Sticking to Him
I saw an awful sight: a man of the Royal Irish with six wounds from shrapnel. He called me for water, but I had none. I managed to carry him about half a mile and found water: then he was as happy as if he was not wounded. I stuck to him although he was heavy, and I was feeling weak and tired. I had to carry him across a big field of turnips; when half way I slipped, and we both fell. I then had a look back, and could see the fire mountains high. “Thank God!” I said to him, “we are out of that; it’s worse than bullets”: Private G. Kay, at Mons.