;
the ground underneath was black and caked. In a near by corner of the
church walls was a great pile of boots and stained clothes which had
been cut from shattered limbs, and I expect one might have discovered
even more ghastly objects had one ventured to turn over the rags. The
attendants were nearly all French, although two German doctors and
several German orderlies had stayed behind with their wounded. All
worked heroically to cope with their great task.

In the rush of battle it had been impossible to obtain food for the
wounded, so that for days these men had gone hungry, and one heard the
agonizing sound of dying men crying piteously for bread. The French
attendants themselves went hungry in order to give their charges such
small pittances of food as were obtainable. We watched an orderly who
entered the church with a single loaf of bread which had just been
secured and which was to be divided among several hundred wounded. He
used a great knife as if he hoped to make up for the smallness of the
supply by the largeness of the implement. Slowly and with sober care
he cut slice after slice, each one so thin that the light shone
through it. Every head was turned toward him and each burning pair of
eyes was fixed upon the precious bread with an expression of animal
dumbness, which reminded one of the intent eyes of a hungry dog as it
watches a hoped-for morsel. As he advanced step by step, the wounded
stretched up shriveled hands, or propped themselves on one elbow to
make more appealing gestures, their faces all contorted by the pains
the movement caused them. They made no sound, for their attention was
too intently fixed upon that bread. One, however, who had been
overlooked, burst into screams and wailings until the mistake had been
properly remedied. We Americans held a Council of War and unanimously
decided to contribute our jealously hoarded supply of provisions; we
thereby became as angels in the eyes of those poor creatures. A French
attendant remarked as he handed a sliver of our only loaf of bread to
a shattered man: "Il va mourir tout a l'heure, mais cela lui fera
grand plaisir en mourant!"

The dying are frightful sights, and parts of them are often already
mortified, as they lie in the straw, entirely occupied with breathing.
They breathe eternally little short breaths, a hundred or a hundred
and ten to the minute, like some sort of pump. They wish passionately
not to die, and yet they know with despe