r . DORIS KELLOGG • K3S ■ ■ . ' H Doris JAN 26 1920' ©CI.A559560 To My Buddie "Al" Y daughter, Doris, has asked me to U write an introduction to these, her i letters. A parent is quite liable to s exaggerate the good qualities of his children. I will, for that reason be very cautious in what I have to say. €L The United States of America owes a debt of gratitude, that they can not repay, to the young girls and women who gave up the comforts, pleasures, and some, the luxuries of the life at home to offer their lives, if need be, that they might save the lives of some of our soldier boys. Not even the protests of a fond mother and father would swerve daughter Doris from doing what she considered her duty. These letters do not tell of the hardships, the sleepless nights, the exhausted body, the fear and anxiety, the stirring of the tender feelings by sights too horrible to mention ; sights that only strong men or women should encounter. These letters do not tell of the horrible dreams, the strain on nerve and brain, the many, many acts of kindness and the great sacrifices of her own comforts. Neither do they intimate any desire for the 7 thanks of those to whom she unselfishly gave assist- ance. If there is an after life these things that have been done in the body for a brother in the capacity of a Good Samaritan will be rewarded. Can Democracy prove a failure so long as such Americans live ? Will not the aspirations of our forefathers be upheld? Will not the world at large be better for their example? Can selfishness, greed and meanness prevail here in America as long as the future children have for their mothers such individuals? y(^€^jr s«» I wonder if I shall see a sub, because I tell you I am always on the lookout for one. I had quite a thrill yesterday — saw a dark object under the water right near the ship — heart throbbed, eyes peered, then saw it again, but alas, or happily, the large black fin of a shark loomed up and I knew that it was no U-boat £» 11 My, but it is funny how used I am getting to men! I can't predict just how long it will be, but I really think not very long, before the fascination of a uniform will wear off and there they will stand revealed, after all more man than hero — and they say familiarity breeds contempt. I am something of an Idealist, I find. I hope that will not all be knocked out of me, but then it does make me appreciate a real person when I find one s— We have seen no butter or dessert since boarding the Rochambeau, but our cakes and fruit have lasted beautifully so far, though they are beginning to wane now. Yes, send candy. I can see already how nicely it will fit into our scheme of life in Paris. How I hope from the bottom of my heart that I have said nothing that the censor will object to — he is such a mysterious person and so difficult to understand. Our last day out. It is now 6.45 A. M. and we have been up since 5 A. M. Lots of people slept on deck all night, as this is the real danger zone, in the Bay of Biscay. The gunners, fore and aft, have been alert every instant and our guards are stationed all over the ship with spy-glasses. It is a wild morning, sharp black waves and the sun streaking through heavy, gray clouds. Just now in a clear bit of sky there is a bright new moon and morning star. Ciel! but it is marvelous. How I hate having this trip over. These ten days have been a great adventure. When you get this letter, it will mean that I have 12 arrived safely in Bordeaux and you will have had my cable to set your minds at rest. Love, Doris. P.S. One more P. S. Tonight we three, Al, Mugs and I, are going to sleep on deck, wrapped in steamer rugs, fur coats, with life belts and letters of credit near at hand. I guess we shall not be the only ones, as some people have done so most every night since we left New York. I have heard much pacing overhead, which continued at intervals all night long. Some one said the purser was awakened the other night by a wild rapping on his door and upon opening it he was con- fronted by a panic stricken Y. M. C. A. man, all bedecked in life belt, who yelled at him " Save me, save me! " There had been some blowing of fog horns and I guess, as the fellow was quite primed for a sink- ing, he could only think that the worst had come. Tonight we are to have a ship concert and six of the Polish Lieutenants are going to sing their National Anthem. The Naval Aviators are to play some things on the flute, banjo, violin, etc., and there will be some rather good singing from the Y. M. C. A.'s. The most difficult problem I have ever had is to know how much of all the interesting things that are happen- ing on board I will be able to tell you without the bug- bear of a censor interfering. Before permanently closing my letter, really for good and all this time, let me tell you this, especially for the 13 benefit of Mother and Father and possibly Don; that I have never been more husky. The trouble is I am so healthy that it will take some holding to keep me down. But don't worry Mother and Father and possibly Charlie, Al is at hand to steady and guide me and she will carry me through. The American Y. M. C. A., Hostess House. Hotel Petrograd, Rue Caumartin, Paris, April 18th, 1918. Dearest Family : BERE I am, at last, safe in Paris. It seems too wonderful. By this letter head you will see where we are located, in a most attractive, comfortable and clean hotel. Have been more than fortunate all along with people taking us in hand and seeing about our reservations, quarters, trains, etc. We drew up to the pier in Bordeaux at about 5 o'clock yesterday afternoon, amid the most stirring scenes imaginable. I was immediately struck with the two aspects which still seem to me most typical of France — soldiers and widows. All France is in uniform and I begin to feel that black is the woman's uniform as blue is the man's. We saw our first " blesses " at the rail- road station in Bordeaux. The most striking was an Arab, fuzzy-haired, wild-eyed, hopping and darting about on one leg. And then there was a woman in deep 14 black with two terribly bent and lame soldiers on either side, wandering up and down the station platform, blind soldiers, soldiers with heads bound up and all descriptions of broken and bandaged bodies. We are off now for the A. F. F. W. Headquarters. This was just a note to tell you that so far there has n't been a hitch in our trip. We were taken in hand by the American Red Cross at the station here and transported to this hotel until we can get located nearer the garage. CL So love to all and please all write me often. Ever yours, Doris. Y. M. C. A., Hostess House, April 12th, 1918. Dear Family : QO doubt you are wondering at my having so much time to write letters, but we are not really established as to work yet, which seems to be the usual experience of every worker coming to Paris. It will probably be a week or so before we really settle down. In the meantime, we are getting used to a real country at war. I must tell you that that fact was brought home to me most forcibly today, our second day in Paris, when we heard for the first time " le canon," the long range gun with which the Huns are shelling Paris. Mugs and I were at the bank, cashing checks, when suddenly we heard a dull explosion. It was too thrilling! but, besides us 15 the only one that showed any sign of a thrill was a stenographer, who gave a jump. Otherwise, no one noticed a thing but went right on talking and cashing checks as though nothing had occurred. About fifteen minutes after, there was another shock from the same direction and later, a third. Then, a couple of hours after that, I was having a shampoo and we heard three more great explosions quite near. I think the last trio fell in the Place de l'Opera. But now please don't worry about me any one. No one gives a rap for the old Huns here and their shells are getting poorer and poorer every day and many do not explode at all. But I will be careful to go down to the cave when we have an air raid. There are " abri " (shelters) all about, where one can go for protection from bombs and shells and wait until things are quiet again. Of course they are only used for shelter from air raids as one has plenty of warning of them. We have not had one yet but expect one any night. Now please don't worry about me. If you could see all the wonderful people who are giving everything, with never a thought for self, you would be glad to think of me as able to do a little something as well. Death loses its terror here and everyone becomes a Fatalist. Already I have seen all sorts of wounded soldiers, but the most dreadful today. I saw this figure of a man on the side-walk where he was selling souvenirs. He was quite normal until you came to his face — that was frightful — how can I describe it to you ! It was as though 16 "FOUR WOMEN MECHANICS a wax figure from the Eden Musee had come to life, only more unnatural and weird than that. I did not get near enough to see what had been done or what the face was made of but it looked like wax to me. It may have been flesh, but with no natural color. He was utterly ghastly. Well, I must n't dwell on the horrors, for they are so much the least noticeable part of the conditions here. As far as living goes, people seem quite comfortable. I have never been more so in New York. We are moving this afternoon to a quaint old boarding-house in the Latin Quarter. I shall write you next from there. We dined last night at a Mr. and Mrs. Olds' of St. Paul, who have an apartment here. There was another St. Paul man in the party, both he and Olds are Majors in the Red Cross. Major Taylor had just returned from the Front and was extremely interesting. Love to all, Doris. P.S. Have not seen a soul from Buffalo yet. 9 Rue de la Grande Chaumiere Paris, France, April 14th, 1918. Dear Family : QOW I can tell you about our first air raid, a call on Mrs. Harries, bombardments from " le canon," and about our cozy room in the Rue de la Grande Chaumiere. I will begin with the raid. It came at about ten-thirty 17 on the second night we were in Paris. I was just in bed and Al was combing her hair when I heard a great explosion, as though a blast of dynamite had gone off, and said to Al: "Ah, ha! le canon again." " No," says Al, " it can't be that, because they do not fire at night." Then another, very loud and almost shaking the walls of our room. " Well, that must be le canon or an air raid " says I, " but it is awfully queer that we have not heard the sirens warning if it is a raid." So up we jump and go out onto our little balcony and gaze up at the sky. No doubt, now for we could see shells already bursting at a great rate above. Then the " alert " began. This consists of all the fire engines and taxis in Paris tearing through the streets and blowing their sirens and tooting their horns as a warning that the Huns have crossed the frontier. Well, Al and I jumped into our wrappers, grabbed out coats, (I am proud to say I had the presence of mind to take my purse) and, as all lights had been turned out, we stumbled down stairs by the light of Al's electric bull's eye. Everyone was down there in the cave and had taken chairs and sofas, prepared for several hours of waiting until things would quiet down again. I could not resist going out on the street just for a glimpse and saw the great searchlights sweeping the sky and heard the defense guns of Paris booming loudly overhead. It was thrilling ! The thing lasted about an hour and then, after a bit of quiet, the church bells and automobile horns announced " all clear." You see, the exciting part of this raid was 18 that the Boche got over our lines without being seen, so that we got a bomb or so before the warning came. 41 Now, Mother and Father, I won't go out again, so don't worry. I always intended to see one raid, but am not so foolhardy as to take another risk. I really won't. €[ This afternoon Al and I called on Mrs. Harries. She and Mr. Harries were charming and I can't tell you how wonderful it was to talk with them and to be in the atmosphere of a real American home. Mr. Harries told us if we ever needed help or advice to come to him. I also found that Mrs. Rummell lives right around the corner from them and is expected home from the South next week ; also that Dr. Crosser is preaching over here in the Latin Quarter every Sunday night, and that Gay Ramsdell Kimberly lives only about a block from us. Mr. Harries feels confident that Paris is safe, will not be evacuated, though a couple of weeks ago, he said, things looked quite serious. You have no idea how much safer one feels over here in Paris than you would think possible in America — it is not a bit scarey and we are quite comfortable. Le canon is more nerve-racking than the raids, though less dangerous, for you never know where the thing will hit and that makes it jumpy. As for our quarters here at No. 9, they are very cozy. Al and I have a double room overlooking our tiny court and also the roof garden of a convalescent Hospital for American Officers. We could talk across to the men, and maybe will, when it gets warm enough to be so 19 much exposed. We have a great little fireplace, and buy our own wood, which comes in neat little packages which we carry upstairs ourselves — buy it a few doors from here. Our chocolate and bread is served in our room every morning and for dinner there are many picturesque and good little restaurants near by. Tonight Al and I stayed in for supper. Al is sitting before the fire now, eating that soft " double creme " cheese that comes in little round packages. You mix it with confiture and spread it on war bread. If it were n't for the devilish Huns we would be happier than queens. But after all, the danger probably adds something to our joy in life, though we may not realize it. I met Tom Ramsdell the other day and he asked me to have dinner with him and Livingston Fryer. As for our work, we are still on the waiting list, but are not discouraged as everyone seems to have the same experience getting started. There is so much to be done that it seems terribly difficult to get things dis- entangled £» s«» Tell Don that I don't believe there is anything here for him. Nothing in any case except with the Red Cross and I am sure he would not want any job there. Then Paris is terribly damp and I really don't think he could stand it with his asthma. Most of the boys who were in the Red Cross Ambulance work have joined the Army. Jack Kimberly has just passed his examinations for the Artillery and is an officer — passed one of the high- est in his class. 20 I am going to drop Jim Coatsworth and Ted Knight a note now. Saw another man with a made over face today. Oh Jove, it was terrible ! But he was being led, stone blind, so it was really a blessing for him not to know how frightful he is. We are getting to know so many very nice people here. You see, between four of us, we have quite a circle to move in. Now please, people, don't worry about me. Be Fatalists and trust to luck and consider that it is really more dangerous to cross Fifth Avenue of an afternoon than to be in Paris now. I shall write often and trust you will get my letters, though I know mails are horrible. €[ Must tell you one more thing. On the first day we arrived here, Betty Aimes, a friend of Al's, met me with this news and a letter for me from a young Poilu : one night she was down at the Gare du Nord giving out comfort bags to men leaving for the Front, and as she handed one to this lad, she told him to open it and see if there was any note inside. He did so, and there was a card from me. They were both terribly excited and she told him I would soon be in Paris, so he wrote me an awfully nice note. I have answered it and am going to send him some cigarettes tomorrow. Much love to all, Doris. 21 Rue de la Grande Chaumiere, Paris, France, April 28th, 1918. Dear Family : x *4l^^^/'ODAY is Saturday and so far has been as m C^\ I think Ruth's description of the party at Spen's after Ellen's recital was quite delicious. I have hundreds of the happiest memories of 128 Lincoln Parkway. I think I have had some of the coziest times in my life up there. Edith Sullivan must be in New York now. She hoped to go through Paris on her way to Bordeaux but could n't make it. I was so disappointed to miss her. I read in the paper that Bob Dempster had arrived in Paris but you see we were out here in the country, and so he could n't get hold of me, I suppose, though I don't even know if he tried. Honestly, this question of footgear is getting to be quite tragic. I have gone through the two or three pairs I brought over, and it is literally next to impossible to get any decent lasts here. I inquired of a bootmaker what he would charge to make me a pair of white buckskin oxfords, and he said one hundred fifty francs 88 or thirty dollars. Stockings are a problem, too. They are such rotten things and go to pieces in no time. Other- wise, I have n't found France destitute in any way of material or food. One lives here as well as in America. C You know what I would like to do tonight? Just fly over to " Lochevan " in a French " spad," have all you twenty -four family lined up, preferably on the lawn between the beach and the house, where the ground sinks a bit and holds the heavy rains, then give each one a good kiss and hug ; and then come back again to Pa and Ma and give them each three more kisses, and if Father looked sleepy, muss up his topknot. Love to all, Doris. Canteen, Somewhere in France, June 30th, 1918. Chere Famille : X GUESS there is some fight on as we have heard the booming of cannon all day, since early morning. What a dream it all seems ! Suffering, hatred, while here at our canteen quite a beautiful Sunday peace prevails. It is a glorious June day with clear blue sky, and birds singing, and only a few stray Poilus sauntering about. I feel so dozy sitting out here in Le Gout de Cafe waiting for custom- ers, whom I selfishly hope will not be thirsty this after- noon so that I can enjoy a bit of relaxation. 