IN A MILITARY HOSPITAL IN TIME OF WAR.

Otago Witness, Issue 2401, 8 March 1900, Page 37

IN A MILITARY HOSPITAL IN TIME OF WAR.

AFTER COLENSO.

(By a Colonial Nxxrse.) )

(Written specially for the Otago Daily Times.j

For days previously we were oonvinced of! something in the airi Then there dawned a rnoming, when we stepped out of Dreamland to hear a voice crying outside the doora and windows : " All sisters to be on duty at 6 a.m. ; a train with 200 wounded expected in soon." Those who were fortunate enough to possess a spirit lamp .made "and shared the refreshing cup of tea, for a long day of .hard toil stretched on ahead, and a comfortable breakfast was not to be contemplated. . ' ; The dawn / gave signs of a melting day. ' The dew was already dry on the grass, and on the scarlet blossoms of the hibiscus, which 'had burst into flame since the fall of night. Beds were turned back, dressings placed in readiness, and the P.M.C. passed through the wards to see that a- palm leaf fan and a mug of iced water, etc., were at hand for every wounded man. Not until the sun' was at bis strongest, however, did the empty beds receive their occupants, for the train was delayed. ' But presently the train was signalled, and 130 streteher-bearera, . tvit-h i-'ie-^ed- cross qa their arm. trajpped ck-v-n cV h£i fr*m JFcvtf Napier to bring home t'-^o " «j;-, marbe, '" seriously," wounoVJ. 14 a littV vlii^ the first of the wounded, "lj*^.,? quifit bcieatli the brown blanket, niado 1 iis afp^iAnce, carried tenderly by his bearers. Over i)s» bandaged head someone had placed a damty lace-Drimmed parachute, for many women had gathered at the station with offerings of fresh milk, fruit, and such luxuries as may be desired by those dry and parched of mouth. .One brown blanket-covered stretcher, adorned here and there with another parasol in red, or cream, or shot silk, passes in succession, until all the stretcher cases have reached the separate wards, and then the red cross waggons, drawn by teams of mules, bring up^the rear, conveying the men whojiave luckily escaped a dangerous wound. All is done .'' decently and in order," so that one almost fails to realise the actual horror of war; for the bearers keep step carefully, and the army doctor salutes the sister as he enters the ward. And yet but yesterday these strong men, now helpless, went gaily down the slope to the edge of the Tugela River only to become targets for the Boers pafely hidden in the trenches, for there, was no cover fcjr the British soldier, and as many were lost in the advance as in the retreat. ' " Theirs not to reason why; theirs but to dt or die." Ah, yes, true, but that story is a story ot 'Crimean times, and no one blunders nowadays in giving orders in the field; at least, "hardly ever."

