Some of the horror of war is in these pages, as where the author says:
The doctors worked till 3 o'clock this morning. They had to amputate arms and legs affected with gangrene. The operating room was a sea of blood.
Some of the pathos of war is here, and even a little of its humor, but most of all its courage. Both of the latter are mingled in the case of an English soldier who was brought in wounded from the field of Soissons.
"I fought until such a day, when I was wounded."
"And since then?"
"Since then I have traveled."
An English infantry officer, a six-footer, brought to the hospital with his head bandaged in red rather than white, showed the abbé his cap and the bullet hole in it.
"A narrow escape," said the abbé in English, and then learned that the escape was narrower than the wounded forehead indicated. Another bullet, without touching the officer, had pierced the sole of his shoe under his foot, and a third had perforated his coat between the body and the arm without breaking the skin.
The author's attitude toward the Germans, always free from bitterness, is sufficiently indicated in such a paragraph as this:
This afternoon I gave absolution and extreme unction to an Irishman, who has not regained consciousness since he was brought here. He had in his portfolio a letter addressed to his mother. The nurse is going to add a word to say that he received the last sacraments. A Christian hope will soften the frightful news. Emperors of Austria and Germany, if you were present when the death is announced in that poor Irish home, and in thousands, hundreds of thousands of others, in England, in France, in Russia, in Servia, in Belgium, in your own countries, in all Europe, and even in Africa and Asia!... May God enlighten your consciences!