Army had to wait for us.

The worst discomforts of this life are (_a_) cold; (_b_) want of drinking water when you're thirsty; (_c_) the appalling atmosphere of the French dining-car; (_d_) lack of room for a bath, and difficulty of getting hot water; (_e_) dirt; (_f_) eccentricities in the meals; (_g_) bad (or no) lights; (_h_) difficulties of getting laundry done; (_i_) personal capture of various live stock; (_j_) broken nights; (_k_) want of exercise on the up journey. Against all these minor details put being at the Front, and all that that includes of thrilling interest,--being part of the machinery to give the men the first care and comparative comfort since they landed, at the time they most need it--and least expect it.

6 P.M.--Hazebrouck again. We are said to be going to Belgium this time--possibly Ypres. There are a terrible lot of wounded to be got down--more than all the trains can take; they are putting some of them off on the stations where there is a M.O. with a few men, and going back for more.

There were two lovely French torpedo-boats alongside of us at Boulogne.

7.30 P.M., _Ypres_.--Just arrived, all very bucked at being in Belgium.

An armoured train, protective coloured all over in huge dabs of red, blue, yellow, and green against aeroplanes, is alongside of us in the station, manned by thirty men R.N.; three trucks are called Nelson, Jellicoe, and Drake, with guns. They look fine; the men say it is a great game. They are directed where to fire at German positions or batteries, and as soon as they answer, the train nips out of range. They were very jolly, and showed us their tame rabbit on active service. They have had no casualties so far. Our load hasn't come in yet. We are _two miles_ from our fighting line. No firing to-night to be heard--soon began, though.