CHAPTER IX.
GERMAN BEASTS IN A FRENCH CONVENT.
It is fitting that my sketch of a French Convent, as the abode of holy women whose innocent lives were dedicated and devoted to the service of the Prince of Peace, should stand by itself, apart from any drawings suggesting less faintly the devilry of war. The nunnery had been in the possession of the Germans for some short time before we arrived on the scene, and bore traces of their customary depredations and violations. The stories related by the nuns themselves were not of a description to bear retailing in the public Press. I would to God that they could be told to every coward of a shirker at home, to every skunk of a "conscientious objector," to every rat of a "stop-the-war" "pacificist." They would stir to boiling indignation the dregs of their manhood—if they have any dregs. They would make them sick—even them; and I should like them all to be sick—sick unto death. There are not many of them, all told, but they are noisy as well as noisome. The good sisters hailed the British as deliverers, and gave us a welcome I can neither describe nor forget.
A Violated Convent.
The enemy had abstained from destroying the building, probably from a subtle motive. They had retired to a wood in the rear. We made a sharp attack upon them to the right of this wood the next day; caught them at night completely unawares, and, after a very stiff fight, routed them, and they left 150 dead on the ground.
There was a pond in the Convent grounds, and while getting water for our transport teams we came across some tin cases hidden away by the enemy—a great find, for on getting them out we found they contained many thousands of rounds of the enemy's ammunition. It was perfectly dry, as the cases were watertight; so we made a big haul of most useful supplies.