Comrades in arms look on with, interest, or feigned indifference, while/ the wounded are oarried into the wards. There is an occasional', "He's one of ours," or "There goes Jimmy Seery, saw him last at the Curragh,?' in a subdued voice. But the majority smoke their pipes placidly outside the door, and the black boy washing up the dishes appears to look upon men wounded in battle with an air of profound contempt, for he polishes a tin with ardour, never raising his eyes, though a sick man moans as he is lifted into bed. The "khaki" uniform is now in many instances truly a " coat of many colours," smok^-begrimed, mutf-sfcained, splashed, and streaked with human blood, torn or cut (sometimes to admit of a field , dressing) , and the putties, be they grass-tinted, dust-tinted, or brown, often are caked with clay. Bullets have dashed through the helmets and boots, and made havoc of " canteens," while one has feportcd mischievously with a button and a badge. The work of re-dressing, the wounds, and of examination, proceeds apace in an atmosphero, which, like the furnace, appears to have been heated seven times for this occasion. Many^are marked down for the X-rays, a scientific feature in the surgery of the war, for the bullet frequently cannot be traced. Here and there patches of sunburn, of blisters on legs, arms, and exposed parts of the body tell their own tale. " I was shot about 8 o'clock in the morning," says an Inniskilling, " and I was brought in off the field about 3; that accounts for the blisters, .sister ; but I ani all right now, after that drink ; the thirst was worse than anything. Pain? No, I just felt my leg go under me." The Mauser bullet makes an iunocent-look» ing hole. The egress and exit may be perfectly harmless or extremely; dangerous. It all depends upon the- sitaatioh. Here is a soldier riddled by bullets. They have left their traces above and below both khee3, above and below the elbows, in the hand, on the shoulder — yet the man is safe. Only the fleshy parts are injured; no artery is severed, no vital part touched. " Sure, sister, I'm a dead cerLainty for Home after this," Private Seery remarks when the dressings are on, " and Mrs Seery' s bonnet will be standing on three hairs of her head when she meets me at the quay." Thank God we are able to smile a glad Response, for Mrs Seery will in all probability meet Private Seery on the quay shortly, and listen with smiles and tears to his tale of how the Irish Brigade behaved at Colenso; how the Inniskillings smoked their pipes in the retreat; and how the "Dubs" actually cried in their rage when the order to' retire was given, for " we could 'a taken them trenches right enough if we had been let ; we were set on it," says a Dub, who was not born in Ireland. But when the meeting takes place, th< 16 wounds on Private Seery will be represented by tiny scars alone, and some of their, will be almosts, imperceptible, 'even to the lov ing eyes of the woman with " the bonne! standing on three haiva " for joy. *, * The position — the situation— is everything, when a bullet wound is in question. .Private Dunbar has just one bullet hole, as innocent looking as any of the others; but in this instance it spells death, for the lead in .its course has bruised the spinal cord. Private Dunbar has little w.'n (few suffer much in his condition), and speaks quite hopeful}-* of the future. " I'll be all right," he saye : "when I get back the feeling in my" legs." Alas I the" feeling will never return. - Yesterday he was a young "man rejoicing in his strength; to-day he is as helpless as a baby, and a week or two hence the name ff Private Dunbar will appear under the heac.ing of " Died from wounds." A poor fellow wearing tho badge of the Connaught Rangers leans his bandaged head on his hand and gazes mournfully around. His ear has been torn by a piece of shell, a»d ttap

jessing lias" "become dry and hard. "It is ■" Just throb, throb, inside -and out," he sighs, " Svhen questioned* We try to cheer Mm. ' i' Now, Daly, the pain will soon be easier, "and you can look forward to the time when you will be telling the friends and the neighbours in Ireland how you killed 10 Boers with your own right hand." But Daly shakes his poor bandaged head and fepeaks softly, "Troth, if I told them that Sn Mayo they would be after killing me. 'Twas my own brother-in-law siz to me before I left, 'And you call yourself an Irishman,' and I sez to him, ' I took the oath |0 years ago, and what would you have me to do? Would you see me shot like a dog?' " ffhen one' replaces the bandage tenderly, thinking meanwhile of the strange incomprehensibleness of the Irish character, of the Jpoor cabin in the background in Mayo, of the oath of . allegiance,- of the dark, sad bages of Irish history, of the bravery shown Yesterday, when, the Dublin Fusiliers and iilnniskillings fumed and raged because they "Vere forbidden to throw themselves upon 'the Boer trenches, of . But this is a time /to be "up and doing," and there is a 'ghastly wound requiring attention on the Dther side of the Connaught Ranger. One of the worst casualties is a young fellow of 19, shot in a peculiar way through the mouth, the bullet coming out at the back of the - neck. There has been excessive • hemorrhage, and he lies as white, nay whiter, jkhan the sheet on the rough bed. He is considered an interesting case, and a big London Burgeon comes in to suggest certain treatment, for there is hope that with careful /[nursing he may pull through. But so far as the war is concerned, he has fought his first »nd last fight, for never' again will he be pronounced " fit " / or "the front. There is .a curly head to be trephined in search of ±he treacherous bullet, and several legs rectuire" the aid of splints ; but the majority •tof the wounds are in the flethy parts of "the limbs. It is quite easy now to understand vthe expression, " A storm of lead." The injuries fr,om shell and pieces of shrap1 nel present an uglier appearance ; they are ragged and jagged, and take longer to heal. And there are wounds from shell so dread-

