Here is a fine story of a young soldier of the King's Own Scottish Borderers. While trying to cross two planks over a canal that was being peppered with machine-gun fire, the youngster received a flesh wound, and was about to fall. Colonel Stephenson gripped him to save him from falling into the canal, and said, "You had better go back to the hospital, sonny." So he did; but scarcely had he reached the hospital when the Germans began shelling it, and he and the other patients had to beat a quick retreat. Some time later he was on sentry go by a wayside shrine, and was waiting for the reliefs to come round, when he saw Germans in the distance. He fired at them once or twice—"for luck," as he said—but almost immediately received another wound in the body. This time it was so serious that he had to be sent home.
Colonel Stephenson, who is mentioned in this story, was the hero of another life-saving episode. During the fighting at Le Cateau one of the captains of his regiment fell in front of the British trenches. Without a moment's hesitation the colonel rushed out to carry in the captain, and in doing so exposed himself to a fierce fire. As he entered the lines with his unconscious burden the men gave him a rousing cheer. Later in the day he was hit, and was assisted into an ambulance wagon; but shortly afterwards he came out of it, in order, as he said, to make room for men who were worse wounded than himself. Almost immediately afterwards the retreat was continued, and the colonel was picked up and made prisoner by the Germans.
There was scarcely an hour during the whole retreat which was not marked by some noble deed of self-sacrifice. A private of the 1st Cheshires tells us admiringly of the great pluck of a wounded lieutenant of the A Company. "I only know his nickname, which was 'Winkepop.' He had been shot through his right leg and left foot, and we cut off his boots and attempted roughly to bandage his wounds. As he rose to his feet, he saw one of our privates in distress about fifteen yards away, and seizing his gun, he rushed or hobbled forward to bring him in, which he managed to do on his back, under a murderous fire from the enemy. Having dropped his rifle and sword in this courageous act, he made his way back for them, and we missed him after that, and indeed he has not been seen since."
In an earlier chapter we read of the splendid spirit of comradeship shown by officers to men and men to officers in the British army. A good instance is afforded by the letter of a private of the Yorkshire Light Infantry, who thus writes to General Wynn telling him of the death of his son, Lieutenant Wynn: "I have been asked by friends of ours to let you know fuller particulars of your son's death. He was my platoon officer, and he met his death at Landrecies. Sir, these are a few of the instances which made your son liked by all his men. He was a gentleman and a soldier. The last day he was alive we had got a cup of tea in the trenches, and we asked him if he would have a drink. He said, 'No; drink it yourselves.' And then, with a smile, he added, 'We have to hold the trenches to-day.' Again, at Mons we had been fighting all day, and some one had brought us a sack of pears and two loaves of bread. Lieutenant Wynn accepted only one pear and a very little bread. We noticed this. I had a small bottle of pickles in my haversack, and asked him to have some. But it was the usual answer, 'You require them yourselves.' Our regiment was holding the first line of trenches, and Lieutenant Wynn was told to hold the right of the company. Word was passed down to see if Lieutenant Wynn was all right, and I was just putting up my head when they hit me, and I heard from a neighbour that Lieutenant Wynn was hit through the eye and died instantly. He died doing his duty, and like the officer and gentleman he was."