89 We certainly have had a strenuous week — only three workers here to fill three times that many places. Sometimes I get pretty tired; but always when I am feeling low like that, I have only to raise my eyes and look at the patient Poilus walking by, bent under their heavy packs, and I straightway brighten up again, ashamed to have thought of myself when these fellows are so gloriously bearing up. You have no idea how many opportunities we have of doing a good turn for these men, outside of our official canteen duties. Whenever I see an especially pathetic specimen, I try to draw him out a bit and then do or say something to cheer him up. The other night a quite ill young fellow came up to the Victrola, and after I heard him draw about four or five deep sighs, I got him to tell me his troubles. He has been wounded twice and was on his way back to the trenches after a bad gas case. His young wife died in December, also his mother and father a short time ago ; he has four brothers in the war, one a prisoner in Germany, one with two amputa- tions ; and the only thing he has left in the world is his little girl two years old, living with her mother's parents who are refugees from the invaded districts. It was too overpowering, the hopelessness, the tragedy of it all. I talked a long while with him and then got his little girl's address to send her chocolate. It was heart- breaking, the pleasure that little friendliness gave the man, and I have just today received a sweet letter from him, thanking me for my" sympathie." Another Poilu 90 brought me two hairpin receptacles he had made from old shells — " Souvenir pour les bonnes Americaines." His wife and two little twin sons, whom he has never seen, are with the Germans in the North of France. The children were born after the Germans invaded his home. This is the type of story I hear every day. I wrote Don about the mysterious American boy we had here yesterday, who claimed to be a son of Colonel Goethals of Panama fame, and who was so uncomfort- ably attentive — well, I had the most killing time with him. I think he is crazy. He had come right from the trenches to box Carpentier in Paris — so he said. You have never seen such a huge, husky specimen of a youth. He took my hand and had me punch him as hard as I could in the jaw and right on the nose and he never even felt it. We took him back to Chantilly for dinner and he had us all standing on his chest and stomach and pounding him and feeling his muscles, etc., etc. It was awfully amusing. I '11 certainly be interested to find out who that boy really is. Did I write you that I saw in the New York Herald that B. Vine and H. Crosby had arrived in Paris? I was wild to go in to see them, but of course that was out of the question. I guess we are here to stick till the 22nd of August, when our papers expire. But you know I 'm getting so attached to this work that I hate to think of leaving, though hospital work is really more interesting to me. Then I would like to be in Paris this winter, I think. Still one can not make plans ahead here, and 91 whatever is needed most will be the thing that appeals to me s«» se» The Poilus have all been promenading in the forest this afternoon and snoozing too, I guess, from the grassy condition of their backs. I should n't mind, myself, taking a stroll in those green aisles. Well, good-bye for a while. Lovingly, Doris. P.S. I have just been talking with two Foreign Legion men, one Russian and one Algerian. They are always crazy to show us photos of their wives or fiancees, and then a far-away look comes into their eyes and they say, "Mademoiselle, bientot finit la guerre!" (Soon finishes, the war!) P.S., No. 2. As we pulled into the station at C... this evening, I saw about twenty freight cars loaded with German prisoners. I wanted to have a good look so I walked down the length of the train. You have never seen such a picture. In the doorway of each car sat a huge, black, Sengalese guard, bayonet on knee, the most ferocious looking creature I 've ever seen ; then, crowded in back of this great black monkey and peep- ing out of the openings in the sides of the cars, all those German faces, with little round grey-green caps. I heard much excitement in back of me and, looking around, saw a big French peasant, quite drunk, go furiously up to the door of one of the cars and yell, as 92 he tried to grab at the prisoners, " You have killed my wife and my children," — " Vous avez tue ma femme et mes enfants." The black guard caught up his bayonet and gave the man a push. Every one jeered at the Germans and the man went on from car to car, going through the same performance at each one. You know it really made my blood curdle. There was a train bound for Paris on the next track and the people shouted, "You're going to Paris! Nix!" But their humor seemed to be more sarcastic than bitter. I understand that myself. Every your own loving, Do. Cantine des Deux Drapeaux, France, July 3rd, 1918. Dear Family : x *- ^^UST a note while I have to wait for my next /"N ■ J OD — interruption — uk M, Now I am out in the " remboursement " ^^ ta ^r playing the Victrola for the lunching Poilus. d, I have just received Mother's letter of the 27th of May and one from Tom Wilfred, May 25th. What joy these letters are! Mother asks about my letters. I write about twice a week to the family, but I suppose there are delays in the mails, especially as we are out in the country now. d This morning we had a bunch of Anamite soldiers here, killing little fellows from one of the French 93 possessions. They only know about two words in French and so point, and sputter their queer lingo at us. They have a pile of money to spend, as they are so frugal; and, anyway, they have no use for their pay. It is so weird to see these hundreds of little yellow faces peer- ing at us across the counter from under their blue steel helmets. They are the men that are used as chauffeurs and mechanics on the huge loriots that transfer the French troops. I started this letter ages ago and can not finish it. Will write again later. Love, Doris. A Canteen in France, July 5th, 1918. Dear Family : ^^■^■r^^HILE the events of yesterday, our glorious ^r 1 1 ^^ Fourth of July, are still fresh in my mind, I III must write you all about everything that V^^^ happened. In the first place — we gave all the Poilus little American flags with their " repas," which we stuck in each piece of bread and gave the trays a very gay and holiday appearance. Then in addition to the usual cigarette which we always give them at the end of their meal, we handed each one a souvenir handkerchief with " Les Deux Drapeaux " embroidered in color in the corner. You can not imagine how utterly overjoyed they were with these " cadeaux," and I can 94 tell you they tried many a clever ruse to get more than one " hanky" out of us. So much for the Poilus s* Now, let me leave the common restaurant and enter " la salle a manger pour les Officiers." The Command- ants of our camp at Serveillers came, in most formal style, and invited the ladies of the canteen to join them in drinking a health to America. One of the French- women canteeners, foreseeing this event, had decorated the table gaily with hundreds of tiny American flags and every other bit of space was taken up with a great display of champagne bottles and glasses. So we drank to America! It was quite thrilling — those gorgeous officers in blue horizon breasts splashed with decora- tions, and we five American girls in blue aprons and white coifs — outside the gay hum of Poilus swarming past the window and overhead the buzz of French " spads." So much for the afternoon at Serveillers s+ The evening at Orry was one of the most memorable occasions of my life. All eleven of us canteeners and eleven of the French officers of the camp met at quite a brilliant banquet in our dear crude " Deux Drapeaux " dining-room. Can you picture the long table as we all stood around it drinking " Vive l'Amerique " — the women in blue and white, French officers in blue hori- zon, black and scarlet, and one Englishman and two of our own U. S. A.'s in khaki! Formal and stirring toasts were given, and much champagne consumed. I sat between a French Captain and Lieutenant and the latter and I quite swimmed along. Someone asked 95 Miss Latrobe, who sat on his other side, how she liked him, and she said he had a charming profile. You would love it the way I am getting on with my French. I carry on a conversation with real eclat now. But I must tell you the finishing touch, which occurred as the dessert was being served, and furnished the appropriate ending to our Fourth of July. Suddenly the electric lights began winking, twenty-two pairs of ears pricked up and twenty-two voices breathed " L'alert." Before long the defense cannon were booming away and the machine- guns spitting. We ran out into the night and were just in time to see a thrilling thing. Off in the West, and high up in the sky, a great fight was very slowly moving earthward. It was a " fusil " that the Hun flyer drops to light up objects below him and so enables him to launch his bombs to the best advantage. All about this great steady light many shells were bursting and searchlights streaming. It was awfully interesting to be watching it all with the French Lieutenant who explained many points I had been wondering about s©» Then we came home in the pitch dark in our little Ford camion, Al at the wheel and I beside her. We were n't allowed any lights, and as we passed through the silent little French villages not one glimmer was seen in any house. But always ahead of us shells were bursting in the sky. Well, it was a memorable Fourth of July after all, even though I thought many times of " Lochevan " and my darling children and I not there to play " the hiding game " with them. 96 I must tell you that an adorable French boy conies to see me often at the canteen. He is almost twenty, of a fine French family, and knows Bernard Montelegre who, he tells me, is of a " big French family." He is driving an aviation tender as his father, who is a Colonel in the French Army, will not let him fly. No wonder — he is the third of four sons, one an aviator, one a prisoner in Germany, and the other at the Front. He brought a swanky aviator to the canteen for lunch- eon yesterday, who also knows Montelegre and is in the same esquadrille. Tomorrow he is going to bring me a large shell for a souvenir. This morning the station agent presented me with a large piece of one of our defense shells which fell out- side the station last night — " eclat," it is called. That is the reason for our steel helmets. We put them on to protect us as we run to our cave which is about half a block down the street. Well, love to all, Doris. Canteen, Somewhere in France, July 11th, 1918. Dear Family : nIST to the exciting news ! I am on night duty now, so sleep during the day. At about four o'clock this aft, I was awakened by a tapping on my door and there stood Mrs. Church, our Directrice. " Doris, wake up, there are two 97 wonderful aviators downstairs asking for you." Well, I was so surprised and sleepy that I said, " Oh! I can not be bothered." Mrs. C. said, " The idea." So I hurriedly dressed and went down. It was Bernard Montelegre and a stunning friend — police dog " Wiz " and motor waiting outside. They were so nice and my French flowed quite smoothly. They are coming soon again for dinner and M — is coming in his auto to take me to see their camp. You know it is intensely fasci- nating meeting these foreign fellows, one sees such a different side of life. Bernard was attired in dark blue uniform with scarlet stripes on breeches and black cap with scarlet top, gold-braided. He wore the croix de guerre with palm, and his friend, croix de guerre and Chevalier de la Legion d'Honneur. I really think I can have an awfully nice time with Bernard for he seems a very sweet boy and extremely peppy. Mention was made of my photo which I sent him, and he put his hand over his heart and said, " II est toujours avec moi." (It is always with me.) My! what fun s^ $* Night duty is wonderful. We, Larrabee and I, go on at 6 P. M., work until midnight, then rest till 5 A. M., and on again till 7.45, when we are relieved by the day force. Imagine the situation. Our canteen is a camp for permissionaires, built along a railroad track. At about 8 P. M. we hear the whistle of an approaching train, and a few minutes later its contents of many hundreds of Poilus are pouring into camp. Most of them have not eaten all day, and they almost fall over each other 98 to get the hot coffee, chocolate and dinners which we always have ready for them. At about 10 P. M. the electric lights go out and from then on we work by candle and lamp light. It is a wonderful picture with the dim light from the kitchen thrown on all those eager faces across the counter — and much smiles and com- pliments for " les gentiles demoiselles Americanes." Then if the crowd ever quiets down a bit, I hear the distant booming of cannon and look out at the great splashes of light that constantly flare up in the West. Most every night the Boches fly over us on their way to Paris, and then candles and lamps are hastily extinguished and the men bid us a patient " bon soir." C After I am supposed to be resting, I go out and peep at the Poilus in their long " salle a manger." They have candles out there, and some sit about the tables all night talking and writing, while others sleep on the benches. All ages — many fresh, untroubled young faces, and many bearded and worn — French, Sengalese, Algerians, Anamites, and so on in uniforms of faded bleu, khaki of the Foreign Legion, dark blue of the Chausseurs. I hear their voices like the low rumbling of thunder all night long. The other day a sweet boy from Southern India asked me if he could write me. He is as handsome as can be, black, black face and white, white teeth, and is refined and well-educated. He told me all about hunting tigers and elephants and other interesting things. Last night, a fine, big, tall boy asked if he could n't 99 help me in the " Gout de Cafe," which is the little stall where we sell drinks. He worked like a nailer, and I had quite a restful time. He had been educated in Germany and England and was a peach. So you see every day I meet splendid fellows and always have such awfully good times. I have just received word from the Red Cross that they are going to send me two Victrolas. I offered to buy two, one for the canteen and one for the hospital camp here, but the Red Cross assured me they had a depart- ment which took care of just such things, so I am tickled to death. Sometimes I go for days without really realizing that there is a war going on, for the Poilus, on their way back to the trenches, hate to talk about it, and we try to cheer them up and get their minds on other things. As a rule the French Poilu is an exceedingly cheery fellow, but often like a flash I 11 see a haggard face out across the counter, with maybe a blesse ribbon on his breast, or on the black band around his left arm, one, two or three stripes of red, white and blue ribbon, one stripe for each brother killed in the war. Or else, as often happens, two fellows will come up to me and one will say, " brother." Then I will hear how these two brothers have not seen each other for two or three years — just by luck have met for a few minutes in camp and they will take two bowls of coffee, and tapping them together, say "a la Victoire " or more often, "Au fin de la guerre," (" To the finish of the 100 war.") d Well, I must go to bed. It is 10.30 A. M. and I can sleep till 4.30 this afternoon. Mother, I just received your letter dated June 20th and love it. You can't imagine how I love reading about " Lochevan " and all you dear people doing the same old, cozy, happy things. Tell Mrs. Mills her letter of June 18th was a joy. Ever love, Doris. Cantine des Deux Drapeaux, July 15th, 1918. Dear Family : DOT many miles from the Front and with hundreds of Poilus passing through our camp on their way to the trenches, still we are as gay and merry as one could possibly imagine. Yesterday was the Frenchman's great day — " le quatorze Juillet " (14th of July) the fete which cor- responds to our Fourth of July. All of the Poilus have had a goodly amount of " Pinard " (wine) and they shouted and laughed and complimented to a tremen- dous extent. We gave our extra little American and French flags, picture post-cards and souvenir handker- chiefs, and served fruit and pudding with the " repas." The men were in the seventh heaven. In the evening, the officers of the camp returned our invitation of the Fourth and we all dined with them at their mess. It was great! Strange to say I was again 101 seated next to Lieutenant Boisson, my partner of the last dinner, and we had quite a gay time. When the champagne began to circulate, toasts and song burst forth, and it gave me a thrill when we drank to " Les deux Soeurs Republiques — la France et l'Amerique." Several of the officers had good voices and they sang some French songs, and then we all stood and sang the " Star Spangled Banner " and " Marseillaise." Now please don't die of mortification when I tell you what a mess I made of myself. For some reason, they all got an idea that I could sing and so nagged me that finally, in sheer desperation and amidst clapping and cheering, I arose to render some simple melody. I chose for the occasion " There Are Eyes of Blue " — why, I do not know, but I got only as far as the first ten words and absolutely choked. It was too funny to be tragic. I dropped back into my chair and hid my face which was suffused with blushes. It was quite awful, but no one seemed to mind, and I came out of it pretty well after all, for I plucked up my courage, and during the rest of the evening joined in songs we all knew. Lieut. Boisson was quite over- attentive and decorated me with his croix de guerre with palm and two stars, and with a citation written on the back of my place card. Here it is : " Order No. 1. The 14th of July. Is cited by the order of the Army of Two Flags Miss Doris Kellog Canteener of the first class 102 For devotion and courage without equal, having dispensed without thought of self, for the French Poilus, pouring many good cups of ' jus ' and agreeable speeches." How well your Frenchman understands the gentle art of flattery! At midnight the party broke up, and I had to drive one truck-load of women to the canteen, while Al drove another. It was too exciting, running along the black roads with a strange motor. One of the chauffeurs was in Paris and the other drunk. Larrabee and I were on night duty, and when every- thing quieted down, we heard the heaviest booming of the cannon since I 've been here. Last night finished my shift for the week, and I am really sorry it is over. It has been a marvelous experience, those dim, candle- lighted hours. But I have left for the last the experience that was much the most eventful of yesterday. Al, Mrs. Church and I went over to the camp hospital with supplies which we had gotten for them from the Red Cross and with tobacco for the blesses. I can not possibly over- estimate the value of the newspaper " Tobacco Funds " after I saw the joy they sowed amongst those poor fellows. Actually, the men almost went crazy — and they were as pleased as anything over the enclosed blank postal card with the name of the donor of each tobacco kit. One Poilu had even begun his note of thanks before I left. But there was a terribly tragic side 103 to the affair as well, for as I got toward the end of the long tent ward the nurse came up and said, " No further, please, the rest are Boches." Well, I could hardly bear it, but I knew that she was right and that it would have been weak to let my pity carry me away, and anyway the Frenchmen will share their cigarettes with the Fritzies — they always do. Before I left, the whole ward were laughing, Germans and all, because I said some Poilu slang expressions that I 've learned at the canteen, such as " ta bouche, cherie " (your mouth, dear — or, as we would say, Shut up) — " tu parle, Charles " (now you 're saying something, Charles) and so on. Those poor fellows really went into gales of laughter. Just before I left the ward the stretcher-bearers came up to the vacant cot I was standing beside and lifted onto it a poor unconscious youngster. One leg had just been amputated and he was the color of death. The nurse asked me to leave a tobacco kit for him, " if he should wake, if — " Now if anyone tries to tell you that girls and women, but really preferably young girls, are not needed over here, please just politely contradict them. There is untold work for happy, strong women in France, and anyone who knows the situation over here will tell you so. Why, because we can't get enough Americans at our canteen we have had to take older French women, which really almost spoils the whole spirit and idea of the thing. As I told you in one of my other letters, 104 Major Olds told us that before the Summer was up there would be three jobs for every American woman in France. It is a fresh, clear day, with white billowy clouds. The sky is full of great buzzing aeroplanes, some are flying very low and others keep appearing from out the clouds and then are lost in them again. They said the Germans came over Chantilly at 5.30 this morning, but I was at the canteen then, filling Poilus with chocolate and cafe, and so missed out on the excitement. For Mother's and Father's benefit, I must tell you that I have never been so well and strong before, and some of our older canteeners often look at me and say, " You are extremely well and strong, are you not, Miss Kellogg? Do you ever feel tired? " Well, I must close now, am going to Creil in our camion. That town is as near the Front as they will let us go. We always see all sorts of thrilling things over there. Love to everyone, Dodie. Canteen, July 17th, 1918. Dear Family : Y job is " caissaire " this week, which means that I sit firmly ensconced in a little ticket stall bleeding the Poilus, fifteen cents each, for their "repas." Yesterday we had over one thousand meals and that was some busy time. I had an 105 awful fright this noon. A Poilu, crazed with drink, came up to the window and said I owed him money. He shook his fist at me, and then muttered about a " fusil " and was horrible. If it had n't been for the hundreds of sane men about I would have died — as it was, I got perfectly white and felt sort of nauseated. He stayed there in front of me for ages, he seemed sort of foaming at the mouth, and no one dared touch him. Finally I turned my back and sold tickets out of the door, and after a while someone succeeded in getting him away, and he was evidently locked up. That was just one of the varied experiences a canteener has. By the time you get this letter we shall know just how this fifth great German offensive has come out. We all knew something vital was occurring, for the movement of troops has been tremendous the past few days, and the last two nights and early mornings the boom of cannon has been incessant. Last night we had the most exciting time. Hundreds of camions full of Poilus went through Chantilly. They began just as we finished dinner at about 8.45, and we had the brilliant idea of throwing cigarettes to them as they passed. I 've never heard such shouting and yelling in my life, and finally the whole line stopped and the men jumped out. They fairly overwhelmed us, grabbing and teasing, and one was so excited he snatched a package right out of my hand. After a while a beautiful golden moon came up, and still in that lovely light the trucks rumbled by, full of tired, dust-covered soldiers. 