The poor fellow was (p. 206)
in great agony. The broken bones were touching one another at every
move. Now and again he spoke and his question was always the same:
"Are we near the dressing station yet?"
That night I slept in the trench, slept heavily. I put my equipment
under me, that kept the damp away from my bones. In the morning Stoner
told an amusing story. During the night he wanted to see Bill, but did
not know where the Cockney slept.
"Where's Bill?" he said.
"Bill," I replied, speaking though asleep.
"Bill, yes," said Stoner.
"Bill," I muttered turning on my side, seeking a more comfortable
position.
"Do you know where Bill is?" shouted Stoner.
"Bill!" I repeated again.
"Yes, Bill!" he said, "Bill. B-i-double l, Bill. Where is here?"
"He's here," I said getting to my feet and holding out my water
bottle. "In here." And I pulled out the cork.
I was twitted about this all day. I remembered nothing of the incident
of the water bottle although in some vague way I recollected (p. 207)
Stoner asking me about Bill.
On the following day I had a chance of visiting the scene of the
conflict. All the wounded were now carried away, only the dead
remained, as yet unburied.
The men were busy in the trench which lay on the summit of a slope;
the ground dipped in the front and rear. The field I came across was
practically "dead ground" as far as rifle fire was concerned. Only one
place, the wire front of the original German trench, was dangerous.
Pages:
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153