Part 6

"I have witnessed the most horrible misery, but I would do wrong to let you think I was the greatest sufferer. Whoever has been prisoner in Germany has seen the same spectacle, the acts of refined cruelty one hoped had disappeared forever from the world. I enclose two photos, which will give you some idea of the actual conditions endured by so many thousand unfortunates fallen into German hands. One shows the interior of a shed where the prisoners are crowded, a bed of infection for all kinds of diseases. The other shows the punishment meted out for the merest peccadillo. They need no comment.

"I cannot close this recital of misery without a word, which I judge very necessary, about this unhappy life, so bravely supported by so many thousands of unfortunates. What would have become of us, but for such kind souls as you? How many of my wretched companions have only been sustained morally and physically, through these days of trial, by the regular arrival of parcels sent by kind unknown friends!

"If these charitable people could hear half of the expressions of gratitude, and see the pleasure caused by these shipments, they would assuredly feel rewarded. I want you to know this, as I feel it will especially interest you. Your kindness towards me proves it. Thanks from me and thanks from them.

"I long to return to France. I await with impatience the day of expatriation, which will permit me to see again my old parents, my family, and to embrace once more my little girls—poor darlings, deprived so early of my affection and care. But I am resigned to wait, and to re-establish here in Switzerland my health, so necessary after this war. I know, Madame, you have given things to my little ones; from me many thanks.

"Receive, Madame, my sincerest salutations and the assurance of my profound gratitude.

"Your devoted,

"F. F.

"Interne Français.

"Hotel du Chamessaire, Leysin, Suisse."

With this authentic picture before us, shall we not do well, we Americans, to realize what our own boys will have to face, should they fall into German hands?

Dinard has recently been obliged to open her doors to one thousand homeless children from Nancy. That historical and beautiful old town in Lorraine is no longer a safe place for kiddies. Twelve thousand have been sent here to Brittany, escorted by American Red Cross doctors and American nurses, and their school-masters and mistresses. Poor little mites, they look white and frightened and suppressed, but they must be relieved to feel they can run about the beach without the fear of bombs—that terror, night and day, which for so many months has haunted them.

Now the soft lapping of the waves replaces the roar of cannon; the green fields of Brittany, the crumbling buildings of their old home; but their little hearts are heavy, many a baby is crying for "maman" when bed-time comes. Their wan cheeks are growing rosy in the breezes from the Atlantic. Good butter, milk, eggs and peaceful sunny days, freedom from the fear of bombardment, are building up their fragile little bodies, and the strained look is leaving their eyes, and they are becoming normal children again.

We are constantly suffering from the spy fever. Every once in a while it breaks out in a virulent form. Everyone looks askance at his neighbor. The most absurd rumors circulate through the whole community, and the world and his wife are in a feverish state of exasperation, each one offering excellent advice as to the suppression of spies, German agents, pro-boches, etc., etc.

Of course, there is some foundation for their fears. If you take up a map of Brittany, you will see that the coast line is greatly indented. There are high, rocky cliffs and innumerable caves which might easily shelter whole cargoes of enemy supplies. Remote little beaches might serve as landing places, and there are all sorts of rumors about tanks of gasoline, barrels of butter, piles of fresh vegetables and meat being hidden in these natural warehouses, and as to how the submarines come in, signalled from shore by their spies, telling them when and where to land.

Undoubtedly there are bases for supplies along the coast. It is wild and uninhabited for miles, the little fishing villages, sheltering along the shore-line in rocky bays and inlets, are practically denuded of able-bodied men; only women, children and old folk living in these little stone cottages facing the rough Atlantic, and who are they to dare to withstand armed Germans?

All the waters along the coast are infested with the German U-boats. Last week the little English packet, running between Saint-Malo and Southampton, was torpedoed ten miles off the Isle of Wight. Only the captain and four others, who happened to be on deck, were saved by clinging to wreckage. All the crew, the two stewardesses, and the cabin boys were drowned before they could reach the deck. We knew them well, these courageous people who have so often made the journey since the war began, and now they are lying under these green waters, martyrs to their duty.

