but in the midst of danger promptly resumed
her work. The people of Orleans were enraged
at the Germans, and the mayor of the city,
realizing the danger to "the little Madam," as
she was often called, gave her his protection.
He acconipanietl her to the hospital every
morning at six o'clock, and, when her duties
for the day were finisheil, at nine in the evening,
he called at the hospital and accompanied her
to his home. These duties were continued for
more than a month, and then the fifteen men
who survived (one of the wounded having died)
started on their way to Berlin, in charge of
the Madam, by order of the military authorities. They were obliged to halt in secluded
places for fear of angry mobs.
An interesting sketch of this journey was given in the Boston Globe, from which the fol- lowing is taken: "It was a strange procession that moved through the streets of Vendome. First came three dump carts, each carrying a n an who had undergone an operation the day before, ami who lay on the straw groaning with every motion. Behind was a diligence, on the floor of which sat a little American woman, surrounded by twelve badly wounded men, three of whom rested their weary heads in her lap.
"It was bitterly cold, and the men were clothed only in their undergarments, with one blanket each. The}^ shivered and whined with the cold. Twice during the day they sto])ped, while their wounds were dressed and refresh- ments were distributed. In the late afternoon they came to a railway station, only to find that the expected ambulance would not arrive until the next day. With great difficulty Madam had her men carried to a half-ruined castle. There they spent the night in the old barracks, which were deserted and forlorn. The rats ran across the bare floors, gusts of wind swept through the lonely corridors. No doors shut out the cold, these having been used for fuel long before.
"First one sufferer and then another cried out with pain and terror. In the midst of it all the little American woman was calm and unterrified. She remained awake the whole night through, comforting her charges. During the next forenoon a messenger came from the station to announce that the ambulance had arrived. The sick soldiers were carried to the train and placed in an empty baggage car, and she was about to follow, when the station agent pulletl her by the arm, saying 'There is no req- uisition for you. The requisition is for a surgeon.' The little Madam drew herself to her full height of five feet, and answering, 'I am a surgeon,' she seized the paper, and signed it in a bold, masculine hand, 'Von Olnhausen.' Then, before any one could interfere, she was in the car.
"The ride to Orleans was a long, cold one. Rain was falling. It dripped through the roof, and she took off her skirt to cover one of the men. When they reached Orleans, the men were removed to a convent. On the way the mobs in the streets kicked mud at them, and even the women howled and swore at them. The sisters of the convent refused to give Madam either food or lodging. The sick men collected a thaler (seventy-five cents), and with this the brave little woman secured a bed at an inn. She was put in a chamber over the bar-room, was kept awake all night by the noise from below, where men howled and sang and cursed the Germans. She ])ulled the bureau and chairs against the door, and spent a night of torture. But her seventy-five cents was not enough for food, and, when she returned at daylight to the convent, the sisters still refused her even a mnvithfiil. She had eaten nothing since noon of the previous day.
"Another nerve-trying trip was made back to the station-house, the mob growing so furi- ous that the little band was hurried into the baggage-room to be out of tlanger. No train was in sight, and the sick men, exhausted by their long journey and discouraged by the delay, cried like children. Little Madam, hungry an(l dishcarteneil as she was, cheered them with war songs and told her most thrilling stories. At noon she went out and demanded footl of the inspector. He loaned her two tlialers, and with this she bought bread and sausages and coffee for the men, who ate and drank every bit, forgetting the twenty-four-hour fast of the stanch-hearted little woman to whose watchful care they owed their lives.
"At four in the afternoon two German offi-
