While the wounded were being removed, a couple of Prussian Poles, who were employed as ambulance-men, placed Malcolm on a stretcher, and threw a discarded greatcoat over his legs, not realizing that he was an enemy, since the remnants of his khaki uniform were indistinguishable from the field-grey after they had been "chromed" by the fumes of bursting shells. Otherwise it is doubtful whether the stretcher-bearers would have removed a wounded enemy. Without the discovery being made, the New Zealander was taken to the German advance dressing-station, and his injuries dressed, and thus he found himself wounded and a prisoner.
It was later in the evening when Malcolm was taken by motor-ambulance to a railway station twenty miles behind the lines. With him were about twenty Prussians, Saxons, and Würtemburgers, whose demeanour was one of extreme dejection. Their wounds, although serious, were not of a nature to debar them from further military service. They realized that they were going to be patched up in order to be again sent to the front, more than likely to the terrible Ypres district. Now that they were wounded they bemoaned the fact that their injuries were not greater, and envied those of their comrades who were permanently disabled and unfit for further service in the field.
"Wonder what Fortescue would say if he saw me in these togs?" thought Malcolm as he surveyed the German greatcoat and trousers with which he was provided on arriving at the station. "And Selwyn? 'Not too much of that, Digger'--that's what he'd chuck at me. I shouldn't be surprised if the Huns take me for one of themselves."
Which was exactly what they were doing.
For two hours the ever-increasing throng of wounded waited in the station. Momentarily men dropped, to be left to the rough-and-ready attentions of their comrades. The few doctors and their assistants, utterly fatigued by reason of the long and continual strain, were almost useless as far as their duties were concerned. Once again the German machine of thoroughness and precision had broken down.
At last a hospital train drew up just outside the station. To Malcolm's surprise the Red Cross carriages disgorged a battalion of fully-equipped troops. Fearing attacks from British airmen, the German High Command had given orders that, as far as possible, troops were to be moved toward the Front in hospital trains, while, to bring up additional machine-guns with the least danger and delay, the motor-ambulances, still displaying the symbol that all unkultured nations respect, were employed to their utmost capacity.
The train then ran into the station, and the entrainment of the wounded commenced. Beyond the red cross on the sides and tops of the carriages there was nothing to distinguish the train from any other. Marshalled in military formation, the "walking cases" boarded the carriages, which were similar to the fourth-class compartments of the German State Railways--hard wooden seats not excepted.
Of the next twelve hours Malcolm had no clear recollection. Frequent stoppages were the only respite to the otherwise incessant jolting. At one station very inferior bread and watery soup were served out. Beyond that the wretched "cannon-fodder" went hungry until the train drew up at a large town that Malcolm afterwards knew to be Frankfort.
Here the conditions in hospital were passable, although food was poor and meagre; but Rifleman Carr made progress, and in less than a week he had recovered from the effect of his wounds except for his speech and hearing.
Several times doctors and nurses wrote questions for him to answer, but, not understanding German, he could only shake his head. Taken for a Saxon suffering from shell-shock, he was afterwards left severely alone as far as conversation was concerned.