[VI.]
We have had a few days very hard fighting. It was shocking. War may be a necessary occupation, but it is scarcely a respectable one. A gentleman ought to be gentle, above all. When I enlisted I thought there would be much sport. There is very little. I also thought that it would be soothing for my sorrow. But I am still mortified, though you probably do not believe me when I assert it. And I have the feeling that after the war everything will be changed and that there will be quite another world, yet that it will not be any better. Still, I am one sheep in a herd, and I have to do as the other sheep do, namely, follow the lead of our bellwethers, although I am sure that sheep are not born murderers.
And least we ought to have waited for Sergeant Young's recovery. He cheers us up. He believes in it. And he fights for something: for his commission. We have felt very lonely without him. Fancy, feeling lonely in a battle.
So, having a few days' rest and having been ordered to the rear, a couple of miles or so from the firing line, we decide, three of us, Cotton, Pringle, and I, to call upon Charles Young. Right we were to do so, for he is as stimulating as a pick-me-up.
"Hallo!" he cries, as soon as he sees us, and his bandage all over the nose gives him an American accent, "that's nice of you two to call."
"Two?" asks Cotton astonished, and tries to count the three of us. "I think we are more."
"What's the use of thinking?" replies the Sergeant, "thinking is the drawback of all learned men. You are two."
"We are three."
"In theory perhaps. But your theory fights in vain against facts. I'm as sure that you are two, as I am sure of getting my commission."