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one who could leave had left headlong. There were no trains. All day and all night the refugees streamed past the hospital. Such a strange, heart-breaking sight! Thursday two Turks were shot down in the streets; Dr. Cornelius and I, on our way down to get some wounded men at another hospital, just stopped a third murder.

To-day about eleven o'clock the battle broke just outside the town, behind a low ridge of hills. It was only a rearguard action on the part of the Serbs, but it was exciting enough for us. We stood on the hill watching the Serb batteries firing away and the Bulgarian shrapnel bursting over the town. Soon the rifles began to speak, and for three hours they kept up a tremendous crackling, just like an immense fire. The shells sang in flight above us and burst loudly over the city, doing little or no harm. Shrapnel growled in air and burst loud and low. Several exploded over our grounds and not a few spent bullets fell among us, but no one was hit.

Two of our boys (lucky devils!) went out in a Ford car with a commission to meet the Bulgarians, not expecting a battle to take place at all. But when they got between the Serbs and Bulgars the fight began, and they spent three hours in a ditch, bullets kicking up mud in their faces and shrapnel bursting above and about them. It is a wonder they got out alive, but they were n't hit once. The cars, although flying American and white flags, were hit in several places and my little silk American flag was shot away.

All during the battle the Serbs came stringing in on foot and on horse, wounded. Some we dressed and sent on their way, some we held. We were kept busy in the bathrooms attending to them. Once I jumped into a car and dashed off to pick up a soldier reported lying by the roadside near town, too

badly wounded to walk. Several shrapnel shells burst alarmingly close; one went off right over us, but no harm was done and I got safely back with my moaning quarry. The Serbs began retreating from their positions about two o'clock and came streaming through our grounds. Some snatched coffee or articles of warm clothing from the eager hands of the Sisters as they passed through. The shells and shrapnel followed the Serbs, and not a few burst right above the hospital, with its fluttering Red-Cross flags and the Stars and Stripes floating above the laboratory of our two famous American doctors. The rifle-fire kept up till after four o'clock, when the last squad of Serbian gendarmerie rode through.

Then all the Serbs had gone and there was a period of breathless waiting to receive the enemy. During the interlude, groups of lanky Turks, trailing rifles, sneaked about our grounds to loot, but they retired when commanded to do so by Dr. Maitland. Then rose the cry, 'Here come the Bulgars!' All the Austrians rushed out to greet the comitaji - the men who rob and raid and terrorize. The first of these was a wild-looking fellow, armed to the teeth, with snapping black eyes and a frightful moustache. He came up the terrace toward the hospital breathless and grinning, trailing a rifle and waving a pistol. Suddenly he tucked this in his belt and began shaking hands all around and greeting the Austrians as 'brothers' in a sort of breathless haste. Then Dr. Maitland, with his elegant yellow gloves and correct monocle, hurried out of the hospital, and he and the Terror shook hands amid roars of laughter and cheers. More Bulgars came along and our reception continued. An officer sent up a guard for the hospital. The autos with our boys returned, not only with every one safe and sound, but deco

rated with flowers and loaded with wounded Bulgars. We cheered the boys and rushed the Bulgars into beds. In the town all bells were ringing, whistles blowing, cheers rising to Heaven, and guns going off in the air. It was the most absurdly delightful anti-climax to our fearful anticipations quite like the last act of a comic opera.

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We took down from the bathroom windows the barricades which had been put there to keep out stray bullets, and went down to late tea that inevitable function which upholds the Englishman's sense of form through tragedy and disturbance of any kind. Afterwards I went down town to get some wounded from another hospital, and an exciting trip it was! Every one shouted, 'Viva America! Viva Engleski!' We went to the hospital and found it crammed to the corridors with the wounded. There was an argument about giving them up, but it ended in more being sent than we had room for in the car, so my companion and I were left to walk. However, we collared an official, got a fiacre, and drove off with loudly jingling bells-two mounted Bulgarian guards riding in front of us, one at each side and one behind. We made a great clatter through the dark, empty streets. At one corner six men stood up in a row and shouted, "Viva Bulgaria!' We stopped to call on the commandant, but found he had not arrived yet; indeed, few soldiers have arrived and the city is still without a head. All is quiet to-night for the first time in days. We returned to a good hot dinner, which we ate in peace after the turbulence of this day-the most eventful one of my life.

