Oh, the brave, humble little Piou-Piou! The little infantrymen who so bravely and so enthusiastically have fought for their native soil; wounded in arm and leg, in head and thigh, in foot and hand; uncomplaining, patient and grateful, so tired and so injured, but as ready to return to their trenches, bearing all things, suffering, seeking a nameless grave, that their beloved France may remain free and intact. These are unknown, courageous Frenchmen, who on the present-day battlefields appeal to us to help, comfort and succor in this their day of tribulation.
At Rennes and the larger towns there are comforts and medical equipments impossible for our little Dinard and its hastily-installed hospitals; all the hotels and casinos have been "requisitiones" and we are doing our best to make things comfortable for those poor chaps; but we lack, alas, so much! There are no ambulances, and so all sorts of conveyances are called into use, from elegant limousines and small motor cars, down through the list of private carriages and cabs, to express carts.
It is a painful sight to see these latter, minus springs or even mattresses (which are all in use in hospitals), bumping the poor wounded over car-tracks and crossings to their destination.
At the grand casino one's heart is torn by the sight of such suffering supported so uncomplainingly. A large hall is hastily arranged with cane-bottomed chairs, in front of each a tin basin, hot water in cans (heated on a gas stove) is poured into these primitive receptacles, and ladies of the Croix Rouge kneel in front of these rough wounded men. It is hard work, sometimes, to separate the heavy army boots from the wounded feet. Some of these men have not had their boots off in two months; constantly marching to and fro over those fields and through the mud, ready at any moment to spring to arms to defend us and our homes. It is the least we can do, to help their pain now.
The blood has soaked through the worn-out socks, and the whole mass is impregnated with dirt, blood, etc.; but how grateful they are, these poilus, to have their wounds dressed, their torn, dirty uniforms removed, and to find themselves in comfortable beds, a soothing drink of beef tea, with a dash of brandy held to their lips, and a soft pillow behind their weary heads. One boy said to me, as we finally got him in bed: "Madam, one goes gladly to fight for la France, but now, I must rest awhile. With such kind ladies to aid me, I know I shall soon gain strength enough to return to show those Boches." What la Jeunesse Française is willing to bear for France!
October, 1914