A Lancashire boy, undersized, anæmic-looking, his clothes hanging round him in strips, got hold of me one morning outside the dressing-station and told me in a high-pitched voice a most amazing story. It was the best battle story I ever heard from the lips of a soldier, and the boy who told it to me was hysterical. He had been buried twice, he and his officer and his Lewis gun, in the course of an advance. He had met the Prussian Guard in the open, he and his comrades, and the famous crack corps had “certainly run some.” That was not the boy’s phrase. When he reached the climax of his tale his language was a rich mixture of blasphemy and obscenity.
There was a Munster Fusilier, an elderly, grizzled man who had been sent back with some German prisoners. He had, by his own account, quite a flock of them when he started. He found himself, owing to shrapnel and other troubles, with only one left when he drew near his destination.
But he was a provident man. He had collected all available loot from the men who had fallen on the way down, and the unfortunate survivor was so laden that he collapsed, sank into the mud under an immense load of helmets, caps, belts, everything that could have been taken from the dead. The Munster Fusilier stood over him with his rifle. “You misfortunate b——,” he said. “And them words,” he said to me confidentially, “got a move on him, though it was myself had to carry the load for him the rest of the way.”
CHAPTER XIV
A BACKWATER
I look back with great pleasure on my connection with the Emergency Stretcher-bearers’ Camp. It was one of three camps in which I worked when I went to B. I liked all three camps and every one in them, but I cherish a feeling of particular tenderness for the Stretcher-bearers.
Yet my first experience there was far from encouraging. The day after I took over from my predecessor I ventured into the men’s recreation room. I was received with silence, frosty and most discouraging. I made a few remarks about the weather. I commented on the stagnant condition of the war at the moment. The things I said were banal and foolish no doubt, yet I meant well and scarcely deserved the reply which came at last. A man who was playing billiards dropped the butt of his cue on the ground with a bang, surveyed me with a hostile stare and said: