XI



September 8, 1914.


Oh, the things I have seen and felt since I last wrote to you over two
weeks ago. Here I am again cut off from the world, and have been since
the first of the month. For a week now I have known nothing of what was
going on in the world outside the limits of my own vision. For that
matter, since the Germans crossed the frontier our news of the war has
been meager. We got the calm, constant reiteration--"Left wing--held by
the English--forced to retreat a little." All the same, the general
impression was, that in spite of that, "all was well." I suppose it was
wise.

On Sunday week,--that was August 30,--Amelie walked to Esbly, and came
back with the news that they were rushing trains full of wounded
soldiers and Belgian refugies through toward Paris, and that the
ambulance there was quite insufficient for the work it had to do. So
Monday and Tuesday we drove down in the donkey cart to carry bread and
fruit, water and cigarettes, and to "lend a hand."

It was a pretty terrible sight. There were long trains of wounded
soldiers. There was train after train crowded with Belgians--well-dressed