As we picked up
the hat that dropped from trembling hands unnoticed to the
floor, we thought what a sad Christmas the year 1918 brought to
this home.
Then we thought, too, how in the last moments of his
earthly sojourn Lieut. Lady had wandered back to the lovely
hills and the old homestead with its dear remembered faces in
his native county.
Our first meeting was in the Evacuation Hospital at Glorenx;
almost within the shadows of the frowning citadel of Verdun. How
well we remember the first day of his arrival in Ward E! The
litter bearers came and went on their ceaseless journeys,
bringing new patients still under the influence of ether or
transferring others who were sent by ambulance to base
hospitals. It was during those terrible days of the Meuse-
Argonne drive, while the air overhead hummed with those cruel
messengers of fate - coming from no one knew where - that the
litter bearers slowly and carefully lowered a patient to the
newly-made cot we had just prepared. Looking at the diagnosis
card that we found, we learned that the patient, Lieut. Ira
Ellsworth Lady, had had an amputation of his limb above the
knee, and that he also had been gassed.
The first question that he asked as we stood by his cot, when he
again regained consciousness was: "How am I wounded?" When we
told him the misfortune which had befallen him, a shudder ran
through his frame as he repeated:
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