On the fourth day, during the lull in the infantry fighting, the door of the field ambulance was suddenly darkened by the figure of a man. He staggered in. His eyes were bloodshot. His clothes were torn and covered with mud, his chin had not been shaved for days and his appearance betokened utter weariness and exhaustion.
Jack Wellcombe met him at the door and, in spite of his unkempt and wild appearance, recognised him at once as the Commanding Officer of a Canadian battalion.
"Good morning, sir," he said in his usual cheery manner.
The colonel looked toward him with glazed, unseeing eyes and without a sign of recognition.
"I want four coffins," he muttered, ignoring Jack's greeting.
"You want what, sir?" Jack exclaimed, with a puzzled look.
"Four coffins," he repeated with mechanical firmness and in a tone of command, "and I want them at once!"
"Come in, sir, and sit down," Jack urged. "You're unnerved from this wild fight and lack of sleep. You need a rest—not a coffin."
"I know what I want," he repeated with calm insistence, "and it's four coffins—to bury four of my officers."
Jack thought the man's reason had gone as a result of the terrific strain, but decided to humour him.