How far did I carry him?
Well, it was calculated that the distance was three miles; but I never felt the weight. Yes, he was quite conscious and kept on moaning and saying, “Oh!” and telling me that if ever he got out of it he would remember me; but I said that he mustn’t talk such nonsense—for I wanted him to stop thanking me and to keep his spirits up.
I don’t know how long I was in getting him over the ground, for I had no idea of time.
Having put my man in safety I left the house and began to go back to the position, expecting to find some of the regiments to rejoin, but when I reached the firing line there were no regiments left. They had been forced to retire, and the ground was covered with the dead and wounded, as it was impossible to bring all the wounded away.
There was a road at this particular point, and on reaching the top of it I saw the Germans advancing, about 500 yards away. Between them and myself there was a field-gun, with the horses hooked in, ready to move off; but I saw that there was only a wounded trumpeter with it.
I rushed up to him and shouted, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m hurt,” he said. “The gun has to be got away; but there’s nobody left to take it.”
I looked all around, and saw that there were no English gunners left—there were only the Germans swarming up, 500 yards away and badly wanting to get at the gun.
There was not a second to lose. “Come on,” I said, and with that I hoisted the trumpeter into the saddle of the near wheel horse, and clambering myself into the saddle of the lead horse we got the gun going and made a dash up the hill.
There was only the one road, and this was so littered up and fenced about with wire entanglements