"
Thanks to modern science, the cases of tetanus are few in this war, but
there are many deaths from gangrene, because, with no truce for the
removal of the wounded, so many lie for days before receiving medical
aid. Abbe Klein tells of one Breton boy, as gentle a soul as his
sister--"my little Breton," he always calls him, affectionately--and
comments again and again upon the boy's patient courage amid sufferings
that could have but one end. The infection spread in spite of all that
science could do, and even amputation could not save him. At last he
ceased to live, "like a poor little bird," as his French attendant,
herself a mother with three boys in the army, said with tears.
Saddest of all are the bereaved wives and mothers. The reader will find
many of them in the good Chaplain's book, and they will bring the war
closer than anything else. Sometimes they stand mute under the blow,
looking on the dead face without a sound, and then dropping unconscious
to the floor. Sometimes they cry wild things to heaven. The Chaplain's
work in either case is not easy, and some of his most touching pages
depict such scenes.
There was a boy of twenty years, who was slowly but surely dying of
gangrene.
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