It was one of the most exciting scenes I ever witnessed, our march for
miles through the crowded boulevards to the station of the Northern
Railway. Dr. Sims walked behind his own horses, which headed the
procession, and the throng everywhere commented admiringly upon the
_chic_ of the fine animals. The American ladies--there were three
of them--marched beside the wagons, bearing the French and American
colors and the red cross of the International ambulance. We filled and
emptied and refilled our sacks with the Napoleons from the _monde_ in
their flash barouches and from the loungers of the clubs, and with
the greasy sous of the workingmen and grisettes. Many took out purses
containing five sous and gave three: many took out purses containing
silver and copper, and gave the silver. Old men with feeble sight
and hearing would hobble up to us through the crowd and ask, "What is
this?"

"For the wounded," we would say--"for France!"

And trembling hands would be thrust into pockets, and "God's blessing
on you!" would go with their silver or sous.

Well, well, it was a great day. It was, I believe, the largest
collection ever taken up in Paris for the wounded. We shouted
ourselves hoarse when the train bore the corps away for Mézières. They
served through the war, part of the time with the French, part of the
time with the Prussians. Many of them have since been decorated by
both governments.

It is to Dr. Evans that the American ambulance owes more perhaps than
to any one man. It supported itself, our corps did, and Dr. Evans