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: "It is bad enough, but it
might have been worse." A shade of sadness spread over those
noble features but it was only for a moment, and he appeared
utterly resigned to his cruel fate.
Always there was that smile of appreciation as we moved among
the numerous cots of the suffering and dying. Whether in the
morning upon inquiring how he had spent the night, or after the
thick curtains were lowered at the windows, that no gleam of
light might reveal our location to hostile planes, or when we
paused at his bedside to wish him a painless night and restful
slumber, we were always greeted by kind words of hope and cheer
and a pleasant smile. How those cheery good-nights softened the
roaring cannon, and screaming shells into a mere echo, and that
smiling countenance made radiant the grim halls of indescribable
suffering and death!
Well do we remember that Lieut. Lady's concern was not for
himself but only for the welfare of others. As he looked across
the way where Private Everson of Company A, in the 26th
Division, who had been wounded in such a manner as to make it
impossible for him to lie down, sat propped up with blankets, he
exclaimed, "I pity that poor fellow so! Oh, how I wish I could
help him!" How self vanished like a blighted thing as we heard
those words of pity coming from one whose suffering was beyond
human words to express. Truly, a life like this had caught a
glow of that redeeming light which radiates from the cross
itself.
Again, we recalled that awful night in November when we moved
with hurried yet silent tread among the cots on which lay
figures in many uneasy attitudes, some brokenly slumbering and
muttering through helpless delirium; others uttering suppressed
moans as they lay tossing upon their cots.
Just as we were preparing to leave the ward to the night men,
after the temperatures and pulse rates of all the patients had
been taken and registered, the gas alarm sounded. Instantly we
made ready to put onto the patients the gas masks which were in
readiness at the head of each cot. Just then the cry of fire was
whispered to the ward men, who at once began preparations for
the removal of the patients to the opposite side of the hospital
grounds. All out of doors was intense blackness - a blackness
only relieved by the flashes of guns that made the eastern sky
blaze with their crimson light.
Suddenly the flames leaped from the operating room, in the end
containing the sterilizer. Soon they cast a lurid glow upon the
dark clouds. Hurriedly, yet quietly, we removed the patients to
a place in which they would be safe. Two of the wards had
already caught fire on their sides nearest the operating room.
The many patients in this room along with those undergoing
operations on the thirteen operating tables were rushed into
another building where the work was immediately resumed. Each
patient who caught sight of the bright light that streamed in
through the open doors, was busy with many eager questions on
his perturbed mind. Yet no one spoke a word but watched in
suspense that was almost pain, the fiery glow that spread
around, until horror distorted many a face.
Suddenly, as if reflected from some unimaginable furnace the sky
was all aflame. What had happened or was happening those wounded
boys could only dimly imagine. Yet, how calm, how wonderful they
were in their utter helplessness. Rain began to fall as we were
removing the patients. Gradually the dreadful light faded from
the sky and the flames that had began to eat their way in the
walls of the nearest buildings were extinguished. Only the
operating room was burned to the ground.
As we moved among the patients, doing what little we could to
ease the pain and quiet the fears of those dear, noble boys, a
hand from one of the cots seized oars in a clinging firm embrace
and we recognized the voice of Lieut. Lady as he said, "I am so
glad you are with me tonight."
When that eventful day of the 11th of November came and the
bells from Regret and Verdun rang out the glorious news of the
armistice, how the hearts of all the boys in the wards were
stirred! It was a beautiful day resembling our American Indian
Summer, when we threw open the doors and windows to admit the
glorious message. It seemed that the prayers of not only France,
but of the world, were being said and the theme that ran through
them all was: "How beautiful are the feet of Him upon the
mountains that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace."
And chiming in with the music of the bells, the clear voice of
Lieut. Lady was heard, as he exclaimed, "I hope and pray God
that this will be the end of all wars." Let us sincerely hope
that the noble sacrifice of such men as this shall not have been
in vain.