The submarines take weekly toll, but no names are mentioned in the papers, only the total amount of tonnage lost each week. So, added to the horror of the war, is the horror of the sea. In many a little home along the coast, the wife and mother waits for the man who will never return.

At Paimpel, seventy-five miles away, sixty-six out of the seventy anti-bellum fishing smacks have been sunk. What it means to the poor fishing folk can be better imagined than described. Four or five families would often put the savings of a generation into a fishing boat, and the whole population of many villages lived entirely off the product of the sea. Naturally, their poverty is great, and they don't know where to look for help. As one sits on the rocks, looking at the beautiful turquoise ocean with the great space of radiant blue above, and the coast-line stretching away for miles into the hazy distance, it is hard to realize that beneath these sunny waters, perhaps a mile or two away, lurks that hideous instrument of death, the German submarine.

One cannot deny their presence—they make themselves too often conspicuous. Ten days ago, a British transport was torpedoed and went down off Jersey, about fifty miles from here. Every once in a while a French destroyer comes into Saint-Malo harbor, or a military balloon mounts guard in the translucent air.

A story was told recently which bears out these facts, but I don't believe, myself, that it is possible. During the high spring tides we had this month of March, the sea went out on the ebb to a great distance, leaving exposed many rocky islets and long sandy beaches. One small island has deep water on one side, where a U-boat could be safely hidden, and a sandy stretch to the landward side forms an ideal harbor.

The story runs that a few days ago two well-dressed men walked into a little country inn, in a small village, ordered a lunch of young vegetables, chicken, cigars and liqueurs. Smiling pleasantly over their meal, before leaving, they called for paper and ink.

They paid for their food in French money, and left a note for the Sous-Préfet of Saint-Malo. Imagine that official's chagrin, on opening it, to find the following:

"Monsieur le Sous-Préfet—We had an excellent lunch and wish to state that we perceive you still eat well in France.

"Captain Fritz.

"Lieut. Johann.

"U-boat off Brittany, March, 1918."

TO A POILU

Hail to you, Poilu! Before the world you stand Clad in the glory of your deathless fame; War had no terrors for the dauntless band That held the line 'gainst bombs, and shells, and flame.

Through tragic months of winter cold and rain, When snow and water filled the narrow trench, Steadfast and patient you did bear the strain; Oh! little soldier of the war-tried French.

From peasant hut, from wealthy, well-stocked farm, From mountain village, or town's crowded mart, When first the Toscin shrilled its fierce alarm, Gladly you rushed to play your noble part.

Oh, Sons of France! How quickly you forgot The easy comfort of your tranquil life; When high and low have shared a common lot There is no room for friction or for strife.

Beneath the August sun, two years ago, Life fiercely throbbed and beat in your young frame; You battled, struggled, panted in the glow Of love for France, and for her precious fame.

'Midst rye and wheat of cultivated fields, Where now the harvest waits the reapers' glaive, Only a wooden cross and rain-stained kepi shields You—unknown hero in your nameless grave.

Afar, 'perhaps, some woman mourns your end, Wondering, in sorrow, where your body lies; She cannot come with loving hands to tend Your humble tomb beneath the Argonne skies.

No flowers shall fade upon your lowly mound, So soon by storm and time effaced to be; But where you died, His France's holy ground, An altar and a pledge to Victory.

Hail to you, Poilu! In all the years to come, You'll represent the Fighting Soul of France; Verdun, the Meuse, the Champagne and the Somme, Are clarion notes which thrill, inspire, entrance.

That rolling down the misty vales of Time Proclaim your strength, your courage, fine and true, Raising you to the ranks of men sublime; The World salutes you! Hail to you, Poilu!

Dinard, 1918.

OUR WAR WORK

Deming Jarves August 14, 1918

Since the following article, "Our War Work," was written, Mr. Deming Jarves has been decorated by the French government with the cross of the Chevalier de la Légion d'Honneur.

The Jarves Family were represented in the Great War by Mrs. Jarves' brother, Capt. John P. Jackson, U. S. N., commanding American transports bringing soldiers to France, and the following great-nephews of Mr. Jarves:

Captain Francesco Marigliano, Duke Delmonte of the Cavalliera di Udine, Italian Army, received two of the highest awards for valor in the Battle of the Piave.

