Americus times-recorder. [volume] (Americus, Ga.) 1891-current, 1917-06-18


lip o. Mills, son of General Samuel
Mills, who was chief of artillery in
the United States army, and at one
time head of West Point.
There are thousands of such APP
peals pouring into Red Cross head
quarters each day. 1t is to respond
to such appeals that the volunteer
workers who are toiling ceaselessly
are striving to meet.
Verdun.
Tonight / am sitting in a small I'M
derground cellar of one of the public
buildings of the town, acting as sort
of time keeper or starter for the cars
going up to our most dangerous post
and handling the reserve cars for
wounded in the town itself. l wish
could describe the scene as it is be-
fore my eye-for the whole world is
passing here-French, Americana liv-
ing, wounded and dying.
A long, heavily arched corridor, with
stone steps leading down to it.; two
compartments off to one side lined
with wine bins, where our reserve men
and a few French brancardiers
(stretcher bharers) are lying on their
stained stretchers. some snoring; be-
yond a door that gives into small
operating room. and to the left another
door that leads to little sick ward the
most pathetic little room l have ever
seen-with four beds of different sizes
and kinds on one side and six on the
other, taken evidently from the ruined
houses nearby-and one tired infirmier
Hospital attendant) to tend and soothe
the wounded and dying.
In the bed nearest the door, French
priest shot through the lungs-with
pneumonia setting in-his black point
ed beard straight up, and whispering
for water. Next to him, little Ger
man lad, hardly nineteen and small
with about six hours to live, calling,
sometimes screaming, for his mother,
and then for water. Next to him a
French captain of infantry with his
arm off at the shoulder and his head
weak, dying, but smiling; and
next to him a tirailleur in delirium
calling on his colonel to charge the
Germans. The infirmier is going from
one to the other, soothing and waiting
on each in turn. He asks what the
German is saying, andI tell him ne IS
calling for his mother. '-Ah, this is
a sad war" he says, as he goes over
to hold the poor lads hand.
A brancardier comes in with tele-
phone message-"a blesse' (wounded
mani at Belleville-very serious. This
is a reserve car call, so one slides out
and is gone like gray ghost down the
ruined street, making all the speed its
driver can-no easy matter-with no
lights. In twenty minutes he is back.
The brancardiers go out-they come in
again, bearing the wounded man on a
stretcher and place it on the floor be-
side the little stove. One of them, who
t. a priest. leans over him and asks
his name and town; then in answer to
what his wife's name is, he murmurs;
Alice" while on the other side an
other brancardier is Sitting the clothes
from his body, and shiver at the pity
Of it at the sight l saw.
The surgeon comes out of his little
operating room Weary with the
nights tragic work-after so many
other tragic nights, he douses his
head in a bucket of water. Then he
turned to the wounded man. He look
Ell long at him, gently felt his nose and
lifted UP his closed eyelids. Then, at
his nod, the stretcher is again lifted
and the wounded man carried into the
operating room, and soon after into
the little room of sorrows.
In answer to my eager question the
surgeon chook his head. Not a chance.
A brancardier and l gathered the
soldiers belongings from his clothes
to be sent to the wife. but even we had
to stop for a few minutes after we
saw the photograph of his wife and
their two little children.
An hour later. as our nights work
was stacking down and several cars
had driven up and been unloaded, the
themfrmier came in from the little
room and said something to the bran
cardiers. Two of them got stretcher
ard in a moment "the bless'e from