A stationary balloon that is not far from here, used as a Belgian observation post, was struck by a bomb from an aeroplane and we saw it fall in flames. The men who were in it jumped out with parachutes and both escaped without injury.
Broterl, the famous French sniper and poet, came the other day to sing for the soldiers. He is wonderful, and sang all sorts of songs that he had composed in the trenches. The men were enchanted, it does such a lot of good, for it makes them forget for a time.
One of our orderlies has just got word that one of his brothers has been killed at the Somme, another is dangerously wounded in the head, and a third has lost his leg—he has six brothers, all at the front.
One of the men in my ward got word of the death of his brother also. He was a stretcher bearer and was helping a German officer who was wounded. As soon as the German got to a place of safety he shot the poor man who had been helping him.
I am nearly frozen to-night and will have to go to bed.
October 9, 1916.
Our Bayard has come through the Courcelette fight safely, where the New Brunswickers did such wonders; but O! at such a terrible cost.
It has been very cold and rainy here. I am afraid the bad weather has set in.
Wish you would send me an aluminum hot water bottle for Christmas, another pair of Indian moccasins, and fill up the corners of the box with malted milk and maple sugar.
I shall never forget the poor little Breton who said when he saw me—as he roused a little when we were taking him from the ambulance, “maintenant je suis sauve” (Now I am saved).