BROKEN IN BATTLE.

Waikato Times, Volume 87, Issue 13245, 29 July 1916, Page 3 (Supplement)

BROKEN IN BATTLE.

THE TOLL OF VERDUN

The road is like one of those rolling carpets which amused country cousins so much in the big shops till the escalators in tube stations made yesterday's marvel quite an ordinary London sight. For the road is, shell holes and all, a moving grey carpet of motor wagons carrying munitions. The whole road seems to roll on and roll on towards Verdun. But every now and thou the traffic narrows, and room is made l'or other cars passing in the oilier direction —hospital cars carrying wounded to the rear.

And in the field hospital heroism is p. ■ommonplace. These men are not the renzied heroes of the battlefield now.

Fhey are all the more wonderful for that. I know of nothing which 11114s

it the lieart-strings more than the arival of the first stretcher when oneviiows that the tale of wounded has icen heavv.

The man on the first stretcher, a acre youngster, is all eyes. He is

clutching a blue steel helmet with a horrid jagged hole in it. "1 want to keep my helmet," he says. "Mav I'll 's a pal." The doctor smiles, nods, and the hero and his helmel go in. "Hero 1 am again." he gasps with n .-buckle. "I didn't think J should lie back so soon." The lieutenant is only a hoy. a fair boy with blue eyes and fair fluff on his unshaven chin, which glints golden like n baby chicken's first feather-. The man who is emptying his pockets look:.. up. "Mon lieutenant." he says, "there are papers and letters here which an- not yours." "Yes, I remember now," savs the wounded man. "I was lying wi:h irn 1 back against a little mound 0!' earth. 1 was shivering with cold and my teeth wore chattering. A company was just going to attack. ... 1 remember He was a lug private' with a heavy moustache and kind eyes. "Poor little devil,' he said, 'you are cold.' And he took his coal off and flung it over me. I saw him run on in his shirr sleeves to catch the others." The orderly puts a photograph, a military nay-book, and a pm-se on the bed. It i' a dirty ii; tie old leather purse wak j a ten-franc piece, three hail'penni.-a. and two cigarettes in it. ''Probably all he had in the world. V, e must try to liiul him." say-: the wounded ii. uienant. Thank goodness Fr.t ti.h. and can make him i-omfort-»bh- lur life il I tan hud him. He was , # ;ood chap that." And the little .Vuienani rln-oJ his eves. "He'll iu-vr-r open them again." whispers (he do, tor. "Madame " says iim 'orderly. burning up to the si,tor in charge. "v ill you toll men capilaine thai he mu-a ii:-i try 10 gel ie.io his bed wiih--0111 help. Hi; whole side is torn aw::v." He i . .1 \ oung ofiir. r r.i (has ■„ ur -. "Phase, madame." ii,- - ;! vs, "T'ni aii j 11 din Vou should hare seen my men. ! madame. "They carried me ofi like a baby, in one of 1 heir coats. A shell hurst' jnsi J over ii . and ihey put me down on the ground and sheltered nie with their own I), .dies. When can f go back 10 thnn. mndame. do vou think!- Undress me: No. madame, I will ne.-.-r peril,ii that." There nie no groans, no moans, very few complaint*. These broken men in the officers' ward -men. 1 said : ihey n;e mere boy--. v,-rv oiien -smile, m-ir-mnr thanks.'and joke in tliin voices nil the time. Put ihey never complain. Hue Utile lieutemmi with rurly hair! aad eves which arc rnpidlv ■ -Pt - : i• • - '•>*»* ir.r the sister in ekarge. ■]■]; r-'T'e me for troubling vou, mr-dnme." he murmur*, still sriiliiie. "I kneV ' vou am busy, but I wan, van to ih b- ihigors ~i:!: ,i' ,!,"; 'lUis'nren-- 1 , "These Jettons, this photograph. . . I want you to bom them for me." Ino iter presses her Sins together tightly, and holds out her hand tor cite letters. She cannot speak. Tlio man's < little kwown hand, a hand like a woman's, fastens on the papers and photographs, and the bine eyes are infiniteiv pathetic. His lips tremble. Then. "'ihe.ilk you, madame." lie hold- ] them to liis breast a moment. He ha; not the strength to taise them to Id's mouth, flic nurse'-: tears are dropping fast on her while bib. "My mother.'" says the dying man. ""Would vou like to dictate a letter to herr" '"Notstrong—enough—you tell her." and 1 c smiles again, "thank you. madame-good-night. Don'; cry." The others need yon more than I' do." , A little group of officers in fdtby uni- , formsare sitting round the ?,<■■>. ' Thev are ail badly wounded, but there are worse wounded than ihey. and they nrr waiting their turn for attention quite , patiently. "You were a cirrus.' old ' man.' says one of them, ''with youi hair flying about and your bag of Vro- ' nades bu-nr.iiig your tummy dike the little bags the American schoolmistress , tourists wear in Paris in summer \; "• did you son p , v j { }, ),;. y o ']' imv gloves and his gentle little voite'- 'Tcdisgusting, these Boehes, aicn't they' ; Inelegant chaps really, what" ]!.->',. : a man, though, is P— , >r] o ves eirlish voice, and all! More Sip uiau'ali ol us pit! together."

The last of the stretchers bumrvs into the door of thp ward as it comes in "I wonder marlamo." says a fnint voire. whether you could finr] mo a few dropof oau do Cologne? I smol] most unpleasantly. lam r,uitp ashamed rf myself, really, vrhatf-" Tho three officers round the tiro jump up "•]>_ you ynu-.-.rr scoundrel!" "Yp\ T'm n bit late, but T was busv." "What did von stop?"

The young officer on the stretcher smiles and uncovers himself. "Onlv tins, ho sa y r ,. Half his right arm igone. I wsij. nasty mess, old f ,hap. I didn t like it." "Poor devil'" grunts the other. "Oh. it's nothing," says J ~- ,' A n?at little mechanical hand with a glove on it. You ahvavs rotted me about my gloves. You see now I was practising. Things are goino- l'ne out here, you know, von chaps "Thev can't advance n yard, the hiightor'l foot devils! T'm really ra'her sorr'v for he Bodies. They V working nam.

"But your hand, V '-■' t:j, going to learn to write with the o*ber letter And he snuggles back on the stretcher and laughs self-consciously