WAR WORKER DESCRIBES LIFE

The following letter, reprinted from the Alumni Bulletin, was received by Professor Copeland from J. W. D. Seymour '17, of the Ambulance Service in France:

"We are 'on reserve'--a sort of semirepose, after a month of hot work and strain, too. It is not that we sweat and slave greatly, but there somehow seems to be a nervous effort and tightening in driving under fire which takes it out of one physically. The result is that after our 'spells' of 24 or 48 hours we sink into lethargic repose until the next call. The days seem all alike--except that we are served 'chocolat' instead of black, sugarless coffee on Sunday mornings--and they slip by, unsung, into the tumbled yesterdays of 'a little while ago.' I was in tremendous luck to be able to 'graft' my way into this section on the eve of its first real action--and once the action got started it seemed self-perpetuating. I have been an 'extra-man'--so my chance to see things has been excellent. 'Seeing' balls one all up, too. Though in a way also it makes everything--that is, just living--seem simpler and untroubled by all the old petty details. It is torture to see all this magnificent energy and sacrifice going for a cause which is itself only a means, and such a foolish, illogical means, than which, no one, as yet, sees a better--to an end which is vague and so far away that most hereabouts lose sight of it. Perhaps it is as well. For I don't believe the Poilu could think and go on as bravely and smilingly as he does.

"I've seen Boche--wounded as well as whole prisoners, just as they are brought up from the trenches. One I can't forget was a fragile kid, clammy white, and with eyes gaping in terror. He was so young, so frightened, and so hungrily sick--looking. How could one transfigure him into the ferocious Teuton of most accounts?

"You have heard probably of Harvard's loss, the stage's--future stage, at least--loss, and my loss--in that bully good fellow and perfect friend, Ham Craig. His section, Number 2, was working right beside us; their 'postes' were adjacent to ours--and he died from wounds received in action--it all occurred between 10 in the evening and 2 the next-morning. And all the time I was driving a car and never thinking of him going. I saw his grave--all flower-covered. It was in the heart of a cemetery of French soldiers--lines of them.

"This morning three of our Section and a number of 'brancardiers,' with whom we messed around at the front, (about 14 in all) were decorated with the Croix de Guerre. As a result today has been a fete day, with feasting, songs, wines, and speeches. Now we recuperate. There is talk of work again, and lots of it, in about ten days. There are American soldiers within 20 kilometres;--a young lieutenant visited us yesterday and dined with us today. It seems hard to realize that all about us here are Americans, preparing to go down and face the thunder and flame that we have heard all around and over us.