"Can't spare any men," said the officer. "Haven't enough for the work here."
"Many of your own countrymen are out there," I said.
"Can't help it," said the man. "We all have plenty of work here."
I glanced at the man's shoulder and saw that he belonged to "The Lone Star Crush"; he was a second-lieutenant. Second-lieutenants fight well, but lack initiative.
A captain was directing work near at hand, and I went up to him.
"I'm a stretcher-bearer," I said. "The fields round here are crowded with wounded who have been lying out for ever so long. I should like to take them into the dressing-station. Could you give me some men to help me?"
"Do you come from the Highlands?" asked the captain.
"No, I come from Ireland," I said.
"Oh!" said the officer; then inquired: "How many men do you want?"