From the dressing station I was taken to a field hospital, about fifteen kilometers to the rear, and there placed in a ward in a tent. The purpose of the field hospital is to treat soldiers who are too severely wounded to be taken to base hospitals. My wound was again examined, cleaned and dressed and again the terrible swab went its depth. About 4 o'clock that afternoon I was loaded into another stretcher on an ambulance and taken to Base Hospital 51 at Toul. The distance from the field hospital to Toul was about twenty-five kilometers and we did not reach there until about 9 o'clock that night. The trip was a rough one, and I suffered greatly. I positively believe my recovery would have been much faster, had I not been transferred so hastily to this hospital. I was placed in a ward in a large hospital built of stone. In this hospital the wounded men were classified in accordance with the nature of their wounds. I was not long in this hospital when a nurse took charge of me, and again, I received that awful swab. Each time it seemed worse than before and how I dreaded the time when it was to be given again! But much to my surprise and pleasure, my treatment was changed at this hospital. My chest and throat were massaged by the nurse with an oil that brought me immediate relief. This nurse continued this treatment several times a day and night and I began to feel a little better. All this time, however, I was unable to utter a word, and I began to wonder whether or not my speech was permanently injured. In my predicament, however, I soon learned the sign language. It is remarkable how well a man can make himself understood merely by the use of his hands. I had no trouble at all in making my wants known. I was in the base hospital at Toul for fourteen days and all of that time I coughed up great chunks of solid matter and mouthfuls of blood, as the result of the burning that I had received. After the seventh day, the nurse stopped the use of the swab, much to my delight, but continued the more appreciated massage. On the morning of my fifteenth day at this hospital, I was able to make my wants known by a faint whisper, and on that day I was transferred to another hospital. I was placed in a motor car and taken to the railroad station, about half a mile distant and there loaded on to a French hospital train, our destination being Tours. Before the train pulled out of the station, American Red Cross workers, always in evidence in every city in France, came and made us as comfortable as possible. They gave us coffee and doughnuts, hot chocolate and cigarettes, and their kindness was greatly appreciated by all the wounded on that train.