Count Pio Marigliano (his brother), First Lieutenant in the Italian Navy, killed in the blowing up of the battleship Leonardo di Vinci.

Captain Howard Kerr, 11th Hussars, British Army, served through the War on the British Front in France and Belgium.

Captain Graham Lindley of the U. S. Army.

Eric and John Higginson (brothers), petty officers in the U. S. Navy, served on destroyers on the Irish Coast.

Charles Higginson (youngest brother of above), took an intensive course at Annapolis, and then received his commission from the U. S. Navy as an Ensign, on a Cruiser doing convoy work.

Mr. Jarves' father and two uncles took part in the War of 1812, and his grandfather in the Revolutionary War.

(From the Paris Edition of the New York Herald of May 12, 1917)

When the wounded from the Marne began pouring into Brittany, there were no adequate hospitals to receive and care for the thousands of gravely injured men. Everyone was called upon to give money, supplies, beds and bedding, lamps and heating apparatus, surgical instruments, bandages, dressings, hospital garments, all the paraphernalia of great military hospitals, to be installed immediately. The confusion was great, the goodwill endless, but the material lacking.

Upon these tragic circumstances everyone, from peasant to American pleasure-seeker, gave of their best.

Twelve large hospitals were opened in Dinard alone; in the two large casinos, in the hotels, and in private villas in the neighborhood of Dinard.

From St. Malo, St. Servan, Paramé, St. Briac, St. Lunaire, all within walking distance of Dinard, came urgent calls for help.

From remoter convents, where everything had to be provided, came even greater demands.

Mr. and Mrs. Deming Jarves, seeing the necessity for immediate help, gave very largely personally, and wrote to relatives and friends in America for assistance. How generous the response was, is indicated in the following list of friends who responded at once:

Cases were sent by:

The Red Cross Society of Washington.

Philadelphia Emergency Aid Society.

British War Relief Association, New York.

Vacation War Relief Association, New York.

Junior War Relief Association, New York.

Surgical Dressing Committee, Philadelphia.

Princeton Chapter of the American Red Cross.

Detroit Drug Company.

Princess Louis of Battenberg.

Mme. Jusserand (wife of the French Ambassador in Washington). Mme. Ekengren (wife of the Swedish Minister in Washington). Lady Swettenham.

Lady Wolseley, of Wolseley.

Miss Martha Codman, Washington.

Mrs. Morehead, Washington.

Mrs. McGowan, Washington.

Miss May Moulton, New York.

Major Louis L. Seaman (President British War Relief Association New York).

Mrs. C. Wolcott Henry, Philadelphia.

Mrs. Freeman, Wissaluckon Heights.

Mrs. Norman, Newport.

Mrs. Charles Pike, Chicago.

Mr. W. M. Kozmenski, Chicago.

Mrs. G. H. Rowland, New York.

Mrs. Russell A. Alger, Detroit.

Money was sent by:

Mr. George A. Russel, Detroit, President People's State Bank, Michigan.

Mr. M. F. Barbour, Detroit, President Michigan Stove Company. Mr. J. T. McMillan, Detroit, President Detroit Steamship Company.

Mr. H. H. Campbell, Detroit.

Mr. G. E. Lawson, Detroit, Vice-President People's State Bank. Mr. Angus Smith, Detroit.

Mr. J. Dwyer, Detroit, President Detroit Stove Co.

Mr. H. B. Ledyard, Detroit, President Michigan Central Railway. Mr. H. Russel, Detroit, Vice-President Michigan Central Railway. Mr. R. A. Alger, Detroit, Vice-President Packard Motor Car Co. Mr. C. H. Freer, Detroit.

Mr. J. C. Hutchings, Detroit, Detroit United Railway.

Mr. Howie Muir, Detroit.

Mr. F. J. Hecker, Detroit.

Mrs. R. S. Mason, Detroit.

Mrs. Butler, Detroit.

Mr. Truman H. Newberry, Detroit, former Secretary of the United States Navy.

Mr. J. S. Alexander, New York, President National Bank of Commerce.

Mr. Myron T. Herrick, New York, former Ambassador to France. Mrs. Helen A. Noyes, St. Paul.

