“We have lost this time twenty-nine men, eleven of them killed, and with these three very brave and very gallant officers, among them our medical officer, a very great loss to this battalion. These men did their duty to the last. We loved them. We shall miss them, but to-day we are proud of them. Let us give three cheers for our gallant dead.”
With no joyous outburst, but with a note of fierce, strained determination, came the cheers. In spite of all he could do, Barry could not prevent a shudder as he heard the men about him cheering for those whom he had so recently seen lying, some of them sorely mutilated, in their grey blankets.
“Now, men,” concluded the O. C., “we must 'carry on.' You will have a couple of hours in which to clean up and have supper, and then we shall have to-night a cinema show, to which I hope you will all come, and which I hope you will all greatly enjoy.”
The colonel's little speeches, as a rule, elicited appreciative cheers, but this afternoon there was only a grave silence. After dismissal, the men went to their huts and were soon busy giving themselves a “high mark scrub” preliminary to the hot bath and “jungle hunt” in which they would indulge themselves to-morrow.
As Barry was moving off the parade ground, the junior major caught up to him, and took him by the arm and said:
“I have sent around my batman to your hut. He will look after you until I can pick out a man from the new draft. We all know how you feel about Hobbs, old man.”
“Thank you, major,” said Barry quietly. “I appreciate that.”
“You will be around to-night,” continued the major.
“No, I think not. I have a lot of things to do. All those letters to write.” Barry shuddered as he spoke. For nothing in all his ministerial experience was to him a more exhausting and heartbreaking task than the writing of these letters to the relatives and friends of his dead comrades.
“I think you had better come,” said the major earnestly. “I know the O. C. would like it, and the boys would like it too.”