106 Sometimes we hear them passing for hours at a time during the night, and occasionally a gay load will go singing by. As I sit here in my little coop, I can see the trains go past loaded with all sorts of guns, horses, kitchen wagons, etc. How I adore the gaiety of the Frenchmen. Almost every cannon's mouth and cooking stove's chimney is stuffed with wild flowers, and each Poilu has a rose sticking in his cap. They are truly gay cavaliers s* £•» Tomorrow I am going to Paris. Great excitement ! We 've been out here over six weeks, and so I felt justified in asking for a day off. My principal event of the day will be a shampoo, which is the height of luxury to me now. We fairly eat and drink dust here in the canteen. So I shall close now and write more when I come back from town tomorrow. Cantine des Deax Drapeaux, July 19th, 1918. One throbbing day in Paris and now back again in my little " guitchet " selling repas tickets. Paris was wonderful I simply blew myself, at least as far as " cochers " are concerned, and rolled about all day in their cozy ramshackle Victorias. Paris seemed full of American soldiers — I had a hectic time staring at each one in turn, trying to spot some familiar face, but no such luck. I lunched with Major and Mrs. Olds in their attractive apartment, did much necessary 107 shopping, and then crowned my day by a visit to the Red Cross Hospital at Neuilly. I found two of my old boys still there, and we were so happy to see each other. Tommy, the English boy, who used to scream so when we even touched him, was so fat and well I hardly knew him. Then I wended my way to the officers' pavilion to see Lieut. Ward, the big Texan I loved so. When I looked through the doorway at the man lying opposite me I did n't, at first, recognize him ; then that fine, white-teethed smile broke out and we had a great reunion. He is too pathetic, so terribly thin and pale. The doctor promises him at least four more weeks on his back and then a stiff knee for life. He told me the thrilling sequel to his story of the night raid on the German trench in which he was wounded. It seems that sixteen of our boys with Lieut. Ward got into a nest of seventy Boches. Our men killed and wounded forty-three of the enemy and got back to our lines with one killed, one wounded, and the prisoner Lieut. Ward captured. On the way back, they were caught between our own and the German barrage and had to pass through that hail of shrapnel. They have been cited in regimental orders, but I think Ward should be deco- rated. I assure you the French are awarded for much less than that. Well, it was a great day, but I tell you I was glad to get back to Chantilly again and all the stirring things that are always happening here. Two days ago the British began pouring down upon us like a cloud burst and they have been marching through 108 town by hundreds and hundreds. We can see all this from the front windows of our house which is on the quaint main street. " Last night in the pale moonlight " a long file of bare-kneed " kilties " went whistling by. It was great and made me all goose-fleshy. It is so interesting to note the difference between the British and the French marching soldiers. The Tommies march along in perfect step, erect and dignified, and it is all we can do to get a wave or hello out of them — they are terribly impressive ; the only air of gaiety is fur- nished by their fife and drum corps, which are always with the troops, and the men's whistling. In contrast, picture the armies of France. They come shuffling along, a great waving line of blue, bent under their heavy packs with no music or singing — there is some- thing awfully sinister and awe-inspiring about it. But wait and see the greatest contrast of all — the instant the Frenchies catch sight of us girls, there arises a great shouting and gesticulating of arms, hands pressed over hearts and kisses blown and "Ah! regardez, les jolies mademoiselles, Venez avec nous, gentile miss," etc., etc. (Oh! look, the pretty ladies. Come with us, gentle miss.) Now they are the gayest fellows in the world $* s®» How I am dying to see our own glorious Sammies come singing along. The French adore our boys and you really can not over-estimate the invigorating influence their wonderful " esprit " has had over here. Last night the Huns flew over us on their way to Paris 109 and the Creil defense guns shook our house. Al and I went down to the cave like the sensible girls we are. My, but it was a brilliant night, clear moon and many stars, and all about " eclat " bursting in the sky. You have no idea of the different feeling in the atmosphere now, as compared with that during the last offensive. Then, everyone was grim and apprehensive ; but now, the morale has shot up like a rocket and we all expect fine things to come. There is a suppressed excitement like electricity in the air. It is late at night, but before I go to bed I must tell you the things that have happened today. As we drove into Chantilly this evening in our camion, we saw lined up in front of the station masses and masses of German prisoners. We were ready to scream with joy. There were fifteen hundred of them, and all taken by our boys at Soissons today. It is too wonderful ! I stood so near them as they marched past that they bumped into me time after time. I must tell you that those Huns were the most encouraging sight I 've seen since I 've seen in France. No exaggeration, they are a terribly mangy- looking crowd — poor uniforms to begin with, pieced and worn, and then they are very young and have a decidedly under-nourished look, thin and very poor color. There were two captains and many lieutenants ; and quite a bunch of them were wounded. But tonight was the most unforgetable experience of all. The wounded are pouring in here by scores and we heard that they needed food over at the huge tent evacuation 110 hospital and that there were many Americans there. So after dinner we got our camion, loaded it with a crate of tobacco, hot chocolate, bread and eggs, and Al ran us over. I can not begin to express the condition of things in those tents. They are swamped with wounded and without hope of doing anything for the men except what is utterly essential. There, lying about in the grass, were the wounded Germans, blood-caked and exhausted ; some of the worst cases were given a tent and I watched them going in, helping each other as well as they could. One boy crawling and dragging one leg — it was too pitiful and I had to give him an encouraging smile. He appreciated that and smiled back so gratefully. We gave some cigarettes to one old Red Cross Fritzie who had given first aid to twelve of our wounded boys on the battlefield. It was great, how anxious all our boys were to tell us about him, so glad to be able to think anything nice of a German. Then we took off our coats and pitched in. I gave water to boys who were writhing in pain, fed men who had not eaten for two and three days, and tried my best to make the poor devils a little bit comfortable on their stretchers that will probably be their beds for a day or so more. I went from gaunt, sunken-eyed Frenchmen to our own open-faced Americans. The French with their exquisite appreciation thanked me so beautifully and our boys smiled and said, " She 's an American all right." But most of them could not rally enough to even think, and after giving them some water we just 111 let them sleep. The most heartrending time of all is when you have to refuse a boy a drink on account of the location of his wound, for fear of starting a hemorrhage, it makes your heart ache as though it were being torn out. Then it got dark, and in the dimly lighted tents those long rows of suffering soldiers were pretty awful. As we came out to the auto, the ambulances were still piling in, and the full moon gave enough light to help along the work of unloading. One more thing before I go to sleep. They say we are two and a half miles from Soissons and that it must fall. Can you imagine with what intense feeling I shall wake up tomorrow and run for the paper, after seeing and knowing what our glorious Allies have suffered to get this far? As one wounded Sammy from Utah said to me tonight, " We 've just got to get Soissons, that 's all." So good night. Doris. P.S. Got Ruth Kellogg's, Ruth Robb's, and Betty Reynolds' wonderful letters. " The White House " XCAN not fool myself into thinking that I 'm not tired tonight. I 've come up to my room alone with a plate full of food and am having a restful, solitary dinner. Worked at canteen all day till 3.30 this afternoon, then drove the camion full of supplies back here to Chantilly and spent the afternoon giving chocolate, eggs and 112 iced tea to the wounded at the tent hospital. It is a touching sight, I can tell you, to see our boys in their khaki uniforms all torn and bloody and the fellows dirty and unshaven. But they are the best old sports and as plucky as fighting cocks. Found one boy from North Tonawanda, who lived next door to Hamilton Large, but forgot to ask his name. One of the French nurses asked me to give her a hand with one huge fellow and whispered, " He 's a Boche." He was as heavy as lead and we had quite a tussle getting an extra blanket roll under his back to make him more comfortable. It won't be long before he " Goes West," I guess, as he has a big piece of French shell in his chest, and is already the color of death. Just to show you the mixture of races in that hospital ; there lay a frank, yellow-haired, young Yankee, with a Boche on one side of him, on the other an immense, coal black African with tattooed face and grotesquely cut hair. Across the ward was an Arab, still with his turban wound about his head — then an Algerian, upon whom I spotted restless " totos " — and sprinkled all up and down the ward our fine " camarades," the Poilus of France. And each one got his sweet chocolate and tea, thanks to the Red Cross. Imagine! They say that fifteen hundred ambulances went past our house down the main street of Chantilly during the night. We have been asked by the Red Cross to open a canteen on the race-track there beside the hospital, where the boys can get chocolate, tobacco, lemonade, etc. Won't 113 it be great ! Oh, if I could only tell you the tremendous - ness of being able to be over here and to devote all the strength and devotion in your soul and body toward helping our glorious brothers win this war ! What an opportunity ! It is cloudy, so the Boche will probably stay on their own side of the fence tonight. I could have scratched them last night when I had to haul myself out of bed at about 1.30 A. M. and go shivering down to the cave. d, I asked Montelegre and his friend to dinner tonight, but they have just telegraphed that the letter only arrived today, and of course it was too late to accept. C Well, dear every one, Al seems to think that I do nothing but write the family. Do you get bored with such a flourishing correspondence? Love to all, Doris. P.S. For Tot's benefit, or any one else's whose heart is over here in France, please let me tell you this — if all my letters seem to paint tragic things, then it is only because they are the most striking features to me, who am so new at the game. Some day I am going to paint the happy, hopeful side of the picture, just as Dr. Holmes does in his Thanksgiving sermons. For really, inside the cloud of dirt and hurting, there is a silver lining. The boys are soon in some clean white hospital in the South, and wounds do heal very quickly. They are surrounded with love and sympathy most of the time, for the whole heart of France has been given 114 to us. And the more than silver, the platinum lining of the cloud of war is beginning to break through all along the horizon. C[ Will Soissons fall? We must take it soon. Good night, Doris. Chantilly, July 25th, 1918. Dear Family : OU know it 's the saddest thing in the world. Every morning now, some of us take time off to go to the funerals of our boys who die in the hospitals. We follow the hearses a long way through the forest road to a new cemetery that has been cleared this last week. You can imagine the impressiveness of it all, so simple, with no unneces- sary flourishes. I tell you, since I 've seen our Star Spangled Banner draping those coffins the flag has had a new meaning for me. We have arranged a sort of rolling canteen, which con- sists of taking hot chocolate, fruit, cigarettes, etc. to the different hospitals in our little Ford camion. The boys are wild with joy to see us coming, and we have been able to relieve many a hungry and thirsty man this way. Last night eight huge camions arrived straight from the Front full of " legere blesses " (light wounded) and you can not imagine what that piping hot chocolate meant to them. What do you know about the nerve of a filthy Boche who appeared over Chantilly yesterday at 10 o'clock in the morning? I was at the tent hospital when I heard 115 our defense barrage, and ran out to see a great flying monster up in the sky, right over my head. No doubt it was a photographing machine, getting the position of the hospital in order to bomb it on some clear moon- light night. When I caught sight of one of the German blesses looking up and trying to hide a smile with his hand, I was more enraged than I 've ever been in my life. I think for the first time I really felt a spasm of hate. My one hope was that our bursting shells would "get him" and bring the beast down in flames. After an experience like that, you know you begin to feel as the French nurses do who have to grit their teeth when they are waiting on the Boche. Yesterday I wrote letters for our boys who could n't manage it themselves. I had the funniest time trying to get them to tell me what to say. They 'd say, " Well, you just go ahead and write just like you was writim home." So I 'd exercise my imagination a bit, and then when I got to the end I 'd say, " Now, how shall I end it ! " No suggestions forthcoming. "Well, shall I say with love ! ", I asked one big fellow to whose mother and father I was writing. He simply "died" at that and, stretching in an embarrassed way, said, " This ain't no love letter. No, just say, 'I remain your son, Jeremiah.' " €1 Having learned a lesson in correspondence from the above-mentioned Jeremiah, I remain your daughter, Doris. P.S. All my letters to the family are written in great haste. Please excuse utterly horrible writing. 116 Cantine, July 26th, 1918. Dearest Father and Mother : I HAVE just received your two letters written on July 1st and 5th. They are too wonderful and so welcome. You know I almost died laughing at the impression the new foreman Prichard has made on your minds. You have mentioned him in idealizing terms in every letter since last April. I 'm terribly glad he is such a success. First and fore- most, let me thank you for Junior's address. I was wild not having it, because I might have missed a chance of seeing him some time. One can never tell. And so many Americans go through Orry. Yesterday, nine long train-loads of Sammies passed the canteen, and we spent most of our day waving to them and yelling " hello " to the neglect of the Poilus. July 28th, 1918. Yesterday was a thrilling day. We served eight hundred and fifty Poilus at luncheon, which kept us hopping, and then just as things were beginning to quiet down, a message came from the next town that there was a wounded American there and for us to send for him to take him to the hospital. So I was detailed to drive the Ford camion and we started out. It was really exciting, the urge of the thing, and all in a wild, windy, rainstorm. But, to cut a long story short, upon arriving at S — , we found another auto had carried off the blesse and we 117 were not needed. The real excitement came when on our return we passed through two towns where our boys are billeted. They were the first well Sammies I have seen at close range, and I assure you that I saw those fellows — close, closer, closest. We stopped the car and in no time were surrounded with khaki. Such a babbling conversation! Each one wanted to talk and to tell me about his war. They said I was the first American girl they 'd talked to in months. " You don't know what it does for a fellow to be able to talk to a real American girl," so many of them said. One big fellow insisted on buying me six packages of cookies at the Y. M. G. A. canteen, and when I had been refusing to take them for several minutes, he said, " You would n't refuse these, Miss, if you knew what State of the Union I came from. I 'm from ' Vaginia.' " d Well, after that trip I drove the Ford on some more errands in the wonderful storm and then came home to Chantilly. We had Clay Ferguson here for dinner, the aviator from Amsterdam. He is with the " Storks," which esquadrille Guynemeyer belonged to, and which boasts Fouck now, the two crack flyers of France. He says he will bring Fouck to dinner some time. The trouble with Clay is that he won't tell us the thrilling tales he could, because he says the Americans have the reputation of bragging and that they are trying to live that down. I know he has gotten several Huns himself and that he was a prisoner in Germany for three days and then 118 escaped, but it is too aggravating to try to draw him out. C Just came back from the hospital. Found a Polish- American from Buffalo, and we shook hands and had a nice chat about Humboldt Park and Fillmore Avenue and Walbridge's east side store. Then I took all the roses I could buy in Chantilly and gave one to each man. No one can imagine how the Frenchmen adore flowers till you see them, in horrible pain, bury their faces in a rose and smile. I have a special friend, an Arab, only twenty-three, and very ill. He has just had his leg amputated. When I come up to the cot he stretches out his hand takes mine, and then puts his to his lips and kisses it. And the same when I leave. He was so horribly ill before they took off his leg, and used to cry for water and keep tapping his empty cup on the board beside his bed, and then when we couldn't give him anything for fear of hemorrhage, he would wail and pray to Allah. But amputations heal so rapidly and he is so much better now, though so, so sad. Yesterday I said, " I am so sorry for you." His chin trembled and tears came to his eyes, but he smiled and said, " C'est la guerre, mademoiselle, we must all suffer." so £<» If I could only convey to you the tremendous enthusiasm of the French for our boys — nurses, poilus, aviateurs, generals, etc., etc. can not speak in too glowing terms of our Yanks fighting — " C'est comme nous dans 1914," (like us in 1914). I came home on the train with a French aviateur who 119 had just come down from the battle of Soissons. When he saw my U. S., he sat on the edge of his seat and began simply raving over the Amex' work there — " Mais ils sont superb! " he said, and pinching a kiss from his lips, blew it in the air. It tickles our boys to death to hear those things, and they ask us, knowing perfectly well what we will answer, "Say now nurse, tell us just what these French people think of us wild Americans ! " and then they will smile inwardly for a long time after we 've told some of the praises we 've heard for them. Well, folks, I must close and go on my afternoon shift. I wrote a letter to Junior and am so anxious to know where he is. Love to all, Doris. " The White House " July 30th, 1918. Dear Everyone : X REALLY should not be writing at this hour of night, 10 P. M., as I have to get up at six tomorrow morning (and I do try to take good care of myself) ; but I have just received the juiciest bunch of letters from you home folks, Aunt Annie, Gert and Andrew, How and Cyrena, and Ruth, and I am tingling with home news and affection. I repeat again and again that your letters 120 are joys. Was n't it simply great of Aunt Annie to write me? Next day. My, but it was interesting yesterday here in Chantilly, long lines of squirming, straining tanks passed through town at different intervals all day. They were coming from the Front where they have been fighting with our Marines at C — and were the raciest looking things in the world, covered with mud and dust and so cleverly camouflaged and with wicked looking guns sticking out of their turrets. I think I have had a slight change of heart since yesterday, and from now on these marvelous tankers are my matinee idols. They are really snappier than the aviators, though one really should not compare them, they are so different. The ace is always perfectly " soigner " (well-groomed), and goodness knows attractive enough, but your tanker is a dashing, devil-may-care fellow, in black baret (tarn), black leather coat and a long knife stuck through his belt. I think of them as pirates of the land, in their rolling, heaving tanks. We handed each fellow a pack- age of cigarettes as he passed. It was like feeding animals ; a hand would be thrust out of the small open- ing in the front of the tank where the driver sits, grab the smokes, and then be drawn quickly in again. In front of each machine — (Oh, you '11 have to excuse me a minute, family, there is a plane flying right over my head, and the pilot is looking down. I can see him as 121 plainly as anything, he is so low, so I shall hang out of the window and wave my bath-towel at him. He has gone on the other side of town now, so I