Mrs. Coudert, Washington.

Mrs. Thompson, Washington.

Mrs. Julien-James, Washington.

Mrs. C. Howe Johnson, Washington.

Mrs. Lorthorpe Bradley, Washington.

Mr. Gibson Farnstock, Washington.

Mr. Hudnut, New York.

Mr. John Aspergren, New York.

Mrs. Sheffield Phelps, New York.

Mrs. Moses Taylor Pyne, New York.

Mrs. John Innes Kane, New York.

Mrs. Edward Walker, Detroit.

Mrs. J. J. White, Atlantic City.

Mrs. Barker Gummere, Washington.

Mme. Ekengren and Miss Helen Patten sent a sum of money, being the proceeds of a concert arranged by them.

Villa Transformed Into Warehouse

Mr. Jarves converted two salons of his Villa Val Fleuri into receiving and storing rooms, engaged a secretary and two women for the packing and re-sorting of supplies, and used the garage for opening and receiving the cases. It is estimated that over 97,000 articles have been thus distributed, not to mention tobacco, candies, fruit, cocoa, chocolate, Liebig's Extract, Valentine's Essence, Benger's Food, tetanus serum, etc.

To give a more complete idea of the extent of the work done, it is only necessary to say that 6,393 beds have been installed in the various buildings converted into hospitals.

Besides these immediate demands for medical and surgical supplies, came the call of the homeless, the refugees, prisoners in Germany (Dinard men). From all sides, these appeals poured in from the unfortunate victims of the war.

Thousands of Belgians sought refuge in Brittany. Baronne Raymond de Saint-Gilles, at Le Fretay, has over 4,000 dependent on her for assistance, and Abbé Destroopers at Avranches, and Mlle. Powis de Tenbossche at Rennes, both of whom have over 3,000 Belgians on their refuge lists, all have been supplied with great quantities of garments.

The convents were especially deserving of assistance; many throughout Brittany were of the poorest description. These religious women found themselves face to face with, for them, unparalleled conditions, and were occupied in attending Arabs, Senagalais, Turcos, Bretons, Chasseurs Alpins and Paris "gamins."

The accommodations were poor enough and the medical and surgical supplies utterly inadequate, for they simply did not exist.

To them, Mr. Jarves was able to give a large quantity of necessary articles, including a hot-air apparatus, a full set of surgical instruments, clothing, medicines, comforts and money. The supplies from America have been divided with the conscientious desire to see American generosity help as far as could be.

97,610 Articles Distributed The following list is an estimate of the numbers and kind of articles distributed:

Compresses of all kinds... .. 37,000 Bandages of all kinds... .. 22,000 Pairs of socks .. 4,290 Shirts .. 2,095 Articles of children's clothing.. .. 4,000 Articles of men's and women's clothing .. 2,500 Pyjamas .. 375 Miscellaneous articles... .. 24,500 Cotton wool (pounds)... .. 850 Total .. 97,610

About six hundred surgical instruments have been distributed to various hospitals in Brittany.

Gifts of money have been distributed as follows:

November, 1914—Five thousand francs to the Oeuvre des Belges, Dinard.

November, 1914—Ten thousand francs to M. Crolard (Mayor of Dinard) for the poor of Dinard and the French and Belgian refugees.

The balance was spent in England in purchasing provisions, surgical instruments and dressings for the hospitals.

In December, 1916, Mr. Deming Jarves gave to the town of Dinard the sum of 5,800fr., to form a fund called the "Deming Jarves Fund" (which was increased later to 10,000fr.), which the mayor is distributing to the poor, residing permanently in Dinard and having need of immediate assistance.

All automobile expenses, transport, storage, cartage, distribution and Custom House expenses have been paid by Mr. Deming Jarves. These expenses are estimated at not less than 15,000 fr.

The work still continues, although for the last year, through the courtesy of the American Relief Clearing House, the cases are sent through free of charge from Bordeaux.

