Wounded and Waiting
The order came to retire to a neighbouring haystack. How the bullets flew about! Up I jumped, and up the slope I ran. I soon reduced the distance. Another 100 yards to safety—80, 60, 40, 30, 15 yards. Oh, my left knee! I dropped down flat, with my right arm underneath my body, and my left hand feeling if my leg was still on. An officer ran by shouting out, “Wounded, lie still.” I was laid on my chest, and I could see them coming, 200 yards behind me. They did not put their rifles to their shoulders, but fired from the hips. Bullets were spitting in the ground around me. “Should I ever get out of this?” I thought. Something seemed to say to me, “Keep still, and you will be all right.” On the Germans came to within 100 yards of me, then 50 yards, then 20 yards, then 10 yards, and there they halted. They were on the slope leading to the stack, and after a short conversation two of them came in my direction. “Now for it,” I said to myself. But no, they passed me and went to the top of the hill. My arm beneath my body was paralysed, and I could feel the blood running from my wound. Now and again I could hear one of them shout out, “Hoch, Kaiser!” and I said to myself, “Hurrah for the King!” Then I saw them fall in, and about to turn. Thank God! off they went: Pte. Wood, Coldstream Guards.
[VIII. HOW IT FEELS UNDER FIRE]
Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty’s in every blow!
Let us do or die!
Robert Burns: “Scots Wha Hae.”
And man, whose heav’n-erected face
The smiles of love adorn,—
Mans inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands mourn!
Burns: “Man was made to Mourn.”
I must admit we were all a bit shaky until we got properly stuck into it, and then you feel in your glory. You forget all fear, everybody full of excitement. You hardly think of your funeral: Gunner J. Robinson, Royal Field Artillery.