can continue my letter.)Then in front of each machine stalked the gunner, too snappy for anything, with knife in belt, and a long, easy stride. Really it was a great sight. C Well, I have just had an exceedingly satisfactory afternoon. As soon as I got back from the canteen I put on white shoes and stockings, clean blue apron and white collar and coif, and went over to the hospital. Last night I had delivered the graphaphone that I got from the Red Cross for them, and so I wanted to make a sort of fete of the presentation. We had it out on the grass in the midst of the blesses, who were fortunate enough to be able to get outside, and I can tell you all those stretchers bore pretty smiling burdens today. The music sounded so sweet there in the sunshine. I took enough cigarettes for each man in the whole hospital to have two, and gave every one a small American and French flag. You really can not imagine how utterly pleased those great babies were, and some said so sweetly " Vive l'Amerique " One said, "Ah, the two sister Republics, the great America and her little sister, France." But what do you think I did? " Malheur de malheurs ! " — I handed one horribly banged up fellow two cigarettes and two flags, and no sooner had done so than there were great gleeful exclamations from the Frenchmen all about — "Aha! Mademoiselle, il est Boche, fixes les drapeaux au-dessu 122 sa lit," (he is a Boche. Fasten the flags over his bed.) I was really awfully sorry about it and smiled apologetic- ally when he handed the flags back to me in a dignified manner, but he kept the cigarettes all right. Now I know all the men in the hospital, and it is the happiest thing in the world to see nearly all of them looking better each day. As I passed one of the operating rooms I saw much blood streaming from the table and discovered it came from a leg which had just had the foot amputated. I told one darling little boy from Springfield, Mass., today he must try to feel happier so that he would get well more quickly. He was shot in the lung and is having a pretty tough time — is only nineteen. So as I was leaving I said, " Now tell me if there is anything that I can do for you or bring you that will cheer you up and make you feel better. Is there anything that you would like? " Then with a grave little smile, " I 'd like some chewing-gum, please." Here 's hoping I can get to Paris for it tomorrow. I bought some Algerian dates for my Arab. This is my week in the Gout, and ever time a girl's shift happens to be there she has killing experiences, because the Poilus hang around and that is the time when they get in their heavy wooing. Yesterday a shy swain of about thirty kept coming back to the counter for coffee and chocolate, and finally when he got a chance he looked over at me and said, " Mademoiselle, I am a garcon (waiter)." " Oh, you are," said I, " waiter in a hotel? " " Non, I am a garcon." " Yes, I under- 123 stand, waiter in a hotel or restaurant? " " But no, mademoiselle, you do not understand, lama garcon — that is to say, not married. I have not had good luck." At that I remembered some errand out in the other room — I was too hot for another proposal that day so Our chauffeur, Potter, a killing, outspoken American boy, gets so tired of the Frenchmen's habits that he said in the most disgusted voice, " These darned Frenchmen would flirt with the Virgin Mary if they saw her in the yard." That last is only for those who are shock proof. The American boys in Chantilly have discovered us and now we always have a circle of them standing about in front of the " White House," all talking their heads off. That seems to be what they want to do, just to speak English, and they can hardly resist all talking at once. Then they know that American tobacco comes out of this green front door — they seem to scent it and follow the trail here. Nice old boys — men are so child- ish and helpless in many ways. I have seen such a lot of them over here and grown so fond of them and felt that I know them so well that I think " apres la guerre " I shall be able to travel all over the world and find a friend in every village — of les Allies. How brilliantly goes the war now ! " Ca va tres bien aujourd'hui ! " we can say to the Poilus every morning when we see the papers. Up beyond F. en T. our Franco- Americans are pushing back the Huns gloriously. Well, dear every one, keep up the good work of writing 124 me. You can feel it is a bit of war work if you will, please. You don't know how happy it makes me feel that you 're glad I 'm over here. Ever love, Dodie. Cantine , August 2d, 1918. Dear Family : I CAN hardly contain my jubilant spirit this morning. " Soissons is retaken! " Imagine the excitement at the station this morning. Q I took the early train from Chantilly and found all my prospective fellow voyagers buzzing about at a great rate with newspapers fluttering in their hands. I must admit that the Yankees seemed the most thrilled and the Frenchmen smiled at us in a calm, interested way ; but you see we are so newly in it and they so tired after four years. Today is the first day of the fifth year of the war. " un peu trop long " (a little too long) the French say. So this victory comes at quite a crucial time. " Soon in Berlin, Mademoiselle " the Poilus say to me this morning as I serve them their chocolate and coffee. At last I have seen my godson, Joseph Duyck. He came here to visit me at the canteen the other day, and I was simply delighted with him. He is just twenty, already a sergeant, and has the " croix de guerre " with two stars. He looks exactly as Nelson Mann will in a few 125 more years. All the canteen were crazy about him, and I could n't help crowing over my good luck in godsons. Both Duyck and Montelegre are coming to see me next week on their return to the Front. I have a few American magazines I am sending Duyck. He wants them more than anything else ; says his one pleasure at the Front is to read or to write letters. Can you mail me a bunch of periodicals, Mother, under separate cover, of course, as otherwise they would be too heavy to come by post? They like magazines that have interesting and amusing illustrations s* £» You know I think this inundation of Americans into France is going to do wonderful things in the way of liberating the French women. Already the French girls are beginning to revolt against the confining lives they have to lead, and look with envy at the freedom of us American girls. And the French men are waking up as well. One boy said to me, after telling me about the French girls never being allowed to even walk alone on the streets with a man — " You know it seems as though they could not trust us men." Several of the girls I know in Paris have already cut loose and are defying Parisian convention. One French boy said to me, " Oh! you American girls are wonderful, you can go anywhere. I so tease my cousins by telling them that while they sit at home, you American girls come up to help us fight, and you are the first ones to give us a smile when we come out of the trenches." But on the other hand, glorious work has been done by many 126 devoted French women since the beginning of the war, particularly in the hospitals. When a French woman undertakes a thing, she is as tireless as the Poilu. August 4th, 1918. We are in a gale of joy. Our spirits are mounting so high that I think they will raise the roof of the canteen. Fifty French villages retaken yesterday It is too glor- ious ! All our servants from the " Pays envahii " (invaded country) begin to talk of returning to their homes, and one woman who lives quite up in the North, said, " Perhaps soon I may go back to my country again." Al is so thrilled that she is almost wild. The Red Cross is already planning about the re-opening of our canteen at Fismes, which has no doubt been looted by the Germans during their occupation, if not utterly destroyed s& $& Yesterday I visited two hospitals and took the men oranges and cigarettes. I said to one pale-faced Poilu who had just been brought in, " Is n't the war going beautifully? " and he said, " Yes, but not without much suffering." One fellow had a bright new "medaille militaire " over his bed, which is about the highest honor a Poilu can have, and I admired it and con- gratulated him, but he smiled sadly and said he would rather have his eye back than that. I found a boy from Buffalo in one of the hospitals, A. A. Fox, an ambulance driver, and we had a nice chat about the Pierce Arrow Plant and Shea's Theater 127 and other things we had in common. He knew just where I lived, and really I almost felt he belonged to me after I left him. I gave him two nice big cakes of sweet chocolate. You know every time I enter a hospital or see wounded anywhere, I have a dread of suddenly looking into some familiar face. But if any of my friends are wounded over here, I hope I may be near to do the little things for them that make their suffering a bit easier to bear. This morning I came down to the canteen very early with Al and our Directrice as it is Sunday, and mass is always said for the servants and Poilus in camp. Out in the " refectoire " a rough kitchen table had been set with a clean, white, table-cloth, lighted candles, cruci- fix, and a beautiful pink hydrangea plant. It made a lovely improvised altar. The soldier-priest was so picturesque in his long white vestment with sky-blue uniform showing through the lace. I loved it. August 5th, 1918, My, but yesterday was a satisfactory Sunday. After luncheon at the canteen, some of us went in the truck to visit the " Scottish Women's Hospital " at the Abbey of Royaumont. The old stone abbey, built by St. Louis in 1228, is the most picturesque place in the world, with its beautiful gothic windows, high, slender steeple and vine -covered walls. Imagine the picture : the old pillared cloisters filled with rows of wounded French and Americans — grey walls and flagstone floors, black iron cots and turkey red quilts, white hospital shirts 128 with scarlet crosses. Then the huge gothic chapel, high, high ceiling, glorious stained glass windows at one end, and at the other a high arched entrance — and more rows of cots and scarlet covers. In the chapel I found a Marine from Detroit, only eighteen years old, with a terrible wound. His right elbow is shot away and he suffers agonies. They have to give him morphine after every dressing and every night so that he can sleep. Well, I spent all my afternoon with him because he would n't let me go — he simply clung to me and begged me to stay. You really can't imagine what it means to our boys to see and talk with an American girl. I can't realize it myself, only I know they make you feel like a fairy princess. This kid has huge black eyes, black, black hair, and is so white and gaunt. He reminded me of Don, teasing me to sing more songs, when he begged me not to go away. Love to all, Doris. August 10th, 1918. Dearest Mother, here are millions of kisses and one long hug for you on your birthday. If I could get to Paris I would cable you, but I can not do that, and we are not allowed to cable from here. But here is love, love, and more love from your devoted Doris. P.S. Got a peach of a letter from Junior and am so glad to know where he is. If he ever needs me for anything, 129 he has promised to let me know. If Ruth comes over, please bring my black velvet dress. A Poilu came back to the Gout three times to look at my ankles. " The White House " Dear Family : XHAD just a few minutes ago thrown myself on my bed to snatch a bit of " repos " before going to work at noon — -as I got up very early this morning to go to Creil with Al for meat — when I heard my name yelled excitedly, and then "Boches!" I ran to the window and saw for the first time here in Chantilly a great bunch of German prisoners shuffling past our house. Gee, but you don't know how much good that sight did my heart. They looked up at me in the window and I was joyous to have them see me standing there with our American flag blowing over my head. The war news is too wonderful and every one has taken a new lease on life, particularly the French people. They can not sing too loudly the praises of our American troops, " Chic soldats " is one of their favorite expres- sions 6» SO €[ But in spite of it all, I 'm blue this morning. One of my nice boy friends has just come way out from Paris to tell me good-bye as he is entering an artillery school, but I was not in and missed him. That is the fourth or fifth time he has tried to see me. You don't know how disappointing it is to miss a chance for a nice visit like 130 that because you see I get so tired of always writing these boys and hardly ever seeing them. It is quite tragic 5«» s+ Well, I think I won't try to write any more now. We see and do pretty nearly the same things every day, but of course with always different lighting effects on the same scenery. I am as thrilled as ever over my work, have applied for another three months' extension of my papers which expire on the 22nd of this month. Cantine des Deux Drapeaux, Serveillers. Dear Family : XAM having aweek at Serveillers as caissaire, quite the weight of the world on my head, as I have the responsibility of all the money matters of the canteen. But we have a peach of a crowd here this week, Brundred, Tenny, Larrabee and O'Brien, all young bloods, and you can't know the difference it makes in our morale. We work like nailers but we play between times quite as strenuously. Al has tonsilitis and she is blue as indigo. Poor kid has nasty tonsils and is going to have them taken out before the Winter sets in. You know I thank my lucky stars many times a day to think that I had mine out before I left home. I have been absolutely free from sore- throat, in the midst of coughing, gargling co-workers — and then think of the corking time I had when I had my operation ! 131 The war still goes on gloriously. I get short cards from my godson Duyck, written in the midst of the battle that has been raging now for over a week. His regiment is in the thick of things, and I feel so anxious about him. You know I told you that he is only twenty and is the image of Nelson grown up. He is so sweet and bright, and I feel quite like his real, christened godmother now since I 've seen him. After the war, he so wants to come to America, and I should like to be able to show him the way Americans live and work. Last Sunday I drove some of the workers over to the Scottish Women's Hospital at Royaumont. We took a big crate of peaches, some home-made fudge, and cigarettes. How anxiously our American boys look for us, and it is too wonderful to see their faces light up as they catch sight of us coming through the cloisters. There was quite a bit of excitement amongst the Yanks, as a French officer had been to the hospital a few days before and taken names for the awarding of French medals. It seems that six of our boys are to get the " croix de guerre," and a boy from Detroit, in whom I have been especially interested, is to be given the " medaille militaire " and " croix de guerre " with palm. Poor kid, he certainly deserves it, as he has had his whole elbow blow away, and even though they may be able to prevent an amputation, he will never have the use of his right arm again. You see the " medaille militaire " is given for the most serious wounds. Well, it was too amusing and typical of American honesty to 132 hear those kids discuss the matter. I told them how glad I was about it and so on, and then they said, " But say now honestly, nurse, can you tell me just why we 're getting these medals ? We did n't do anything to earn them, but just let a ball hit us." And the Detroiter lay there with his dead white face and bright black eyes, and in such a humorous voice said, " Now sister, it 's too funny. Gee whiz! Imagine me with a medal militaire ! And what have I done to deserve it? Now really, please tell me why I should be given that." So I tried to explain that it was a recognition of the sacrifice he had made for our country and France, and when he said he could n't see that he 'd made much of a sacrifice, I said I thought giving his good right arm in the cause of liberty and freedom was quite some- thing to do. Well, it was very sweet, their unconscious heroism. Some days later. We 've just come down to the canteen in the midst of the most active day air raid I 've ever seen. Three Boches hummed over us to the booming accompani- ment of all the defense guns for miles around. We saw them plainly, sailing along, great white monsters in the midst of black puffs of smoke. Then we began to hear the buzz of French planes and counted over ten of them giving chase. They 've passed now, and are out of sight. You must be getting tired of my writing about air raids. I seem to go into lengthy descriptions 133 of them in every letter, but they are so wonderful. C To change the subject — though I can't say to a pleasanter theme — what do you think now? Al and I are covered with " totos," in English, cootie-bites. Talk about agony ! We are almost wild, and the awful part is that we can not at all discover where we get them. Al's theory is that they are in our beds. Well, she is right too, for upon a close inspection of hers, we found three large fellows and quite a settlement of eggs. But that has all been thoroughly cleansed and purified and still we continue to be devoured. I guess we get them from ye Poilus and bring them home, and then in ye wee sma' hours they get hungry and partake of us. Well, we should worry — don't much. I got a letter from Jim Coatsworth telling me about his flying boat accident, also asking me to dine with him in Paris in September when he comes up from Italy for a ten days' leave. Would n't it be fun if Ruth were here then? When are you coming, dear old nut? Last night I got thinking about your dear, calm face, and I got so excited about seeing you. I hang on the mails for news from you on the subject. Please tell Tot I was so impressed with the clipping about her engagement, but I am glad to be able to say that nary a drop of jealousy crept into my joy for her. Now I must into my ticket stall. It will be like being cooked alive today. Ever lovingly, Dodie. 