ful that the victim is never under the necessity of being brought into hospital, but is buried where he falls, for " blown to atoms " is not figurative language when a shell and a man come into close contact. But, looking round, it is comforting to know that the greater number of the injured men will do well. The little wounds will look after themselves, and the big one's do credit to" a temporary ward, where dressing trays arc limited, and a discarded packing-case does duty fcr a surgical cupboard. The pile of gauze, of wool, and bandages is growing less, and outside the door rises a pile of mutilated 'khaki uniforms. A twisted canteen and pierced belt tells the story of narrow escapes from sudden death. The intense heat of on African summer's day has , now yielded to a gentle evening breeze. Some of the men, refreshed, soothed, have fallen .aileep. Upon the faces of those awake, who are not in any great pain, reEts an expression

cf disappointment, of discontent, for the sense -'■of bitter defeat is still fresh. The story of

one is the story of 50. An advance in the -early dawn to the banks of the Tugela, to •■within 800 yds of the Boer trenches; a mur..derous fire from the hidden enemy, a futile

attempt to return the fire with like results, • and theii either the decimation of the rogi-

ments or retreat,

" There was not as much

•as a wee bush for cover/ says a soldier with 'his arm in a-sling. "The Boers could see us quite plain, while, we never got sight of them, "'so we had no show.' 1 And that is the common version of the battle of the Tugela. The Boer is no longer " uncivilised." "He is slim; " "he is drilled by foreign officers; " " he makes gocd use of the country's natural defences; " "he is clever in some ways; " . and "he can shoot." These are some of the reasons given for his continued presence in South Africa, when he should have allowed himself to be wiped out -long ago, fo* each Tommy Atkins who has been to " the front " ' now recognises the truth that the Boer forces ■want a " lot of beating." But Tommy has

little heart for talk to ; iiight, and seeks con- ' solation, if able, in his pipe. Was there 110 incident to lighten the gloom of yesterday, . when a white man, in. whose ears were ring-

• ing the cries of offers of assistance from north, south, east, and west of the Empire, and a "white man fighting with his back to the wa l !, took deadly aim at each other in the grey dawn? Yes; there was, only the world cannot pause to listen to such simple stories, for fits -ears are deaf to all sounds but the sound of fife and drum and the ncise of trampling feet. "It was terribly hot lyim< out on the field, and I was one of the first lo fall, for I • was shot, early/ says a soldier, wounded in thigh. '" I had my water-liag taken by a Boer, .. and I suffered dreadfully from thirst: bi.it another Boer came along afterwards, and he gave me a drink of water, with a big share of a, flask of .brandy, in it. He seemed a very 'decent sort of chap. ' Picture thi3 scene, be-

;tween friend and foe, whilst" the slain of both « sides lay sleeping- their last sleen not many yards away.

The day draws to a close. The last drink is given, the last dressing applied, and the orderlies come on duty for the nie.ht. Weary and footsore I stumble down the winding path, whose landmarks are white-washed stone, instead of lamps, to the quarters, and supper. As a sad memento of the war - 1 carry with me a Mauser bullet, and a piece ef shell, for_ as the giver says, with tears in his eyes, " My poor wife will never want to look at the bullet that hurt me." And beinga woman, I feel that I want to cry, for it does not fall to my lot to see the " glory of war "—" — it i 6 mine only to look upon the maimed limbs, the ghastly wouncia, the suffering, the sad deaths, the after-results of an engagement, be it a victory or a defeat.

And, being a woman, I feel that I want to cry, too, for the Dutch women, on the lonely farm on the veldt, whose grey-haire"d husband and youngest son, scarce strong enough to fire the rifle, died together in the trenches yesterday morning. ■ For Rachel is weeping for her children on "both sides of the 3ea."