"The effect of the rum, laddie!"
"Mr A—— was going strong too."
"What's happened to Mr. A——, do you know?"
"Don't know. I didn't see 'im after that."
"'E's all right. Saw him just now. Got a wound in the arm."
"Good. Isn't the sun fine here? Couldn't want a better morning for an attack, could you?"
The hut was filling rapidly, and the three stomach cases being quite hopeless were removed outside. A doctor brought in an officer of the K——'s. He was quite dazed, and sank full length on a bed, passing his hand across his face and moaning. He was not wounded, but had been blown up whilst engaged in cutting a communication trench across No Man's Land, they told me. It was not long, however, before he recovered his senses sufficiently enough to walk with help to an ambulance. A "padré" entered, supporting a young officer of the ——, a far worse case of shell shock, and laid him out on the bed. He had no control over himself, and was weeping hysterically.
"For God's sake don't let me go back, don't send me back!" he cried.
The "padré" tried to comfort him.
"You'll soon be in a nice hospital at the Base, old chap, or probably in England."