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MG 1 Vol 2124 number 204

- My Return to the Hospital. -

I wish I could describe the scene at the Hospital adequately. The ground in front was jammed with autos, waggons [sic], and every conveyance capable off carrying a sufferer. The hallways and office, and every bit of floor space in the hospital were littered with human beings suffering with all degrees and manners of wounds and injuries. The wards, already well filled with the regular patients, seemed to take on almost magical expansion to make room for broken and dying men, women and children.

Dr. Puttner, who was acting superintendent, turned no one away. He pressed every available nook in the big building into the service, and his big-heartedness and good judgment never stood him in the better stead than during the trying hours of that fatal Thursday. Besides those brought in on stretchers, was an army of walking victims seeking some kind of first aid. Many of them turned away on seeing the human wreckage around them, unwilling to take the time and services of doctors and nurses from those whose needs were greater than their own. Notwithstanding the crowding together of the wounded, they gave little evidence of the suffering they endured. There was little groaning or complaining, and apart from the occasional crying of the wounded babies and little vhildren [sic], an almost uncanny quiet pervaded the wards and available spaces of the hospital. Nor among the friends and relatives of the stricken ones, who searched hither and thither among the human bundles for some loved one, was there any evidence of anguish or hysteria such as might be popularly supposed to obtain under such conditions. There were pale faces enough, but their eyes were dry. There were no tears. Like Donalbain after the murder of Duncan, their "tears were not yet brewed". The suddeness [sic] and horror of the disaster was too great to find expression in that way; the shock to the nerve centres induced a form of anaesthesia, a certain callousness, which I believe to be a common enough condition when a human organism is acted upon by the grimmest of all the stern realities of life. It is when the stunning effect has passed off that reflection reaches the fountains of grief, and I fear there are tears enough in poor, old, unhappy Halifax today.

This, in a very imperfect way, is a pitture [sic] of what confronted the surgical staff of the Hospital that morning; and we had more troubles. Dr. Chisholm, our senior surgeon, was severely wounded and was now in the hospital bedridden and completely incapacitated. This was a serious blow. We needed him badly, not only for his active participation in the work, but for his sound surgical judgment and advice in a crisis such as had never before fallen to the lot of the Victoria General.

signed below:

George H. Murphy MD
28 Carlton St.
Feb 8/18