Friends of France: The Field Service of the American Ambulance Described by Its Members

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Houghton Mifflin, 1916 - 344 pagine
 

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Pagina 231 - Yet sought they neither recompense nor praise, Nor to be mentioned in another breath Than their blue-coated comrades whose great days It was their pride to share — ay, share even to the death ! Nay, rather, France, to you they rendered thanks (Seeing they came for honor, not for gain), Who, opening to them your glorious ranks, Gave them that great occasion to excel, That chance to live the life most free from stain And that rare privilege of dying well.
Pagina 228 - Over the towers of liberty, he made His breast the bulwark and his blood the moat. Obscurely sacrificed, his nameless tomb Bare of the sculptor's art, the poet's lines, Summer shall flush with poppy-fields in bloom, And Autumn yellow with maturing vines. There the grape-pickers at their harvesting Shall lightly tread and load their wicker trays, Blessing his memory as they toil and sing In the slant sunshine of October days. I love to think that if my blood should be So privileged to sink where his...
Pagina 137 - God, how the fellow groans — And you'd give your heart to ease the jolt Of the ambulance over the stones. Go on, go on, through the dreadful night — How — only God He knows! But now he's still! Aye, it's terribly still On the way a dead man goes. "Wake up, you swine asleep! Come out! Un blesse — urgent — damned bad!" A lamp streams in on the blood-stained white And the mud-stained blue of the lad. "II est mart, m'sieul
Pagina 227 - Drink sometimes, you whose footsteps yet may tread The undisturbed, delightful paths of Earth, To those whose blood, in pious duty shed, Hallows the soil where that same wine had birth. Here, by devoted comrades laid away, Along our lines they slumber where they fell, Beside the crater at the Ferme d'Alger And up the bloody slopes of La Pompelle, And round the city whose cathedral towers The enemies of Beauty dared profane, And in the mat of multicolored flowers That clothe the sunny chalk-fields...
Pagina 136 - s snow on the wind, there's rain on the wind. The cold's like a rat at your bones; You crank your car till your soul caves in, But the engine only moans. The night is as black as hell's black pit; You feel your crawling way Along the shell-gutted, gun-gashed road — How — only God can say. The " Hundred-twenties " and "Seventy-fives" Are bellowing on the hill ; They're playing at bowls with big trench-mines Down at the Devil's mill.
Pagina 96 - At about six in the evening we reached our destination some forty miles north-east of Bar-le-Duc. The little village where we stopped had been a railroad centre until the day before, when the Germans started bombarding it. Now the town was evacuated, and the smoking station deserted. The place had ceased to exist, except for a hospital which was established on the southern edge of the town in a lovely old chateau, overlooking the Meuse. We were called up to the hospital as soon as we arrived to take...
Pagina 228 - And in the mat of multicolored flowers That clothe the sunny chalk-fields of Champagne. Under the little crosses where they rise The soldier rests. Now round him undismayed The cannon thunders, and at night he lies At peace beneath the eternal fusillade . . . That other generations might possess — From shame and menace free in years to come — A richer heritage of happiness, He marched to that heroic martyrdom. Esteeming less the forfeit that he paid Than undishonored that his flag might float...
Pagina 99 - Ford touring-car with a red cross or so added) came along loaded with an extra "rear construction," and driven by the Chief himself. It took us another four hours to remove my battered rear axle and put in the new parts, but my car was back in service by midnight. That was a typical instance of the kind of accident that was happening, and there were about three "Ford casualties" every day. Thanks to the simplicity of the mechanism of the Ford, and to the fact that, with the necessary spare parts,...
Pagina 227 - When cheeks are flushed, and glasses gilt and pearled With the sweet wine of France that concentrates The sunshine and the beauty of the world, Drink sometimes, you whose footsteps yet may tread The undisturbed, delightful paths of Earth, To those whose blood, in pious duty shed, Hallows the soil where that same wine had birth. Here, by devoted comrades laid away, Along our lines they slumber where they fell, Beside the crater at the Ferme d'Alger And up the bloody slopes of La Pompelle, And round...
Pagina 61 - I VERY cordially call attention to this account of the work of one of the field sections of the American Ambulance in France, told out of his own experience by a young man, a graduate of the University of Virginia, who has been driving an ambulance at the front. The article came through Hon. A. Piatt Andrew, formerly Assistant Secretary of the United States Treasury, and for two years treasurer of the American Red Cross. Mr. Andrew has taken an active part in the organization of the work. He writes...

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