"No, it's only the shadow of it, the aftermath. There are no groans here, no suffering. It's peace, but it's the peace of horrible, unnatural death. We shall see real war presently."
"Come, let's get away. It's sickening."
"The Prime Minister was right. It's hell let loose. All the same, I'm aching to be at it. I never hated it as I hated it now. God helping us, this shall be Europe's last war."
They slowly returned towards the railway siding when in the distance they saw the train standing still.
"Look," said Pringle, "there's been a fire here. It looks as though they had a meal. Here's an empty wine bottle, and a crust of bread."
"Yes, and here's a pipe half full of tobacco. It might have been thrown down in a hurry, as though some chap were having a quiet smoke, and was suddenly called to duty. Look, it's an English-made pipe. It must have belonged to one of our men. I wonder where he is now. I'll take it as a souvenir."
As they drew near to the siding they heard the soldiers singing lustily:
"It's a long way to Tipperary."
Both of them were strangely silent as the train crawled slowly towards its destination. Their visit to one little corner of the stricken field had made them realise the meaning of war as they had never realised it before. Before the afternoon was over their eyes were still more widely opened by a passing train to the meaning of the work that lay before them.
It was going slowly, more slowly than their own, and Bob saw that it was full of wounded soldiers. How many there were he could not estimate, but it seemed to him that there must be hundreds. Some were laughing and talking cheerfully, while others lay with their eyes closed. More than one brave fellow held a wounded comrade's head on his knees.