December 17.-My head reels to think of all the things I have to tell. It has been useless to write letters full of news, and I am scribbling this rapidly because I have a chance to send it by

private care to escape the censorship. You see we are not prisoners. This is because of the ruling of the Hague Convention. We stayed of our own accord when we might have run away. Because of the service Lady Paget's hospital has rendered to Bulgars and Austrians as well as to Serbs, we are absolutely free here in Uskub, and are treated with the utmost courtesy by the 'foe.' Every general and commandant comes in to pay his respects to Lady Paget. Prince Windischgrätz of Austria called to 'express his thanks and offer his services.' The Queen of Bulgaria cabled her appreciation, and backed it by a gift of 5000 francs.

Bulgarians like England and remember that Gladstone did more to help them win their freedom than any other man. We have about six hundred Bulgarian patients now, and hundreds have already passed through our hands. Everything is being done to expedite our journey back to England, and as soon as trains are running the staff will be replaced by Bulgarian doctors and nurses, for Lady Paget's magnificent career of service to English and Serbians at Uskub is, of course, now at an end.

But to return to my narrative: the day after the battle we motored out to the Bulgars' field-hospital and brought in all their wounded. They had heavy losses for such a small fight, and the Serbs had very few. For days and days we heard the sound of big guns, and the wounded kept arriving in ox-carts from north, west, and south. Such wounds! The men from the French front had the most terrible ones. We all worked day and night until we were finally filled up with 'heavy' cases. Then the guns ceased to be heard, and one day the King of Bulgaria motored through Uskub, where his car became ingloriously stuck. He tossed twentyfranc notes to the Austrians who pushed

it out of the mud. To our joy, the skies cleared and we had days of snow and cold, crisp weather when riding horseback was a joy. Refugees came pouring in to Uskub from all sides and Serbs came trooping back as prisoners. Poor, dirty, bedraggled fellows, who had marched off so trim and brave to fight a hopeless fight! News leaks in that all is over for Serbia, and I fear this is true.

Then, about two weeks ago, the Germans came. They are very cold and haughty when we meet them by day, but at night we hear them singing most gloriously. We pass them everywhere here and in the town, especially in the 'cake-shops,' and although the officers sometimes salute us, they are always overbearing in manner. They were here in force for a time, coming after Serbia was 'finished,' to order the Bulgarians about. For four days Uskub had about a hundred thousand troops in it, Bulgarians and Germans and a few Austrians.

The Germans don't seem to like the way in which the English and Americans are saluted and boweddown to on all sides by our friendly and honorable enemies. I have seen enough gray-green uniforms and spiked helmets to last my life-time. One poor little eighteen-year-old German lad from Munich grew friendly. He said he was sick of the war, and no wonder: he had spent months on the Russian front in water up to his waist. At home, in Munich, he had worked in a library. In talking with me he threw light on German methods. He could n't comprehend why England had n't made peace. It was all up with Serbia and Montenegro; what was there left to fight for? And,' he said, 'is n't it true that we [the Germans] took Uskub, and not the Bulgarians? We were told that the Germans had taken it; now we come here and the people tell us the

Bulgarians took it. You were here. Is that so?' Indeed, although Bulgaria alone conquered all this territory, the Germans behave quite as if it were theirs by right.

It was a great sight seeing the armies march through. Masses of soldiers, horses, pack-trains, artillery, filed past, all day and all night, one endless stream of weary, dirty men, with their horses steaming in the cold dampness. Line upon line they came, as far as eye could see across the snowy plains. Each regiment had a band which played as they marched. The town was a great sight. Every street was simply packed with men as solidly as a theatre lobby after the play.

I do like the Bulgars. They are the most wonderful 'fighting-material' I've seen. They are big, hardy lads, good-humored, great-hearted, kindly. They have behaved splendidly, treating everyone well, paying full price for everything they take, and committing no vandalism- much less, atrocities. Some of their officers are charming and all are polite and well-meaning. They have not the élan of the Serbs; they are not so impulsive, not so attractive, and seem heavier and slower. I speak only of the people as typified by the soldiers of the line. The government has, of course, done its worst in crushing helpless Serbia.

The suffering of the civil population here is unspeakable. Lady Paget has clothed and fed thousands. Now that flour has given out, the people receive money and clothes, and come up three times a week to be given aid. Such stories as we get! Such untold misery! Every one here has been reduced to dire poverty, and in other towns large numbers are dying for lack of food and warmth. There is no typhus here, but there is danger of it if the Germans do not improve their methods of sanitation, which are far more careless than

those of the Serbs and Bulgars ever were. Some of our Austrian bolnitchars have gone home. They have to walk some thirty or forty miles between railroads. We have Serb prisoners now in their places at the hospital. The Austrians are extremely kind to the Serbs, teaching them with great consideration and patience. We find all the Austrians except the German and Magyar element very courteous, and have nothing but admiration and friendship for them. It is my conviction that they don't love the 'Iron Heel' any more than the Bulgarians.

It is remarkable that almost every day since I have been in Serbia I have met a new man who has been in America. They all curse the day they left our land. Such encounters demonstrate how close a connection America has with this war, after all.

Now that war is over in Serbia (or Bulgaria, rather), our life has returned to its normal routine. We have a cosy common-room, where, when off duty,

we gather for bridge or a little music on a tinny piano. The men of the hospital are charming, but of course the striking personality of our group is Lady Paget. From dawn till long after dark each day she works indefatigably. and keeps brave and cheerful even though she has no news of her husband, who fled through Albania and Montenegro. Her mind, her spirit, and her moral force are an inspiration to all of us. Last year she saved the lives of hundreds of Serbians and Austrians; this year, of thousands, and the lives of her staff as well.

We feel that all hope for poor little Serbia is gone. Such a friendly, beautiful land, with its child-like people! Why should so unassuming a little nation be wantonly destroyed? It is tragic beyond words. But with all the sorrow, hardship, and disappointment we have seen and lived through, this service in Lady Paget's hospital unit will always remain a wonderful, supreme experience to us all.

THE CONTRIBUTORS' CLUB

WHEN YOU BREAK YOUR NECK

ONE day the chauffeur drove the motor violently over a thank-youma'am, and hurled me against the top of the car. It was a very hard top. Something snapped.

'You've broken my neck,' I remarked indignantly to the chauffeur. He regarded it as a figure of speech, and apologized perfunctorily.

I could n't get anybody to take the slightest interest. As soon as I finished telling the sad tale to any friend or

relative, my confidant instantly forgot it. Every time I tried to drink a glass of water, and found I could n't bend my head back, I called public attention to the fact, but the public remained cold.

I was anxious to exploit my curious sensations.

'Something grates in my neck when I chew my food,' I explained.

But though the fact was thrilling to me, it seemed to lack the punch. I could n't reach my audience.

I had a facial massage and the mas

seuse ran her little vacuum cup over the back of my neck. I squirmed. She did it several times.

'You don't seem to like it,' she remarked politely.

I did n't. I felt as if my neck were a bag of loose bones vigorously shaken. When I told my relatives, they said I had probably caught cold.

Whether this lack of appreciation galled me, or for other reasons, I became irritable.

Mother thought I needed more outdoor exercise. If I did walk five miles some days, I did n't do it every day. Once in her early youth she had walked five miles before breakfast, and thereby established a permanent supremacy. Exercise was the thing.

An aunt said doubtless I ate food that disagreed with me.

The attitude of my friends was exemplified by a woman who wanted me to join a dancing-class. I objected that the doctor advised me not to foxtrot.

'Darling, don't you think you're a bit of a hypochondriac?' she remonstrated.

I concluded that I was, and learned to fox-trot.

In time I established a modus vivendi under the terms of which I slept on a down pillow, and bought only Paris hats, because they are light in weight, and never did anything fatiguing I did n't want to.

And nothing further would ever have been done. But the great physician came to visit me, like the King of Spain's daughter in the song.

Of course he, like the rest, discovered that I was a cross-patch. By this time I had left off trying to interest an indifferent world in my unnatural neck. But he began to inquire. Grateful, I poured a garrulous tale in his ear.

He listened. Then with feathers and ice and other incongruous apparatus

he investigated my sensory nerves. I felt like the patient in the Hunting of the Snark:

They roused him with muffins they roused him with ice

They roused him with mustard and cress They roused him with jam and judicious advice

They set him conundrums to guess.

All my deceitful nerves scrambled to work, and put up a good front, reacted perfectly. I could see the great physician did n't think I knew what I was talking about. 'Hypochondriac!' I perceived him endorsing the hated label to my name. I was dreadfully ashamed.

I apologized for my visions. He was non-committal, and advised violet

rays.

So for a year, whenever I happened to think of it, I had violet rays. They are like soda-water in your spine, and decidedly pleasant.

After a year, the great physician reappeared. And again he declared me irritable. This I can hardly believe, because if anybody in this world is altogether dear and ingratiating with his friends, it is the great physician. I should have said that my delight at seeing him, combined with my best company manners, must have made me absolutely sugary.

But it seemed he was alarmed at my temper. And he renewed an old suggestion of a skiagraph.

One difference between a great physician and an ordinary one is that what he makes up his mind to inevitably takes place. The apathetic relatives were transformed. They gave me no peace. They drew fair pictures of a Röntgenologist restoring me to a state half-way between Jess Willard and Helen of Troy. The great physician made inexorable plans, and I was ordered to New York. With studied bravado I left the fatal chauffeur at

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