France's Thanks

On July 8,1915, Mr. and Mrs. Deming Jarves were notified by M. Julliard, the Préfet of Ille-et-Vilaine, that he would call on them on July 11, at three o'clock, accompanied by M. Lacouloumére, Sous-Préfet of Redon; M. Revilliot, Sous-Préfet of Saint-Malo; General Grillot, commanding the district; M. Crolard, Mayor of Dinard, "en grande tenue," to thank them in the name of France for their generous help in the great crisis of this war.

AMERICANS IN BRITTANY

When the Yankees return home after the great war is over, those who have been quartered in Brittany will carry back a vivid impression of long stretches of green forests and fields, of tumbling green waters, of gray-and-white skies with dashes of tender blue, of glinting sunshine lying warm on blue slate roofs, of low stone villages huddled about quaint church-towers, and of granite buildings of unknown antiquity—and some may carry home recollections of yellow- or auburn-haired girls, rosy-cheeked, clad in heavy black peasant costumes and white muslin "coiffes."

It rains often in this west country, skies hang low, and there is much hazy atmosphere and blue-wrapped distances, but the temperature is so mild, roses bloom all winter, mimosa spread their golden sprays over southern walls. The hedgerows and uplands are aglow early in January with primroses and gorse, all shades of golden yellows, cutting sharp against green backgrounds and vapory skies.

The air is mild and damp, and it is probably due to this purity of atmosphere, that the Breton is as hardy and as vigorous as he is, for their cottages, with the dirt floors, walled-in beds, and lack of cleanliness, are about as sanitary as in the days of Anne of Brittany.

Since 1914 these good people have been called upon to provide hospitality for all kinds of foreigners; strangers who, in ordinary life, had never even heard of this part of the world, and who probably never had any desire to see it—but Kaiser Wilhelm arranged otherwise, and they poured in in their thousands. Somehow or other, food and lodging were found for them, and they became tremendously at home. Some, much too much so!

First came the Belgians, poor, driven, dazed creatures, carrying all sorts of parcels and bundles, footsore, limping, weary; fleeing before that first dreadful on-rush of Germans in August, 1914. Everyone worked to get them food, clothing and lodging; but, scattered all over the province, they were wretchedly unhappy crowds, knowing no language but Flemish or Walloon, isolated and lost in France, and with their families in Belgium. English and Americans took charge of them, and, by tireless generosity and exertion, provided them with the necessities of life.

I know of one Belgian hospital at St. Lunaire, which, for the last four-and-a-half years, has been dependent on five English girls, who, through all sorts of trouble, complications and work have kept it going—and going competently and well.

From England they obtained the necessary surgical and hospital supplies, but often and often they had to dip deep into their own pockets—it was a flimsy summer hotel, in no way suited to a hospital service; but, nothing daunted, they stuck at it courageously, giving time, health, and wealth, never relaxing their efforts, or becoming discouraged—brave, unselfish, untiring volunteers!

Many a Belgian, exiled, wounded, homesick, has a special little shrine in his heart for the Misses de Montmorency and Miss Amscott.

After the Belgian invasion, came the French wounded.

I would not dare say how many thousands have passed through the Dinard hospitals, where they were nursed by French, English, Belgian and American Red Cross ladies. For years, the streets were full of bandaged, limping creatures, happy to recuperate in our soft climate. While these were in our town, we were suddenly inundated by hordes of Russians; strong, vigorous young men, with a charming disregard for all discipline, and an ardent determination to do exactly as they chose. When remonstrated with, they just laughed and said: "Kaput czar, kaput Russia—kaput tout," and that is all there was to it. They weren't going to fight any more, or obey anyone. They traveled when it pleased them, getting on or off of trains, without inquiring about their destination, carefully ignoring all formalities, such as tickets, time, or overcrowding, and behaved themselves generally as if law and order had disappeared with the czar. Great, strapping chaps they were, too; in clean, well-brushed uniforms and fine boots, apparently not concerning themselves in the least as to the war or the future, sauntering about our streets, amusing themselves as they saw fit, and finally becoming so unbearable that a few were hauled up and shot by the authorities at St. Malo, and the rest sent off somewhere, at the unanimous request of St. Malo and Dinard.

In ordinary times, these Belgians and Russians would never have heard of Dinard, and been perfectly satisfied not to, but then so would we have been, had William the Kaiser permitted them to remain at home.