134 Dear Fami & " The White House," August 12th, 1918. Dear Family : 'EE ! but that was exciting ! A German plane just flew over us, way, way up above the clouds, with the sun shining on it. I dashed to the window when I heard the banging of our anti-aircraft guns, and I can tell you the shells were bursting about that bird of prey at a great rate. He dodged behind the few clouds that are afloat this after- noon, but had to come out soon and duck for Germany. The aggravating part is that photographs can be taken from a plane flying way out of reach of any cannon, and yet our planes can not go up to fight for fear of being hit by our own barrage. Well, we '11 get him before he gets home, I hope. Of course you are reading about the hundreds of prison- ers the Allies are taking. Every day we see loads of them passing through both Chantilly and Orry. Lucky dogs! " War finish " for them now and mighty good treatment from their captors. August 13th, 1918. I 'm on night duty again, this time as an old girl and head of the shift, and I want to say that keeping these French servants in order is no joke. They beat it off with the Poilus whenever they get an opportunity — which is only too often furnished by the almost nightly signal of hostile aircraft. Lights must all be put out, 135 and if the barrage gets too heavy every one runs to the woods to seek protection under the trees. Nutty idea! Though I suppose the trees would dissipate the falling shrapnel s©» so I will take a bit of " repos " now for this aft we are going over to Senlis to visit hospitals and see the wonderful old cathedral there, built in 1155. Cantine des Deux Drapeaux, August 14th, 1918. Dear Family : ^** ^^UST received Mother's and Don's wonderful ^ ■ letters of the 19th of July. I get so thrilled Ufc M, over them that my heart trips faster than ^^ j^r after a cup of black coffee. And the photos! They are so welcome. I rushed about, showing them to all of the girls and we fairly beamed over them. Pa's chicken pot-stew sounded luscious, and as chicken is about the only thing we never get over here, I was quite envious. And Don's letter was so dear. I '11 answer it soon s«* 5«» Well, I 'm certainly in luck having Al chaufnng here at the canteen, because I am getting in on the most wonderful auto rides. We went rolling all about the country this morning, looking for fresh vegetables for our Poilus. I can not tell you how soul-restful it was. We went winding down little hills into sleepy villages ; the women were washing their linen in the streams that run through most of the little towns, and we saw 136 small groups of blue -clad soldiers marching along the narrow cobble-stoned streets. The sky was blue, the hay was golden, the sunlight bright, and we were happy. When I was in Paris, I bought two dozen gaily painted rubber balls, and so, whenever I go in the auto, I take a few and toss them to the children as we pass. You can't imagine how pleased they are. They act as though suddenly from the sky St. Nicholas had thrown them the most beautiful gift — dear little kids! I 'm on night duty, you see, so I can fill my days with many wonderful excursions s«» s*» Yesterday a bunch of us went to Senlis in the big camion to visit a hospital there. We took a huge mar- mite of hot chocolate, loads of cigarettes, playing cards and some fudge. We found the hospital which was kept by nuns, in a long, low building, with a quaint flagstone courtyard. There were " Grands blesses " there, and among them five American boys. The walls of one of the long wards were riddled with bullet holes that had been made by the Germans in 1914, and at one end, the walls about the large crucifix were simply peppered, but not one shot had touched the cross nor had one of the wounded been hit. Was n't it a miracle? You know this sort of hospital work is about the most satisfactory thing we do. You can imagine what it means to our boys, tucked off in some out-of-the-way French hospital, to suddenly see a smiling American face leaning over him with American cigarettes in her left hand and in the right hand a good Yankee hand- shake — and then a 137 chance to talk about " back home." I 'm not exaggerat- ing when I say that now I can spot an American boy every time in the midst of rows of Frenchmen and before he speaks a word. They have a certain clear look in their eyes, and frank open faces. I '11 be going down a ward full of Frenchmen, stopping at each bed with hot chocolate perhaps, and chatting a little with each man about his wounds — they want so to talk about their wounds — when, suddenly, I '11 see a face maybe half way down the room, looking at me and smiling, and I '11 say, "Ah! You 're an American." " You bet I am, Ma'am." We 've often been able to send to Paris for an American nurse to come out and take care of these poor, isolated Yanks. And then it 's so glorious to be able to help the Frenchmen, they are so grateful and appreciative. One French boy with seven wounds, and on the brink between life and death, smiled a faint, happy smile when I gave him a box of dominoes and asked him if he knew how to play. He was so weak, but he wanted to show me his knowledge of the game and painstakingly began placing the pieces in order on his bed. He was just twenty years old. The nun says he can not live. Oh, Ruth! hurry up and come over. I look each day for a letter from you asking me to cable for you. You must go in for hospital recreation work with us this winter, it is wonderful they say. We would have a hut connected with some large hospital and have all sorts of things there to amuse the sick and convalescent boys — 138 Victrola, games, piano, reading and writing materials, chocolate, cigarettes, etc. I know you 'd adore it. We 're staying here through September anyway, and could all go in for something new together. I 'm so crazy to hear from you. I 've just finished wrapping up a fine batch of fudge to send to Junior Trubee. I made it at the canteen last night. Gee, but it tastes like home! I am enclosing two letters I just received from such sweet young boys — one, Xavier, a most wonderful looking East Indian, and the other a French boy, who passed through Orry one day. These are only sample letters. I have so many of them. The men love above everything to receive and to write letters, it 's about the only amusement they have at the Front. Speaking of fronts, if it does n't stop moving away from us, we '11 be left absolutely in the shade. We only occasionally hear the firing now, and at that very faintly, really " tres tranquil ici maintenant." These nights at the canteen, as I look out at the passing trains, it is a solemn thing to see the long Red Cross hospital cars go slowly by; some of them have green lights inside and they look so ghostly and dismal. Well, every one, I must lay me down a bit now. Love to all, Doris. 139 " The White House," Between 1 and 2 A. M., August 20th, 1918. Dearest Tot : ^*- ^^UST one minute ago the " alert " for an air f\ ■ raid went sputtering off, in the form of a w M, string of machine-gun shots — about fifty ^^^j^r seconds later, the wailing siren began its warning cry and is still disturbing the peace of this wonderful star and moonlit night. Ah ! there go the great defense guns between here and Creil. That means that in a few minutes we shall hear the hum of the Hun planes, at first far off and then growing louder and more distinct ; then our own anti-aircraft guns will begin booming 5«» s» There they go, bang, boom ! Al is looking out the window and says that the great, powerful searchlights hardly make an impression tonight, the moon is so bright. Now I hear the planes coming, surging, surging, steadily louder. Sput, sput, sput, the machine guns are spitting their heads off, I 've never heard them so per- sistent. Here they are, the planes! Out go my lights. They must be on top of us. Good night! Tot! but that was thrilling for a while. When I blew out my candle I ran to the window and by Jove ! if it did n't sound as though one of those Huns was right over my head. Then suddenly the noise of the motor absolutely stopped. Can it be that one of our 140 guns got the Bochc? It would be too wonderful. We ran out doors then and there up over our heads was the most perfect full moon with little puffs of smoke from our cannon floating all around it, like some new kind of advertisement for puffed rice. I 'm back to my upper chamber again. There comes another motor — they are still trying to skin through to Paris. Aha! the defense guns are fairly shaking this little house with their firing. I can hear shrapnel from them falling out in our garden. Good night! that is the first time I 've heard the whistle of a shell, but I certainly did just then. The machine guns are sending out tracer bullets and they go darting up into the sky like giant rockets on the Fourth of July. Out goes my candle, the planes are on top of us again! Heavens, what a sport — to think that those guns are after men. Is n't it horrible? I can't wait till tomorrow to hear the news, also to pick up the shrapnel that 's been hailing down on our roof and court. The cannon are still booming, the machine guns still spitting and the surge of the planes still in my ears. Later they will be coming back over us on their return trip from Paris to Berlin. But here 's hoping they will have to stop off " Somewhere in France " instead of ever reaching their destination. I 'm going to bed now. I 'm tired and find the war 141 suddenly awfully boring. I am sitting out on the stairs so that the light from my candle can not be seen. Love to all, Dodie. How I adored your and your mother's letters and the photo of Kell. Try it again. American Red Cross, August 26th, 1918. Dearest Family : >, 4|^^^WO postmarks of the United States of m v\ America greeted me here at the canteen ^_ 1 yesterday, with well-known and greatly ^^Igglr beloved handwriting on each envelope. I have never enjoyed any letters from you, Mother and Father, more than those. But imagine with what hectic curiosity I scanned their pages looking for news of Ruth and Captain Terry. Nothing there but " Ruth has gone on a picnic with Capt. Terry, Edith, Pav," etc. ; and " Ruth has gone to the Country Club to a dance with Cody, Bill, Tom, Dick and Harry and Capt. Terry." It is aggravating me to the point of frenzy. But I know that by the time I have written all the questions I should like answered, I shall have heard at length from Ruth herself. And Tom Wilfred — whom is he engaged to, when and how, etc.? And now for " la guerre." Yesterday we had our record day at the canteen at S — , served over one thousand meals in three hours, seven girls to serve them. It was some rush but awfully exciting. With all the hundreds 142 of francs I handled, I was short only six at the end and that is not bad when you consider it. The mixing part of that job is that I never have enough small money and am always having to make queer combinations of one, two, five and ten sou pieces in order to give the Poilus their correct change. I 'm glad enough this week to be on a new shift — " Gout de cafe " and " rembourse- ment " till next Monday. It is getting a little cooler now and the Poilus begin to talk of winter in the trenches. I guess it is quite a question as to which is more acceptable, summer and fighting or winter and frozen feet; but summer or winter, these Frenchmen are good sports and never by any chance complain more than to shrug their shoulders and say, " But four years of war is a long time, Mademoiselle." Father warns me not to let the Poilus get too fresh and not to think they are honest. No danger, they are always sensitive to conditions and are as gentle as lambs with us American girls. If I have ever been afraid of any men, sober or intoxicated, fresh or other- wise, I am quite cured now. I have decided ideas as to which of the sexes is the weaker half. Dear folks, I must tell you about the wonderful spree six of us girls had the other night. Brundred and Tenny, Larrabee and Davis, Al and I conceived the brilliant idea of spending a night in the forest. We hired two cozy old Victorias to tote us, with our blankets, food, etc., to a certain beautiful little lake where we planned 143 to eat our picnic supper and to sleep on the crest of a hill just above it. I think when the people in C — saw us start out in our carriages, sleeping bags and every other sort of thing bulging out on ever side, they must have said, "And what are those wild Americans doing now? " (The French people really like us, I think, but Oh! how we do puzzle them.) It was a glorious night, full moon and bright stars reflecting in the little lake and shining through the branches of the trees of the forest. We gossiped and sang to our hearts' content, and then, suddenly, sleepiness overcame us and we staggered up the hill to our place of rest. I think this unsettled life in France has been excellent training for us, for we just threw ourselves down on the hard ground and slept like tops. True, at about 4.30 in the morning I was awakened by the gentle tapping of raindrops on my face. I aroused the others, but after they had sleepily gathered themselves and their blankets together, and we were about to descend to seek shelter, we all had a change of heart and decided to finish out the night, rain or no. It was really delightful, lying there with the light rain sprinkling on us. At about seven o'clock we awoke permanently and walked down to the " Reine Blanche Cafe " and had a delicious hot breakfast, which was cooked and ready for us under the trees. I am enclosing photos of the lake, and cafe, which is really the cottage of the forest guard. Was n't that a glorious party? So, Mother, don't for a minute think that you all should n't be happy and care-free 144 over there in America ; every one over here in France snatches all the joy that they can, and for that reason sometimes it seems to me the gayest place in the world. C[ I asked Joseph Duyck if he thought that the war v/as making men more cruel and hard, and he said not at all, that he was sure for his part, since he has seen so much suffering and suffered too himself, that he will always be more sympathetic and thoughtful of others. I am sure he is right. Today such a nice young soldier boy from Flanders came up and introduced himself to me as a friend of Duyck's. He had been to school in England before the war and spoke excellent English. He had the most tragic story to tell. When the war first broke out, and the Germans poured through Belgium into Flanders, his mother and father, with four of their youngest children, fled from their home in Lille. His three older sisters, the youngest of them only nineteen, stayed behind to guard the home, perfectly confident that the war would not last more than fifteen days. That is the last their family have ever heard of the three daughters — not a word of any kind for over four years. Imagine that mother's agony! Perhaps it is easier for me to realize it, because I saw the boy's face as he told the story. Then I tried to cheer him up some and told him of the young boy who has been giving us French les- sons, whose mother and sister have just been repatri- ated after four years with the Germans ; but I did not tell him that the sister's right foot is gone, having been 145 cut off by a Hun officer's saber. Things like that are horrible, when you hear them told by a brother. Well, I must close now, with a kiss and hug all around. Yours, Dodie. " The White House," Chantilly, August 28th, 1918. Dear Everyone : 'Y, what a life ! Three exciting things have happened today, one right on top of the other. I '11 begin with the least thrilling and work up to the climax gradually. First — I 've just succeeded in turning up my hair. It is in a regular knot at the back of my neck, just as in the days before clipping, and I can't stop gazing at my side and back view in the mirror, it brings back so many memories of long ago. Father would be greatly pleased with my head now. Then second — Al and I got permits to go to Paris tomor- row on a spree. We 're going to ride around in Victorias all day and eat at LaRue's — and I 'm going to buy black silk stockings. No one can realize the luxury of the latter, who has not been in France the last two years. I 've plodded around in nasty, thick, black lisles long enough and really need the change. But hold your breath now ! Third — We have received marching orders from head- quarters, and expect to be sent from this canteen at Orry to one for our own Yankee boys at Toul in the 146 Vosges Valley. Is n't that a thriller? Right on the border of Lorraine and where I imagine things will be " doing " shortly. All I know about it now is that as soon as our papers can be obtained and new workers sent out here to replace us, off we march for a new battlefield. As an aside, and really only for mother's and Father's ears, let me say that Mrs. Vanderbilt thinks that " our type of American girls " should be with our own boys and not half wasted on the Frenchmen. Be that as it may, I know that I 'm very glad to have a whack at an American canteen. August 31st, 1918. Well, Al and I went to Paris and had a great day and night there. We saw Mrs. Vanderbilt and she was so dear. She said we would be relieved out here next week by three new workers from America, and then we could take the twelve days that are needed to procure our papers for the American War Zone and go off on a long vacation. She also told us that she has Al's and my name down as a " team " to be sent out with an aviation squadron later on. That would be too fascinating. We would move about with our esquadrille and probably see some pretty exciting things. Now, dearest Mother, don't ever worry about any of these things that I tell you. In the first place, I can not over- emphasize the fact that things are always more scarey looking at them from a distance, when it comes to imagining what is going on over here in France ; I know you paint things just about one hundred shades blacker 147 than they really are. Then Mrs. Vanderbilt, or any other official of the Red Cross, has our safety at heart almost as much as you or Father — the trouble is that they are too cautious and one practically never has any chance of a real thrill. That is not quite what I mean but it is written to try to make you really see that I run no more risks here in France than if I were at " Loch- evan," Derby, N. Y., spending the Summer. C. Al and I had Major and Mrs. Olds to dinner at the Crillion. We stopped there all night and got up the next morning at six to take the train back to Orry and our day's work at the canteen. So ended a happy day in " Parie." s«» I burn to hear what luck the esquadrilles of French bombing planes had that flew over C — as we were about to take the train for Paris. There were forty-six of them flying east in battle formation, with the early morning sun shining on their wings. Here 's praying they had better luck than the forty-three that flew over us about a week ago. The squadron went sailing off to Germany and a few hours later returned fifteen short. €[ The war is going on so marvelously — what a dif- ference I see in the Poilus' spirit from a month ago! Every one is gay and expectant. The last letter I had from my godson was written during a battle ; they had been marching day and night on the road to Noyon, sometimes fighting and almost continuously shelled with poison gas. He says, " I have the chest burned inside and my eyes, too. That all is nothing because I know that the Germans shall be down shortly. We are 148 looking for the war to be finished next Winter." Poor kid ! with the happiest, gentlest disposition in the world having to live through that sort of thing. He is only twenty but his eyes look those of a man of thirty or more. His letter starts with " Dear Godmother — Excuse me writing with pencil. I can not really do it with a pen because I am now in the open field, advanc- ing, still on the way to Noyon. Day and night marching sometimes fighting. We stay sometimes for two days and nights where the Germans are keeping themselves up (I suppose he means holding the French for a while). Once they have counter-attacked our positions, but they could never reach our trenches and so many were killed in the wire entanglements. Yes, now it is the very war." You know I am so anxious to see how he will come out of this battle, perhaps with another star on his croix de guerre. He already has two for unusual bravery under fire. Well, dear people, now I must down to dinner and then to bed. The Poilus made me blush twice today — I don't know why, unless it was because I was a little tired — but all of a sudden they just seemed quite overpowering and I could n't retain the necessary dignity in the face of those several score of interested and smiling faces at the Gout de Cafe. I just blushed and smilingly bid them " bonjour " and retreated into the kitchen. They were so amused, and murmured " Elle est tres jeune " and " Elle rougit " (She is very young, she blushes.) Well, good-bye for a bit. Ever love to all, Doris. 