CHAPTER XV
roll-call after the fight
A Glorious Band of Wounded Heroes Stagger Into Line and Answer the Call—I Visit a Stricken Friend in a Dug-out—On the Way to La Boisselle I Get Lost in the Trenches—And Whilst Filming Unexpectedly Come Upon the German Line—I Have a Narrow Squeak of Being Crumped—But Get Away Safely—And later Commandeer a Couple of German Prisoners to Act as Porters.
The day wore on. The success of the fighting swayed first this way, then that. The casualties mounted higher and higher. Men were coming back into our trenches maimed and broken; they all had different tales to tell. I passed along talking to and cheering our wonderful men as much as I could. And the Germans, to add to this ghastly whirlpool of horror, threw shell after shell into the dressing station, killing and wounding afresh the gallant lads who had gone "over the top" that morning. They seemed to know of this place and played upon it with a gloating, fiendish glee worthy only of unspeakable savages.
As I was passing one group of wounded, I ran against my doctor friend of the night before.
"Busy day for you?" I said.
"My word, yes," he replied. "They are coming faster than I can attend to them. I am just off to see P——. He's caught it badly."
"Serious?" I asked.
"Yes, rather; in the back. He's in the dug-out."