"I got a dose of shrapnel, matey," he said. "One bullet caught me in the heel, another in the shoulder."
"Has anybody dressed the wounds?" I asked.
"Aye, aye," he answered. "Somebody did, then went off and left me here."
"Do you think you could grip me tightly round the shoulders if I put you on my back?" I said. "I'll try and carry you in."
"We'll give it a trial," said the man in a glad voice, and I flung the jar aside and hoisted him on my back.
Already I was worn out with having had no sleep for two nights, and the man on my back was heavy. For awhile I tried to walk upright, but gradually my head came nearer the ground.
"I can't go any further," I said at last, coming to a bank on the roadside and resting my burden. "I feel played out. I'll see if I can get any help. There's a party of men working over there. I'll try and get a few to assist me."
The man lay back on the grass and did not answer. Probably he had lost consciousness.
A Scotch regiment was at work in the field, digging trenches; I approached an officer, a dark, low set man with a heavy black moustache.
"Could you give me some men to assist me to carry in wounded?" I asked. "On each side of the road there are dozens——"