149 " The White House," September 7th, 1918. Dear Family : OU can imagine how pretty nearly all our thoughts are now on the American canteen at Toul where we expect soon to be sent. But it will probably be a week or ten days before the new workers come out here to release us, and then we are going to have about ten days' permis- sion before taking up our new duties, Mrs. Vanderbilt is going to let Larrabee get off at the same time as Al, Mugs and I, and Mrs. Olds is coming with us also. We are pretty sure that Brittany will be the scene of our relaxation, and I am already smelling the salt air and revelling over the quaint fishermen that we shall see there. The war is going so splendidly and the Front daily being pushed so much farther away from us that we are now well out of the sound of cannon and the shuffling of troops past our door. It is really too tranquil here in C — , and I 'm keen to get to seething Toul. <[ Spen's cable arrived yesterday, and I immediately wrote to Major Olds, asking him if he could n't cable for Spen to come over attached to the Military Affairs Bureau, and then to be assigned to work when he arrives. It is so much more satisfactory not to sign up for something before you really know just what the work is going to be. I expect an answer soon. Al went in to talk to Olds about Jack, and I think Don's case 150 is about similar, so I shall tell you what he said. Jack has tried to get into every branch of the service, but on account of his eyes has been rejected. But the Red Cross can not take any men within the draft age now, even if unfit for military duty ; they really can not, they have been so much criticized. I don't suppose that applies to men over thirty, and if it did, I don't quite see how they would be able to get any good men for Red Cross work. I simply pine to see " Pennie " heave in sight, and he must let me know instantly when he arrives, so that I can plan to meet him some place. d Of course I am thinking most every minute of Ruth. It is the happiest and the saddest thing, having her married, that has happened to me for a long time. You know it makes me quite homesick and lonely. Instance the pitiful thing that happened last night. I had gone to bed early, and when Al came up later on, I was just on the borderland of sleep. I heard some one at the door and I called, " Mother." That was a glorious moment before I quite came to and realized where I was. Today I am sending Junior a large box of salted walnuts that I have succeeded in purchasing from the canteen. I tried very hard to get raisins to send with them, but that was quite impossible. Even as it was, I had to shuffle things a bit and give the canteen eggs in exchange for the nuts. We are having huge crowds at the canteen at S — this week, over ten and eleven hundred " repas " at noon. I tell you those old trays just fly from the counter into 151 the astonished Poilus' hands. You know the French people are almost stunned with American system and hustle and any number of Poilus have come up to us and said, " You know this is wonderful. We could never do this in the world. It takes the Americans to think of a thing like this." And really it certainly takes some system to serve 1157 dinners in three hours and a half. I 've been " slinging trays " this week, and I 'd be quite reduced to a " Sylph " if it were n't that the husky exercise is more of a developer than a reducer. d. Now I must take the train for S — and leave you for " le moment." Ever love, Doris. P.S. Spen must bring C-A-N-D-Y. You can not imagine how every one in the canteen adores Andrew's and Morris' letters. They are eagerly looked for in the mails. Keep sending photos. I adore them. " The White House," Chantilly, France, September 13th, 1918. Dearest Family : aNTIL just a few moments ago I admit that I was finding Chantilly pretty slow after all the excitement we had during our first months here ; but now I 've just seen one of the most impressing and touching sights of the war, right from the front window of our house. I heard the 152 sound of drums and bugles and young boys shouting, and rushed to the window in time to see what all the excitement was about. It was the class of 1920, young eighteen year old boys of Chantilly, who have just come back tonight from Creil where they went this morning to take their examinations for the Army. These are the kids that have passed and been accepted as soldiers. Well, you can not imagine the patheticness of it to me. They were all decked out with tri-color paper rosettes, ribbons streaming from their caps, and some had their faces all painted red, " only to be amusing," they said. Think of these kids, only fourteen years old when the war commenced; and now if it keeps on much longer, they will be swallowed up like all the rest of the French manhood. Well, c'est la guerre! But to counter- act that, what glorious news from the American Front! This morning our Yanks advanced eight kilometers in the locality of St. Mihiel and took eight thousand prisoners and are still advancing. Now we wait with baited breath for tonight's communique. And to think that is all going on quite in the part of the country where Al, Mugs and I expect to be most any day. Mrs. Vanderbilt came out to the canteen today, but I can not say we got any satisfaction from her as to when we are to move. She says she has given up making any promises, or talking much to the girls about canteen changes. Things are too uncertain when a war is on s©» I am still awaiting Major Olds' answer to my letter about Spen. And now that I 'm talking shop, for goodness' 153 sake, please don't, any one I love, come over with the Y. M. C. A. I hate to give it such a black eye, but I guess my little raps won't hurt much after the sound knocks it gets every day from our boys. As an organiza- tion, it has certainly made an awful fiasco of its work over here. Well, folks, must arise tomorrow morning at six. Dark and cold, and " Oh! you Devotion, Where art thou now? " I understand that Winter begins in this part of the country next month, October. " C'est pour ca " that I am wildly sending for warm wrappers and bed socks. I have a requisition in for the latter and will mail it the instant it comes out from Paris. Love to all and good-night kisses. Doris. P.S. Half of this letter was written in the dark, the other half in a jolting train. September 16th, 1918. Dear Mother : ^C""Bf^^HAT a glorious letter from you today, l| ^^ written on August 19th, with all the news of W I W Ruth and Terry that I have been starving V^L^^ for the last month! It is too wonderful to think how happy they must be. Now I await with equal longing a letter describing the wedding and a photo of the bridal couple — that I must have. It was too amusing this morning. I was out in the Gout reading bits of your letter to Larrabee, and 154 was one quite intoxicated old Poilu standing at the counter drinking coffee. Well, he just got exceedingly hilarious over the fact that I was reading " American," he almost doubled up with mirth and kept saying, " Oui, oui, they 're talking American, I can tell by the sound. Haha! it 's American they 're talking all the time." He had one black eye and his hair was clipped like a convict's, but I assure you his appearance was quite the contrary of brutal. Finally he laughed so boisterously and kept interrupting me so often to tell me that I was talking "American," that we had to retreat into the kitchen to finish the letter. When I went outside again about ten minutes later he was still there, and I found him confiding in a low voice to a dignified " sous-officier " that " two ladies had just been talking American." Did you ever get the photo of me with the bunch of Poilus — I standing in the center? I wonder, for you have n't mentioned it. Our boys are still going on reaping in prisoners, and it makes me wild to be so far away. We are champing at the bit to get to our new job at Toul. Look it up, it 's on the Moselle River near Nancy. Now I 'm going to bed, but will write more tomorrow. From my desk I am looking out at a gorgeous wintry sunset, long streaks of lead-blue cloud fringing burning golden glow. The tile roofs of the houses and quaint chimney-tops are very picturesque against the sky. Good night. 155 September 17th, 1918 Dear Ma : Will you mail me two copies of " Old Home Songs " under two separate covers. You know the ones I mean, with a picture of a fireplace on the cover? I shall have need of them at Toul. I have still not heard from Major Olds about Spen, and don't quite know what to do about it. There is really nothing that I can do, I guess, so I '11 just wait. C Am thinking about Ruth's wedding present. Please don't hurry me. Love, Doris. American Red Cross, September 18th, 1918. Dear Family : ^^Jll^^ ELL me not in mournful numbers " that M l^i woman's part in winning this war " is but ^L \ an empty dream." From serving meals to ^^^g/^ six hundred Poilus every day at noon time, we have now jumped up to twelve and thirteen hundred, and I can tell you it means some exertion on the part of " ces dames." All this eating goes on within about four hours. Yesterday I was " tray slinger " and passed eleven hundred meals from the serving table to the counter in three hours and a half. I have to admit that last night after I got to bed I was so tired and I ached so that I could n't go to sleep till dear old Al rubbed all 156 the knots out of my muscles. But " I should worry," for I succeeded in buying five " Gott Mit Uns " belts to bring home to any one who wants them. Kell is to have one to wear with his white flannels — they are awfully " swanky! " (The last is our latest expression, acquired from our two Australian co-workers.) It is great, being at S — this week, for there we get the Poilus on their way home from the Front, and they have lots of Boche trophies, which, as luck and military law will have it, the men are not allowed to take home with them. So every evening a wheelbarrow rumbles past the canteen, overflowing with German bayonets, helmets, shells, caps, etc. The sergeant told us to come with him to the shed where he stores the things, and he would give us all the booty we wanted. One of the girls got a short bayonet with a saw edge ; it seems that the Hun uses his spare time in the trenches to hack teeth in the blade. It must be quite satisfying, this self- expression of his artistic nature. The winter storms are setting in now, and the last few nights we 've had wild, glorious wind and rain and thunder. Oh, no, I '11 take back the glorious, though they do seem that to me as I stand in my window look- ing out, until with a start I remember the men in the trenches, and along the roads and in the open fields, and the rain and wind seem cruel and hateful. Then always the following morning, when the men come to the canteen for something hot to drink, looking so woebegone and damp and tossed about, the only 157 worth-while thing in the world seems to be able to give each one a smile and a cheery word. I wonder if I shall ever again drink a cup of hot " chocolat " with- out thinking of all the thousand smiles I 've seen blaze up in tired men's faces as I say to them, " Voulez- vous du chocolat? " Just think, most of them haven't tasted it for months, and I guess some for years, and they are simply crazy about it. They will take a couple of good gulps and then look at each other and almost invariably say, " Ca fait du bien " (that does one good). Oh ! this work is utterly satisfying. September 19th, 1918. Mother dear, dear, dear, how I adore your letters Just received one written on August 29th all about Ruth and George. It is too wonderful and perfect. Also received Father's cable about wedding. Wonder if Ruth got Al's. A huge crowd at the canteen today. About thirteen hundred meals served and gallons and gallons of choco- late and coffee consumed. I did n't go down till the second train today, at 9.25 A. M., so it only meant from ten till about four for me. Some rushing and tearing about, I can tell you. Well, it is about like this — imagine the excitement and bustle of our annual Derby Church Fair repeated day after day, and you '11 have some idea of our canteen routine. We have a cup of chocolate and some bread and butter at about eleven, just before beginning to serve the lunches, and then nary a bit of 158 luncheon for ourselves till about four in the afternoon. Oh! I adore it though, and am not a bit too tired. This evening I heard the rumble of a wheelbarrow and rushed out in time to grab a German steel helmet and short bayonet. I am only wondering now how I shall cart all this stuff about. Guess I '11 leave it in Paris. These things have all come down from around Soissons and Compiegne. I must tell you how puffed up I am becoming over a certain part of my anatomy, which seems to have made a great hit in France. Perhaps you won't think it quite delicate, but nevertheless it is rather pleasant to me, as all flattery is to most feminine hearts. I told you about one Poilu returning to the Gout three times in order to admire my ankles, and it seems that he was not the one and only. One of the older workers told me today that a Poilu asked her who the young lady was, a little plump, with such exquisite ankles that he could n't eat his breakfast from admiring them. You know, I think if I 'm so much appreciated here in France, I '11 be tempted to stay on and on. Well, no more foolishness now — I must to bed. Love to all, Doris. 159 September 22nd, 1918. Dear Family : ^^■■r^^ELL, I came away from my week at Servei- & 1 1 ^^ Hers nine German belts, one German W I W helmet and one short Boche bayonet the ^^>^L^r richer, but I 'm not half-satisfied yet. I must have a camouflaged helmet before I 'm through, and yesterday an American boy promised to send me one. We had about seven Yanks at the canteen on their way to Aix-les -Bains on their permission. They were so happy that their faces looked like Sunny Jims, and they were so delighted to see American girls that they were ready to do or die for us. One of them disappeared for a few minutes and then reappeared with a beautiful huge bunch of grapes for me. Was n't it sweet of him? I put it on the chair back of me and quite forgot it for a while. I could n't imagine why so many Poilus came and asked if we had " raisins " for sale. Suddenly I remembered the tempting sample and hastily hid it from view. I suppose I might have given them to the poor souls, but I knew it would hurt my American friend's feelings. My, how the rain has been falling this last week! " II tombe de l'eau," and there is quite a nip in the air. When I get up at six o'clock in the morning, the moon is brightly shining as the sun comes up rosily in the East. But Jove! you feel brisk and cheery and awfully keen to get to work. The fifteen minutes' train ride down to Orry, then a short, snappy walk to the cAHteen, 160 and the nice warmth of the big kitchen. Out of your big coat and baret, into your apron and coif, fill your big pitchers with steaming coffee and chocolate and out into the Gout with a happy " bon jour, Messieurs." The poor " messieurs " look mighty chilly and damp of an early morning nowadays, but after a hot drink their spirits mount considerably. You know the thing that sometimes almost breaks my heart about the Poilus is that so many of them are too old for the hard life of a soldier. The other day one man brought back his luncheon tray without having eaten a bite of his food. I said, "Monsieur, weren't you hungry? " And he wearily shrugged his shoulders and said, " Too tired." Al almost bursts when we see men that look just about like her father. We seem to have seen quite a few that look the same age as he and with the same iron-grey hair and grey mustache. Oh ! how I adore them all, some in shabby, faded " horizon bleu," and others jaunty and dashing with baret and curling mustache, and all of them so very gallant and " cava- lier." It is so sweet to hear the little young kids call me "Ma petite dame " (my little lady), and I must say I always get a thrill when they stand rigid and salute. September 26th, 1918. Today when I went out into the Gout, I saw, arranged in a row along the counter, about ten wonderful large wild mushrooms, and standing close by, eight smiling Rpil .. " My what beautiful things," I said. " They are 161 for you, Mademoiselle." Was n't it dear of them? I was so happy ; my ! but they were delicious, buttery with toast underneath. Is n't the enclosed card a scream? It was handed me by a Poilu who desired to correspond with me. I saw him one morning in the Gout and he spoke a bit of English, so we had a short chat. The next morning he returned and said, " Mademoiselle, last night I came to seek you here but I could not see you. I wanted to talk English with you." Whereupon he thrust this card into my hand, and murmuring something about cor- responding, he disappeared. I think the card quite speaks for itself, n'est-ce pas? Well, Al and I went for a flying half day into Paris to order our winter uniforms. They are the regulation Red Cross Oxford grey and are being made by Red- fern. I am going to have a baret made of the same material. So you can think of me something like this — Oxford-grey uniform, Oxford-grey baret, " Poilu blue " silk shirt, black necktie, black belt and heavy tan boots. Not bad, and for Bessie's benefit, will add that no doubt my hair will be nicely shampooed and I '11 be quite a bit thinner. I saw Mrs. Olds, and she said Major O. received my letter about Spen and has handed it over to some other officer who will take the matter up. That is all I could find out, as the Major is out of town, but tomor- row Al, Mrs. Church and I are going to town again for a fitting, and we shall see him at dinner, and so I may 162 have more to report in my next letter. ([We have begun selling the Poilus a slice of white bread thickly buttered, and if you could see the way those things go — hot cakes are n't in it ! I make them fast and furiously, but can hardly keep up with the demand. A bowl of really delicious hot chocolate and a " tartine " (slice of bread and butter) all for seven sous (seven cents) and a grinning, delighted and satisfied soldier of France. You know butter over here just now is one of the great- est treats in the world. Today we experimented with doughnuts and plan to make them in great quantities. I don't know whether the Frenchmen will appreciate them as our Yankee boys do. Up at Toul, where we are soon to be sent, they make about thirty -five hundred a day — I can see where I turn into one. Well, enough for the present. Al says she wants to talk now. Love to all, Doris. September 28th, 1918. Dear Family : XT was too fascinating ! Mrs. Church, the Directrice of our canteen, took Al and me marketing with her this morning to the famous Paris market, " Les Halles." We spent last night in town, and at five o'clock this morning our Red Cross camion called for us at the hotel. It was pitch dark when we started out, with the moon shining 163 through the clouds, and of course no lights in the streets except the dark-blue ones in front of the " abri " (shelter) signs. Well, the first thing we did upon arriving at the market was to step into a small cafe and, at the counter, drink steaming hot " cafe au lait " from tall wine glasses, and eat a slice of bread spread with pate de foies gras. Thus fortified against the chilliness of the early morning, we proceeded to our work of buying food for our Poilus. The market is a huge affair and the most picturesque I have ever seen or dreamed of. The streets were lined with huge pyramids of cauliflowers, carrots, white tur- nips, radishes, etc., all arranged so neatly and artistic- ally ; for instance, the turnips were tied in large bunches and stacked so that they made wide stripes of green and white, the carrots in mounds of orange with all the green hidden, and so on. The fruit market was marvel- ous with such beautiful purple and white grapes, fresh figs, huge pink peaches, fresh mushrooms with fern leaves covering them, all packed in attractive straw baskets. Then the flower market was a dream — huge bunches of bright Autumn leaves and all sorts of wild and garden flowers. I was the gayest picture you can imagine. As the dawn began to spread, I almost went wild over the fascinating people I saw. Such types ! dear old ladies in white caps, purring over their flowers ; robust peasant women stacking vegetables ; Sisters of Charity and Mercy floating through the crowds in huge white head-dresses ; and cozy, plump ladies 164 wedging their way along with limp parboiled pigs slung affectionately across their shoulders. There were n't any men, excepting the old fellows whom you can hire to carry your purchases in huge square baskets that they carry on their heads, and then the " reformes (men who are disqualified for further military service) who have little carts and will also tote your things for you. I shall never forget one picture I saw there, a young woman with a lovely face and form, dressed all in black, and sitting outlined against a huge stack of orange carrots ; I should have so adored to paint her, with her sad eyes and really beautiful figure, so languid and aloof from the noise and bustle about. At about seven o'clock, we went into the huge market cathedral and Al and Mrs. Church said their prayers. How I envied them and all the market women kneeling there. Then back to our cafe and in a little room off the " bar " we ate the most delicious breakfast. To top it all off royally, Mrs. Church said we might ride back to Orry in the camion, and we did enjoy that spin. We got to the canteen just in time for the first morning trainload of Poilus, and in a jiffy I was in my blue apron and out in the Gout at my old job of filling hundreds of tin cups with coffee and chocolate. I can't remember when I 've done anything that I enjoyed more and I know I shall never forget it. September 29th, 1918. We had the nicest young American Lieutenant with us today for luncheon. He was a veterinary surgeon and 165 had come out with his men to call for some sick horses. It was so interesting to hear all about his work, and it gave one quite a lump in one's throat to think of the suffering of the horses on the battlefield. The " vets " go out on the field, many times under fire, to bring back the wounded animals to the rear, or to shoot them if they are unable to walk. Then so many of the horses are gassed, in spite of the fact that each one has his gas mask. Of course loads of the dead animals are bought by the French for meat, and the Lieutenant said that the German prisoners are fed on horse-flesh that has seen many suns rise and set on " No Man's Land." &&■ s* Well, it is so cold that I think I shall retire under my blankets with a hot water bottle and have a nap before dinner. Next week I am to be " cassaire " which means rising at 8.30 on a morning instead of 6. Love to all, Doris. American Red Cross Canteen, France, October 2nd, 1918. Dear Family : 'REAT excitement in the canteen kitchen of an afternoon now — we are experimenting with doughnuts. Yesterday afternoon, dur- ing a lull in the day's regular occupation, we made a huge recipe of them and were " desolee " 166 Dear Fami & to find them come out of the pan just a little heavier than lead. I swear that they were too " short " on account of using thick condensed — (OH ! GLORIOUS !) Mrs. Church has just run in with the morning paper. This is what first greeted my eyes, " Kaiser's Cry of Despair, ' Gather Round me.' " Is n't it too wonderful! Our Poilus will be so boisterous today that I know we shall never be able to make them " faire la tour " (keep in line.) — But more of this later — on account of using condensed milk. I made two funny little doughnut men, with clove eyes and noses, and gave them to a sort of woe-begone looking Poilu ; well, the men thought they were the most amusing things in the world, and the man I gave them to grinned over them for an hour £•» The veterinary surgeon Lieutenant with his men and forty-two sick horses pulled out from Orry-la-Ville yesterday morning, Before they left, he invited us into his freight car apartment for a piece of candy. You fortunates in America may not quite get the real thrill that this invitation held for us who have hardly tasted candy in six months. Well, he was very cozily ensconced with a bed of straw in one corner of the car, and in the other his supplies and doctor's kit. Two revolvers reminded me of one of his duties, that of putting his suffering patients out of their misery. He had several horses that have been gassed, and as the almost inevitable result is for pneumonia to follow, they were being very carefully cared for. This lieutenant does almost nothing outside of administering anaesthetics at 167 the huge evacuation hospital where he is located. It seemed so strange to hear him talk about his work just as though it were with human beings. Well, my duties call, and the train will not wait for me, so I must skip. Love, Doris. October 3d, 1918. Dear Family : ^t-w-jjj^HAT a day, yesterday! In the first place, ^T II ^ft when I arrived at the camp, there was Al « I W leaning way out of the window at the can- X^L^^ teen, gaily flourishing before my eyes a large bunch of American mail ; letters from Father, Bessie, Ruth, Spen, Helen Foster, and a juicy fat envelope which turned out to contain a box of Ruth and Terry's wedding cake. How thrilled every one was over my good luck, though we were all a bit depressed not to find any photos of the happy couple. The letters were most satisfactory. Then we had a tremendous day at the canteen! about five hundred more lunches to serve than usual. Food threatened to give out, but we fortunately discovered eggs and vegetables, etc., in out-of-the-way corners, and ended by being able to send every Poilu away well-satisfied both as to inner and outer man. I was in the little ticket coop from 11 A. M. till about 4 in the afternoon, selling tickets steadily every minute. 