Pershing and some of his staff came in the Grand while we were there. He is an exceedingly fine-looking man.
August 2nd. Just one month to-day since leaving home.
Collected my mess funds to-day from the men, paid cooks and strikers. I hope I can manage the accounts. It is a fussy, nasty job. They are not going to let us eat here much longer, so we will try and make arrangements with one of the hotels. I shall be glad at least to eat outside of this filthy place.
August 3rd. Nothing but rain.
August 4th. Rain in showers all day. Tried to get a walk in the afternoon, but torrents of rain drove us to cover.
Moved to the Lorraine Hotel for our mess. This cuts me out of much fussing.
August 5th. Rain. Separated from the Lorraine mess and am taking my meals separately on the Terrace. It costs a franc fifty extra, but the peace is well worth it.
In the evening a trainload of wounded arrived. There were over two hundred and fifty—sixty stretcher cases, the remainder gas and minor injuries, principally involving the extremities. Our men marched up to the station and the new ambulances were drawn up on the siding. The train pulled in packed with the wounded. They were all very quiet and uncomplaining. I questioned several men. They came from Hill 304. They said there was a new gas used there, which when launched was invisible, producing no fumes and not creating any injury until the body comes in contact with water. Thus a man getting wet or washing his face the next day would receive a skin burn. If this is true the gas-mask would afford but little protection. On coming back to the hotel I saw many burns of the extremities; they had marked conjunctivitis. The stretcher cases seemed mostly wounds of the extremities.
In talking with the French, and this observation is borne out by others, it seems that on the whole they are taking the war in a very matter-of-fact spirit, and the blood-thirsty desire to extract the last sou from our soldiers is the same as in the old tourist days.
August 6th. Bright and clear! Oh, what a relief, after a miserable week of drenching rain, in which all one's clothes are damp and soggy and the feet are never dry.