As for me I find it absolutely impossible to tell you what I did. You know that feeling: When you wake up in the morning you remember sometimes that you have been dreaming, but cannot recall the slightest detail. It even happens that while asleep you intend to remember a certain detail of your dream; yet, in the morning it is clean forgotten.
I cannot say how long I remained in that fight, two, four, six hours, or more perhaps. The only thing I recollect is a feeling of infinite comfort when I woke up, and how it gave way instantly to an unbearable agony in my right foot. I was lying in a bed, and the bed was in a large tent with many others. Dazed as I was, I realized that I must have been wounded, but I felt too tired to think, or even to keep my eyes open.
A soft hand stroked my brow lightly and a gentle voice said a few words. I opened my eyes again. A nurse was standing there, with two surgeons. They uncovered me and undid the bandage which was hiding my foot. Then one of the men said to me:
"You are a courageous man. You will not be afraid of a little operation?"
"It can't hurt more than it does now.'
"It won't hurt at all."
"Then go ahead, sir, what is it?"
"Nothing much. We think, my friend and I, that you have one foot too many."
I reflected one moment. This was rather unpleasant. But what could I do but put a cheerful face on an ugly matter? So I said:
"Right you are, but don't make a mistake."