168 Jove! but every one is on the crest of a wave these days, French, English, Belgians and Americans steadily marching onward, and the Huns always falling back. To think that Belgian towns are beginning to be retaken, and Metz constantly racked by fire from our guns! Yesterday as we were waiting for our train, a long line of freight cars went ponderously by, loaded with German cannon — and after that, more cars with grey-green German prisoners. They all look pretty glad to be in a quiet sector again, and I dare say have already gained a few pounds owing to the change of food $& a^ How I do enjoy my Poilus' letters! I have about five of the nicest French boys who write me very con- stantly. I send them American magazines and cigarettes every once in a while and that seems to please them tremendously. Can you imagine how welcome anything would be to you if you were spending days at a time out in an utterly barren country, no trees, no houses, sleeping in holes in the ground covered with branches? That is what one of my boys writes of his life these past few weeks. I had a long talk this afternoon with a Poilu who just came down from the Front this morning. He is an old friend of mine — was one of the camp guards here. But my what a changed fellow today ! weary-eyed, colorless face and mud-caked clothes. He says the French are advancing so fast that they can carry only ammunition and iron rations. They sleep out in the open fields with 169 no blankets — and oh! how cold and rainy these October nights are. Poor boy, he is only twenty-two, and looked so happy and young this Summer, but now he has the air of a man twice that age — still, " The Boche are retreating. They are running so fast we can hardly keep up to them." I can tell you I babied that boy; he is a French Canadian from Hamilton, Ontario. I only hope he won't be ill from all the hot chocolate he drank. If only a few days at the Front have made this change in him, think of the men who have been up there for weeks without rest. The train is due, I must close. Love, Doris. October 6th, 1918. Germany is suing for peace! The headlines in the morning paper almost created a panic here in the "White House." We all began at once planning what steamer we would take for home, who would be at the pier to meet us as we sailed into the New York Harbor, and just what stockings we would hang up in our own dear fire-places on Christmas eve. But after the first excitement, we rather quieted down. Peace or no, the big thing is that William the Kaiser has admitted that he is beaten. " C'est le commencement de la fin," (it is the beginning of the end). Now come Winter, Christmas in a foreign land, and chilblained feet, what care I? The Poilus were quite calm over the 170 news, I suppose they hardly dare let themselves think of peace for fear of being too terribly disappointed. And the French officers I talked with this morning threw up their hands and said, "Jamais! not till Germany is made to suffer something that France has, will we listen to peace talk." Cantine des Deux Drapeaux, Orry-la-Ville, Oise, October 9th, 1918. Dear Family : OUR letters are most welcome. My! what a thrilling thing it is to get news from home. C Tomorrow will be the 10th of October, and a milestone that marks my first six months in France. The time has flown, actually we don't know how the days' can slip by so rapidly. We have been out here with the French for over four months now, and though I hate the thought of leaving them, I am quite hankering to get with our own Yanks. We are waiting for girls to come out to relieve us, and then expect to take ten days' permission before starting in at our new job. I wonder if the Americans will ever appeal to me as these dear, dear Poilus have. Yesterday a grizzled grey soldier came up to the lunch counter, leading a young kid by the arm, and asked me if I would give the boy some bouillon. The youngster was as white as a sheet and so weak he almost tottered over. It seems that he had not eaten for three days, and when 171 he tried to eat a dinner at the canteen, it made him so sick that he at once lost it all. He was only twenty years old, from the invaded part of France, and had been fighting since his eighteenth birthday. This is only one of the heartrending stories we hear every day. October 12th, 1918. Oh, glorious! It is too wonderful to believe, but every one is calling out that peace is declared. The evening papers have all been sold, and there were crowds around the news stand in the little railroad station, reading the one and only that remained. Imagine how I first heard the news! I have the beginning of chil- blains on my right hand and foot, so was directed to the Baroness de Rothschild's "Ambrine " Hospital, near Creil, for treatment. We went over this evening in the camion. The Baroness and Elsie de Wolfe have taken a beautiful chateau, have built additional hos- pital barracks, and Miss de Wolfe has done a perfectly stunning piece of interior decorating throughout. Well, we arrived at the hospital and no sooner had entered the grounds than the Baroness met us with this marvelous news. She says all Paris is shouting over it and declares that it is so. You can imagine our state. We all almost flew apart with excitement, and when we got into the big hospital dining-room where some of the patients were having their dinner, and told them the news, I thought they would raise the roof. They shouted and sang, " C'est la paix! " (it is peace). In a 172 long, narrow ward I found one lone patient. He was badly burned and feeling very low, but when I told him the news he smiled and said, pointing to his bandaged head, " Then this is nothing if peace is here." You know this "Ambrine " Hospital is devoted entirely to the treatment of burns caused either by gas or explosion. We saw one boy who had just been brought in this noon ; he was entirely covered with bandages with the exception of his lips and nose and a bit of his chin which were absolutely burned as black as a cinder. This marvelous treatment with ambrine, or paraffin, is absolutely painless and relieves the most terrible suf- fering in a few minutes after being administered. The Baroness told us that this poor fellow who looks in such a hopeless condition now, will be all white and comfortable by tomorrow. Oh, what a day this has been! I received Spen's cable and can not wait for him to come over ; but I wonder if he will, if peace is really declared. We brought some tankers back from Senlis to Chantilly with us tonight, and we are all so happy and excited that it was killing. They were singing French songs at the top of their voices, and we American ones. It was pitch dark with a cold rain pouring down, but I don't know when my heart has ever been more burning. d Now the question is — can I sleep until morning comes and brings us the latest news ? PEACE!!! 173 American Red Cross, October 15th, 1918. Dear Family : IF my letters seem to be falling off a bit, you must know that it is because Winter has arrived in France ; short days and cold hands are not too conducive to letter writing a+ so I remember in my last letter I joyfully ended with " Peace." But don't think that the present state of affairs is at all the anti-climax. Every one is in the seventh heaven the way things are going now, and eager to go on with the war till the Hohenzollerns are made to bite the dust. You know it is so exciting every morning, coming down to the canteen in the train, and every one poring over the latest news in the journals. I often think that the war is just like a great game that we are winning — and I have the same exultant feeling now as I have when I am beating at parchesi, only about one million times stronger. The other evening Al and I went to the hotel for dinner with two American boys of the Harvard ambulance unit. They were real peaches and held us spellbound with tales of their work at the Front ; of men with shell shock who do queer, uncanny things ; of lifting men into the ambulances and having them die before they can get them into the machines ; of making necessary repairs on their cars with shells bursting all about — and so on. We were decidedly thrilled. They came back to the "White House " with us and sat in front of the 174 wood fire and almost purred over it. We were the first American girls they had talked to in months, and the combination of us and the fire certainly unlocked the flood gates of their souls. They confided all sorts of things and were very sweet and appealing. Still waiting for our replacers. I begin to think that Brittany and a bit of " repos " are dreams that will never come true. I saw Anna Shepard in Paris yester- day at the Y. M. C. A. She told me lots about all you dear family. I went there to see George Rand and was awfully disappointed to find that he had left for America. <[ I saw in the Herald that a Mr. Kellogg had just arrived in France on one of the incoming steamers and was full of hope till I went to the Red Cross and found on inquiry that it was not Spencer Kellogg. Mother, I loved your last letter more than I can tell you. You were born to be an author, I think. You don't know what a wonderful gift you have of telling one absolutely every bit of news that heart could wish. I also received a peach of a letter from Sue — I 'm going to drop " her man " a note soon. I got a letter from Junior enclosing a long, green $5.00 bill. How odd it looked after one has seen only these dainty French blue notes for so many months. He asked me to buy him chocolate and cigarettes and I will do my best to get him both. The other day we had the most interesting bunch of Belgian soldiers at the canteen. They were all so intelligent and well-bred. One boy told me all about 175 his escape from Brussels the third month of the war. Fortunately, his mother and little sister had gone to England in July for a visit, so were not in Belgium when the war broke out. This boy and his younger brother and father were made prisoners of war in Brussels but escaped to Holland. They walked for six successive nights, hiding during the day, and when finally within thirty kilometers of the Dutch frontier, they got down on their hands and knees and crawled all the rest of the way. The boy suffered so from the dampness those nights that he has had inflammatory rheumatism ever since and has only just been accepted for military service. I asked him about Belgian atrocities, because I wanted to hear them first hand. He told me about seeing Belgian soldiers run through the streets of Brussels with the Huns behind them prodding bayonets into them ; of seeing scores of Belgian school children with one finger of their right hand cut off "so that they could never make soldiers for Belgium," as the Germans said. The poor boy got so wrought up over the telling of these tilings that the perspiration stood out on his forehead and he fairly gasped. Now his one idea is to get back to the corner of reconquered Belgium and to fight and die for his country. We had a glorious time petting those fine red-tasseled Belgians ; treated each one to coffee, little cakes, packages of picture post-cards, and a cake of sweet chocolate. I tell you that they did n't waste much time in tearing off the wrapping from that candy and a great sound of munching filled the air for some 176 time. This boy's name is Jack Jeffreys, his father is an Englishman and his grandfather is Bishop Jeffreys of Boston, Mass. I have his address and will send him chocolate and tobacco. Please tell Mrs. Larkin that I received her letter and will attend to her commissions as soon as possible ; also give her the enclosed notes I received from William Pratt and Davenport Kendall. What a fine letter I received from Charlie Clark the other day! We all roared over it and the description of Gert's punishing Andrew. All write again soon, please. Love, Doris. P.S. Just received Pop's letter dated September 8th. It was very much delayed for some reason. It contained the photo of me cut from the Express. October 19th, 1918. Dear Family : CHE Yanks are coming, the Yanks are coming, a rum-tum-tumming everywhere! " They have been rushing past the canteen, train load after train load of them, for the last three days and nights. It 's awfully thrilling — you '11 hear the cry go up "Americans ! " and then we all run to the windows and wildly wave " Old Glory " and yell " Hello boys! " There is certainly something doing up Flanders way and the Yanks are in on it. We are still here at Orry, no signs of our releases or 177 prospects of getting to Toul and the Yanks. However, we have had one good opportunity of working for our American boys, and I must say that if this was a representative case, I 'm afraid that my constitution will not be able to stand the strain. It was the two Harvard boys again. They called for Al and me at the canteen in their ambulance, came to " The White House " for dinner and then settled down for the evening. After dinner we talked, then made fudge, then talked some more. I began to feel sick and was afraid I was going to fall over sideways out of my chair. About eleven the boys lighted cigars, and I became almost hypnotized staring at their fiery tips. Let me take this opportunity of remarking that I think the life of a cigar is like unto that of the characters of Old Testament fame — they are really practically immortal. Well, I kept alluding to the long hours that we girls put in some days — did not attempt to disguise my yawns. But now let me tell you something appalling. Finally those cigars expired and I was beginning to see relief ahead, when what do you think? I saw a hand thrust leisurely into a breast pocket and slowly reappear clasping two more large and brown objects. Well, to cut a painful story short, at one o'clock A. M. ye two Yanks began to make remarks about our being tired and found us very responsive on that subject. So they finally tore them- selves away from the cozy home atmosphere. Poor kids ! They really had enjoyed that evening, and we had n't the heart not to let them stay as long as they wanted to. 178 But this experience made us realize that there are really many advantages in being with the French Poilus, especially if one does n't speak their langauge very fluently. Hotel Continental, Rue Castiglione, Paris, October 20th, 1918. Can I believe it, that our permission has begun and that we are safely ensconced here at the Hotel Conti- nental, Paris? We left Chantilly this morning, and though we had been so keen to leave, we almost wept when the time finally came. As we passed Orry and Serveillers we fairly fell out of the train window waving good-bye to the servants at the canteen, and I felt that I was closing the first volume of the most absorbing and appealing drama I have ever known. I 've been homesick for the Poilus all day, and every one I see here in Paris touches a tender spot in my heart. They have been too wonderful — so patient and appreciative, so gay and gallant. I really think that if I were asked to choose between the French and American men, I 'd just have to stay on the fence. We arrived in Paris just in time for a wonderful cele- bration and parade. Today is the fete of the 1920 boys, and there have been many exciting doings. We saw the parade from a great vantage point, though it poured rain, and we were quite soaked. When we heard the 179 stirring strains of Sousa's march coming toward us, and then saw a real regimental brass band and a company of khaki Yanks with a huge Stars and Stripes flying in the breeze, we were sort of " goose fleshy " you know. All the French crowd cheered tremendously when our boys went by, more so than for any of the others. There were Poles, Italians, English, Russians, Slavs, Portuguese, etc., and then the 1920's. Poor young kids ! marching so straight and proudly and eagerly. Well, as I say, I can't believe that we are really " en permission " and that we have no early train to think about in the morning and that we have running water and that it is actually warm. I am writing to you luxuriously propped up in bed, with my feet on a hot water bottle, but my fingers are more or less chilly. I '11 admit it was rather a blow when we rang for the garcon and asked him to bring our dinner up to us in our room and were told that no meals were served out- side of the dining-room on account of lack of servants. {[ Two Sundays ago Germany asked for an armistice ; last Sunday Wilson handed his reply to the Kaiser, Laon fell and we served dinners to over sixteen hundred Poilus ; today the whole Belgian coast has been freed, and we are in Paris, with Brittany the star that is leading and beckoning us on — joyful anticipation! Good night till next time, Doris. 180 Hotel Continental, 3 Rue Castiglione, Paris, October 23rd, 1918. Dear Mother : ^* * ^^UST a note to tell you that we are leaving for f± ■ Brittany tonight — five nice girls are going Wk M^ together — Al, Muggsy, Larrabee, Marguer- ^L^,^^ ite Mitchell and self. We 're going up to Morlaix and then on to St. Jean du Doigt. Hope we won't freeze to death, but we are so thrilled about having a vacation that our enthusiasm ought to keep us pretty warm. My Redfern cape came in and is a peach — grey lined with horizon blue whipcord and big 'possum collar. Love, Doris. Hotel St. Jean et des Bains, St. Jean de Doigt, Bretagne, France, October 26th, 1918. Dear Family : ROWN rolling hills ; tiny, whitewashed, thatched-roofed cottages; sober, white- capped, wooden-shoed peasants ; and a distant glimpse of the wild, salt sea. We could not possibly have chosen any place more restful to our a bit war-worn spirits than this tiny, sleepy town on the coast of Brittany. 181 Dear Fami © We took the night train out from Paris and arrived at Morlaix yesterday morning. Having counted on the tramway to bring us over here to St. Jean, we were rather disturbed to find that "II ne marche pas a ce moment " (not going now). But being Americans and not to be balked, we scoured the town till we found a nice rickety old omnibus, with a team of horses, and a wooden-shoed driver who contracted to drive us over the eighteen kilometers to our destination. That was the most wonderful ride! I couldn't bear it for long inside the carriage so I hopped upon the driver's seat beside our nice old cocher, and we had such a cozy time together. He told me about all of his brothers and cousins and sons who are in the war or have already been killed or disabled; and about the prices of food and wood and horses before the war and now; and pointed out Marechal Foch's country home ; and, well, we just talked steadily for about three hours and got so well-acquainted. No wonder the artists find Brittany the most interesting part of France and that this particular bit of country was recommended to me by the Vice-President of the Artists' Guild of Brittany. The farms and the peasants are so picturesque and the air so sweet and balmy and soft as heart could wish. I must say that we had a few moments of tremendous suspense when we drew up to this hotel and found it " closed for the winter," but I made my way to the kitchen, and pleaded first with our landlord and then 182 our landlady, and it was n't long before they shrugged their shoulders and said, " What could they do? They could n't leave us out in the road." So they opened up their clean little hotel and have made us perfectly at home and comfortable — " Because you are Americans, Mes demoiselles." s& s«» Now we are eating and sleeping and talking and read- ing and getting all husky and well-prepared for our winter's work. Just what that will be is still undecided, whether it will be canteening for our troops at Toul or in an aviation camp at Colomby-le-bel.Mrs. Vanderbilt was so nice to us, told us to go off on our vacation, to have a nice time, and when we were ready to come back to Paris she would go over our plans with us. C I am adoring my repos, but after this first long rest- ful night and day, am feeling so re-made and keen that I begin to ache for the bustle and hustle of the soldier's life. Love, love, love, Doris. St. Jean du Doigt, Bretagne, France, October 30th, 1918. Dearest Donschie : 'O work harder than you ever have before in all your life for five solid months, without even Saturday afternoon or Sunday off — to see nothing for five solid months but just soldiers, soldiers, soldiers, well ones and crippled ones 183 and wounded ones — to think for five solid months of almost nothing but war and suffering and feel that those two things proved fair to last forever, with no peace in sight — and then suddenly, all at once — armistice, abdication, Peace! — and " a ten days' permission for Miss Doris Kellogg, Cantine des Deux Drapeaux, Orry-la-Ville, Oise, France." Well, here I am Don, and how you would appreciate and love this picturesque, tiny, sea-coast town in Brit- tany. There are soft billowy hills, cozy stone cottages with arched doorways and shining brass showing from within ; friendly, square-faced peasants with white coifs and sabots stuffed with straw. Yesterday Al and I and little Marcelle, a child that has " picked us up," took a long walk over the hills and down to the sea. And what do you think I saw there, for the first time in my life? A huge dirigible balloon, sailing quite majestically up there in the blue sky and making circles over a convoy of steamers that were moving down the coast. It was a thrilling sight, for the sun was shining on it and had turned it to a lovely rosy pink, just the color of the huge rocks out in the sea. And then when one thought that just out there was one of the most dangerous bits of the Atlantic Ocean as far as submarines and floating mines go, and that this quiet coast of Brittany had been suspected of harboring German submarine bases — well, it made that dirigible and that fleet of ships some- thing more than just picturesque. We can hardly bear to think of leaving here, but I 184 suppose we really must. I certainly have learned to appreciate the value of contrasts. Write me soon, Don. I love your letters. Ever love to you and all, Dodie. St. Jean du Doigt, Bretagne, France, November 2nd, 1918. Dear Mother and Father : DUR vacation is over, and much as I have simply revelled in it, I really can't say I regret returning to " Parie." But what a vacation this has been — simply perfect ! Madame and Monsieur Vouaux, our landlady and land- lord, have been more like hosts than anything else, arid we have been their petted guests. Fresh butter and eggs and broiled chicken, three things almost unheard of in France now, have been our daily fare ; and when plump little Monsieur goes ahunting, we are the ones who enjoy his catch of rabbit or partridge — and all because we are Americans. Not one single peasant that we have talked to, but what their eyes fill with tears when they speak of America and what she has done for France — " It is you who have verily saved la France ; without you we had been lost." This little town is full of refugee children who have been taken into the different peasant homes until the time that the Boche are driven from their farms and villages. Such a darling little boy is here in our inn, 185 a refugee from Londres, in Northern France. He has been three years with the Germans, and tells horrible tales of his playmates whose hands have been cut off and their tongues cut out. Yesterday was All Saints' Day, and such a flocking down to the village church of peasants from the sur- rounding farms, all dressed in their Sunday best. After the mass, every one went out to the graveyard and put wreaths and crosses of flowers on the graves ; then knelt down beside them and said a prayer for the dead. Many of the wreaths and crosses were tied with broad ribbons of red, white and blue, and stamped on the ribbon in gold letters, " Mort Pour la Patrie," (died for the country). Imagine the picture : a wild, windy day with dead leaves blowing about, from the high cathedral steeple bells tolling, and in the church- yard all these black-clothed figures kneeling, then the bright splashes of colored flowers, orange, pink, purple and red — the women's white net coifs like birds perch- ing on their heads. Well, it has been an ideal experience with the only drawback that I have had a constant ache of loneliness for my own home and you. This afternoon we go back to Paris and there receive our new orders. What will they be — aviation camp or canteen? I rather like the feeling that it is n't up to me to decide which — we are told to go and we go. I am wild to get to Paris and see if there is any mail for me from home. After all, per- haps that is the main card that is drawing me so 186 unreluctantly from St. Jean. <[ Good-bye, Mother and Father, and good-bye butter, eggs and broiled chicken. " C'est la guerre — que voulez-vous? " Love, love, love, Doris. P.S. Please let me know if you receive the postals I sent from here. There is talk that no picture cards leave France unless enclosed in envelopes, and mine were not. Hotel Madison, 48 Rue des Petits Champs, Paris, November 8th, 1918. Afternoon. Dear Family : 'O "la guerre est vraiment fini ! " Can it be true? Yes, it is because we got it first hand just this minute at the American Red Cross Headquarters ; " armistice signed at the Ministry of War this morning at eleven o'clock — all hostilities ceased this afternoon at two." Now Junior won't be killed! Jack, Bill Kite, Dunbar, etc., nor will Tom, Dick or Harry. No more long, slowly moving trains of wounded will be coming from the Front and no more ambulances go jolting along the roads. I just met an American boy, and I asked him if he had heard the news. " Yes, I have, all right, all right. I just met a French fellow and he grabbed me and kissed me on both cheeks. Good night ! ! ! " 187 Well, now I shall barely exist until I see the news in huge headlines in the newspapers : then, I think I may be able to believe it is so. It really is almost too much to take in. I can not realize it. Next morning. Al and I were up this morning at break of dawn and pounced on the first papers that came out. Still no definite news, contradictions as to the signing of the armistice. Well, I at least really believe that the thing was done yesterday morning as we heard. When we went to get the order for our railroad tickets to Toul, the Red Cross officer said to us, " You had better hurry and get there or you won't be able to go," which of course was not really so, but just made me realize the utter change in things. With the American Army, Somewhere in France, November 10th, 1918. Dear Family: T last we are with them, " our boys," and in one of the most active and exciting American Headquarters in France. Jove, but it is great to be here! We left Paris yesterday on an early morning train and after about an hour out, we struck Chateau Thierry. From there we followed the Marne battlefield as far as Dormans. It was a most thrilling sight, those towns battered to ruins, trees 188 struck down, fields and hillsides peppered with all sizes of shell holes ; we saw many dugouts, and scattered all about, small bare graves marked with a simple wooden cross and the steel helmet of the soldier buried there — I saw one with a Boche helmet on the cross. Well, it was a most interesting ride, and when our train began to move more slowly, we realized that we were going to be awfully late. When it got dark and we were allowed no lights whatever, but passed along in utter darkness, why then it was n't very difficult to realize that we were quite in the war zone. You know I was pleased to death when during a stop I heard a voice outside our compartment window mutter, " They ain't a-goin' to pull out yit." That was real "American talk," as the Poilus say, and I realized that we, too, have our patois &o- «•» As soon as we arrived here at Toul, it seemed that an avalanche of American boys poured down upon us, offering to carry our bags and see us to the Red Cross canteen. I never realized before that our Yanks were so big and broad and kindly, and we seemed to look pretty kindly to them too. After meeting our new Directrice, we were ushered down the street to a room in a large, high, damp and — well no matter — apartment house, our future home. Next day. " My gully! " as Father says, when can I begin to tell you of all the wonderful things I 've seen and done in these first short fourteen hours in the American War 189 Zone? €[ It is easy to choose my first story, as it is the very most hair-raising thing I 've seen since I 've been in France. We were eating our luncheon this noon when we suddenly heard booming of cannon. As we had been told that our men were storming M — today, we at once said, "Ah! those are the guns shelling A — ." A few minutes later some one casually said, " I wonder if it could be the anti-aircraft guns? " With that we all went to the window, and there up in the sky right in front of us, and not one bit far off, we saw the white puffs of shells bursting all about a Hun plane. We watched the fight with bated breath, until suddenly I think I ceased breathing when I saw the machine begin to turn and twist and pitch wildly down toward the earth. " We 've got it! " we all yelled, and a great clapping of hands went up from the boys standing below us in the street. I can never tell you the sensa- tion I had, as I watched with open mouth and popping eyes the huge grey bird come swirling down, just like a great metal sinker on a fishing line, that is nickel- plated on one side and grey on the other. And then in the midst of the falling, a small, peaceful light object separated itself from the plane and came sailing quietly toward earth. It was the parachute bringing its Boche prisoner into our lines. Well, it was all like a wild dream, and to think that my only thought was of joy and satisfaction that our boys had got their bird. Well, to go back a bit. I was awakened this morning at about six by the heavy shuffling of feet passing below 190 our window. I jumped up and, looking down, had my first sight of our American boys on the march. " They're our boys, Al," I whispered, " and they are coons! " It was great to see them. This morning reported at the Provost Marshal, took a look at the Red Cross canteen, the Officers' and En- listed Men's Hotel, and the Rest House, and were given our orders to go on duty in the canteen this even- ing at seven. This afternoon we were strolling toward the Rest House when we noticed ahead of us, and stretching far along the road on either side, crowds of khaki soldier boys. Our girls were giving them cigarettes and sweet chocolate, and so we pitched right in and helped. Poor kids, they looked about all in. They said this was the first candy they had had since they left the States. They called me " Smiles " and said, " Gee, the Red Cross is all right." I talked to their Lieut, who was so nice, and really he seemed touched with what we were doing. He said his men had been marching a long way, that they had n't had a hot meal for three days, and were so tired out that he had to give them a rest before they walked up the short hill ahead that led to the barracks where they were to be billeted for the night. Oh, it 's glorious to be helping one's own men! The Lieut, said to me, " We are all for the Red Cross," and I could n't think of anything else to say but, " We are working together, are n't we? " I am frozen now and am going upstairs to our dining - 191 room which has a bit of the chill taken out of the air. Love, love, love, Dodie. P.S. Spen and I had a great week together in Paris. He looks so husky and awfully swanky in his uniform. With the American Army. France. Dear Family : DOW it has come, Peace. I think I never should have been able to realize the glorious truth of it if I had been in any other place in the world but just here with these mobs of wild Yanks. Yesterday was the most thrilling one of all my life, and here 's a full account of it. At about 10.45 in the morning I leisurely made my way down into the town to look up some place for us to sleep this Winter, some place where we could be just warm enough so that I might be able to hold a pen to write a letter. Well, I dropped in at the Y. W. C. A. Hostess House, and the person in charge calmly said, "And what will all you girls do now that peace is declared? " " Well, we can't count on that yet," said I. " Why, my dear child, don't you know that the armis- tice has been signed and that the armies cease fighting at eleven o'clock this morning? All the bells in Toul will ring out the hour." Well, I took a look at my watch and then tore — it was just five minutes to eleven. I made about sixty miles an hour to the apartment, and as I 192 flew up the stairs the chimes began their pealing. I burst into our room and gasped, "Al, do you know what those bells mean? They mean Peace! " With that Al and Muggsy Davis burst into tears, the joy was too great, and I went out on our balcony and looked up at the sky and just felt the great sensation of peace come rolling in. Up over my head six huge American aero- planes were circling about to the tune of the chimes, and it was quite overwhelming. I thought of the sight I had seen from this same balcony only the day before, a Hun plane hurling down to earth, and then of the boom of cannon that had kept up steadily all during last night — our Yanks firing on Metz. " Eleventh hour, eleventh day, eleventh month, 1918 — and all hostilities ceased." s+ s*» Well, then I could n't stay out of the streets any longer, and so I joined the crowd that was swelling every minute, and we swayed down to the town square. And still people really could n't believe it. But there were the official signs already posted up on the street corners; " Germany having accepted all the conditions of the Entente, we will cease fighting at eleven o'clock today." There was such a broad grin on everybody's face and such a tremendous one on mine that I really was in pain. I circulated about with the crowd for a while but soon had to come back to the apartment to get ready for work. From four o'clock to seven, I, with two others, poured hot chocolate, served cakes and sandwiches, and gave out cigarettes to a never-ending 193 line of khaki boys. "All free today, boys, the Red Cross is giving a party. We are celebrating the Kaiser's funeral." Oh it was great! I had all sorts of presents handed me over the counter, a gas mask, a piece of ribbon a kid had taken off a German's iron cross, an aviator's pin, etc. The boys all wanted to talk about home, and the one question of the day was, " When are we going home, Nurse? " I heard so many stories that were more thrilling and romantic than any I have ever read in books. At seven the new shift arrived and it was time for my dinner, but Muggsy rushed in — " The French are singing over at the station, it 's great, come on over." Of course I went. There, in a huge, dimly lighted smoking room, was a mob of Poilus and Yanks all singing at the top of their lungs to the accompaniment of one shrill mouth organ. We wormed our way into the crowd, the only two women in the place, and I said to one American boy, "Ask them to sing ' Madalon.' " A Poilu heard me and before I knew it, he had whisp- pered something to the kid with a mouth organ, and I gasped to see the whole shouting crowd come swarm- ing up to us. They formed a circle about us, and with Mugs and me as audience, they sang themselves hoarse. But I was n't just audience, I chimed in too, and we sang " Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag," and " There 's a Long, Long Trail A-Wind- ing," and "Turn the Dark Cloud Inside Out," etc. Well, finally the bugle for the train sounded and our 194 party broke up. <[ Mugs and I started toward home when we caught the notes of a band coming toward us. It was our 53rd regimental brass band and they were crashing out, " Over There." Jove, it was too thrilling ! So Mugs and I got in the crowd of soldiers that were marching along and we all marched up to the square in front of the station and had a band concert. There was a long, high, concrete construction overlooking the crowd and a bunch of soldiers standing up on it. I said to Mugs, " I won't be happy until I get up there." So, many hands were reached down for us and we were hoisted up in a jiffy. One boy standing right on the tip end of the construction and under a bright street light had been giving a most startling pantomime with a French and an American flag to the tune of the music, and when he caught sight of me in my Red Cross veil, he beckoned wildly for me to come over. I hated to, said I wouldn't "do anything conspicuous," but he insisted and the boys handed me over till I was in his place and he in back of me with the two flags. Well, I always thought one's wedding was the only time that one could be really conspicuous, but know now that I was mistaken. The boys down there yelled, " Hurrah for the Red Cross," and smiled up and waved their caps. You know it was quite overwhelming. Then the band and the crowd moved on and a bunch of doughboys in an official car took us down into the town to see the sights. Yanks were giving a concert in the square and every one was laughing and smiling, French and American 195 officers and men and a handful of women, The band played, " Home, Sweet Home " — they ragged it, and waltzed it and did everything to it to make it gay, but I heard a boy beside me murmur, " There they go, makin' a fellow homesick again." Well, everything has to come to an end, and as the town was tightly closed as far as drinks go, " Military Law," things had all quieted down by nine o'clock. So we decided to go home and have a bit of our long- delayed dinner. And now it is " the day after," the 12th of November, 1918, and in thirty-five minutes I am due at the canteen to pour chocolate and serve sandwiches and talk to the boys — the last the best of all the game. I have never before appreciated the wonderful respect of our boys for their women. It is a thing to be proud of. They treat us as though we might break if handled roughly, and I think would kill a man for using language in front of us that was n't clean. I am terribly proud of them. Love, Doris. 196 Hotel Madison, 48 Rue des Petits- Champs, Paris, November 21st, 1918. Dearest Mummy and Poppy : DOLD your breath and listen I 'm coming HOME! Yes, the die is cast. Today Spen engaged passage for Al and me on the SS. Lorraine, sailing from Bordeaux on Mon- day, the 2nd of December. We are walking on air, we are so happy, even though we had to take a second class cabin, all the first class being crammed full. But who should worry? We will be with you for Christmas. We have hopes of securing a first cabin the last minute, or if not that, we may be able to persuade the steward at least to let us eat in Spen's dining-room. We expect to land on December the 12th or 13th, or even the 14th. What untold joy if I should see your dear faces waiting for me on the pier, or if not allowed out there, in back of the fence that encloses the pier yards ! Now we sing gaily, " Over, we 're going over, and we won't come back 'cause it 's over, over here." C I might write loads more, but we will be able to talk together so soon, and I have a bit of the flu and am going to bed. Dr. Clinton is with us in Paris, and Spen, Al, he and I make a cozy four at meals. He is a peach. I thought that I just had a bad cold, but he says it is the flu, but that the germ has become so attenuated and weakened that it can not produce pneumonia any more. 197 C[ I have ordered one good looking bronze chiffon velvet afternoon dress at Jenny's and that is all I shall attempt. Mummy, if you come to New York will you bring my pearls down? I ache with loneliness to feel them around my neck. Well, dear parents, good night and a bientot. Vive l'Amerique ! Doris. 198 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: jyii 2001 PreservatranTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Pa* Drive LIBRARY CONGRESS