LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 1090, 27 December 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

MY LAST FRANC. Bv Ada Ward. (Continued.) In my folly I felt so brave and strong in comparison with this poor woman, and imagined myself quite rich with one hundred francs in my pocket, little thinking how soon it would have to go. We remained in the cafe, all day, for we were told it was unsafe to go out. At night we heard the same story, and so I hired a room there. It was strange that I felt no longer lonely. I was delighted to have a companion and one that I could look after, although I early saw that she was not a very agreeable character. She was very selfish and discontented, and I could do nothing to please or satisfy her, but then, poor woman, one forgave a great deal on account of her troubles. At night she shocked me. Brought up amongst religious people, I had never in my life seen, or thought it possible for, a woman or girl to go to sleep without praying. To my astonishment she undressed and got into bed without kneeling. I could not help saying, ' You have forgotten something. Is it not so?' She understood me and said, ' What's the good of praying, if that's what you mean '! Will that bring my boys back to me, or get me away from Paris?' I answered, ' Perhaps not, but God watches over them and you, and you should implore his blessing.' She made no answer, and I knelt down and left her in peace. Now some of my readers will no doubt laugh at this (the editor, I hope, will not), and think perhaps that I am a hypocrite. Ah ! no. In all my life I have never closed my eyes without thanking God for his goodness and asking him to bless me. My dear mother taught me to pray night and morning, and I have never ceased to do so, and with bended knees I have always found strength and consolation. But I am wandering from my story. The next morning we got up and went down to the restaurant and breakfasted. After a time the place became filled with a crowd of people all talking excitedly about the war. They said that soon the streets of Paris would be filled with dead bodies. My companion got very frightened—she said, 'Let i;s leave this horrible place. These men will drive me mad.' I asked her where we were to go, one place was as safe as another. After a time she said, ' See me safe, my dear, to the Quartier Latin; I know a surgeon there, a very good man. I gave him great satisfaction in a case once, and he said if ever he could do anything for me he would.' Accordingly we crossed the river together and arrived at the house. The doctor was at home. He ssemed very sorry to see poor Mrs Gibson (for that was her name) in such distress. He told her it was useless to think she could get to England, as the railway lines were pulled up. Then he asked her if she would go as a nurse, they would soon need as many as they could get. She sa.id she would do anything and go anywhere to get protection. I then asked him if he could not give me something to do. I was willing to do anything no matter how hard it was. He asked me a lot of questions about myself. I told him everything, and said that as I was young, and in good health, and had plenty of strength, I would soon learn to nurse the sick properly. Ho said, ' Very well! you shall be taken on, and until you are needed you shall go to the hospital, and the other nurses shall instruct you. But remember you must not think it will be an easy life for you —you will have hard work, and witness horrible things.' I replied that I would do anything rather than be alone again in the streets of Paris, and if it was to be my fate to die far away from all I loved, I should feel happier if I thought I had done some little good. He took my face between his hands (he was an old man) and said, ' You are a brave child, and God will watch over you ; good-bye. Come first thing in the morning ; I will take you to the hospital myself.' 1 thought I had never seen such a good, kino! man, and I was so happy at the thought of having found something to do. I told. Mrs Gibson I was so pleased that we should always be together now. Poor creature; she did not seem to think that this was such greab happiness until I asked her to go back to the cafe and promised her a good dinner. I shall never forget my first day in the hospital. I was taken round to the different wards and shown how to dress wounds and change bandages, and also taught to understand the writing on the boards (the directions as to treatment, medicine, and diet), which hung over the poor creatures' beds. I thought then ' What misery ! what suffering !' little dreaming that before the war was over I should have to witness sights ten times more horrible. The days followed each other. I endeavoured to do my work well j but the matron, who always watched aie carefully, never gave mc a word of praise or of censure. One day, however, I heard her say to the doctor, ' That pale-faced English girl will be an excellent nurse soon. Who is she?' I was pleased to hear her say this for the sake of the patients, who began to like me, and whom I loved as a woman does, those she ministers to. Time went on, and I think I became very useful, and made myself a favorite with everybody connected with the hospital. One day the surgeon came to mn and said, ' 1 an i afraid we must lose you from here. You and your companion, Mrs Gibson, and one or two other", must go to the Madelaine, where the wounded are n' w being brought daily.' I said, 'Very well, sir: wherever you think lit to send me I am willing to go. : We were escorted through the streets by two Boldx«>rs, although we were perfectly

safe, aa the badges on our arms ensured respect everywhere. Inside the church we found that one part had been partitioned off as a hospital; in the other portion hundreds of people were scattered about praying. Shall I ever forget that sight ? The misery, agony, and suffering to be seen there was fearful. The groans of the poor fellows pierced my heart. A surgeon at once set me about my work. I had ten soldiers to attend to, and two civilians, who had been wounded by a shell in the streets. In a few days eight out of the twelve were dead. We were then sent away to Notre Dame, as several of the nurses with the ambulance there had deserted. This time I had fourteen private soldiers and an officer to look after. My life from that time became very hard. Night and day I nursed and watched ; almost hourly there was a death—then the bodies were taken away, and the vacant beds filled by fresh wounded ones. Ciel ! what times they were—what bitter cruel days I I now wonder how I lived through it all. By this time we had very little to eat. The weather was bitterly cold, and I nearly perished with it. My boots were nearly worn to the ground; I had only a thin black dress, and an old jacket. My flannel garments I had torn up for chest protectors for the wounded who, reported cured, had been sent away from the hospital, and my linen had gone to make lint and bandages. Every day seemed alike—the dead taken out and fresh sick ones brought in. But one day, after returning f r om an half-en-hour's walk on the Quay, Mrs Gibson said to me, ' There is some one put in No. 3 whilst you were away; you had better attend to him as no one has yet seen him. I think he is a Prussian officer.' I hurried to the bed ; the poor fellow was apparently asleep,* but was groaning painfully. He seemed about twenty-seven years of age, and was a (tall, fine handsome man. I hastened to find the surgeon, and brought him to look at the new case. The poor fellow was now awake. ' Where are you hurt ?' asked the surgeon. 'ln my chest and head,' the officer replied in German. With Mrs Gibson's aid the blood was washed from his wounds. It was indeed a bad case ; there was a great hideous open wound from a bayonet-stab in the chest—a hole large enough to put one of my hands into—one of the worst I ever saw. Accustomed as I was by this time to ghastly sights this almost turned me faint. After receiving the doctor's instructions I was left with my new patient. I was interested in him, for he seemed so different to the rest. They were nearly all private soldiers, and anyone ,who knows anything of the French army must own, in spite of the fictitious glamour cast over them by novel-writers, that the common soldier is a rough being, anything but nice in his manners and language. Now this Prussian officer seemed a gentleman, and a refined one too. The first time I spoke to him was in French, when I tendered him some water. He asked me ' Who are you ?' I said, ' Sister Ada, the English nurse.' At the word Anglaise he smiled, and said in very good English, 'I was in your country for years, and I love it.' I was delighted to hear anyone speak my native tongue. It seemed quite strange to me, as even Mrs Gibson and myself always spoke in French. But I hope I never for one moment neglected any of my other charges for the sake of my patient. (To be continued.')