CHAPTERX

chapterx

toonlookersthereweresomeofthesignsofvictoryonthatdayofseptember25th—ofvictoryanditsprice.imetgreatnumbersofthelightlywoundedmen,mostly“jocks,”andtheywereinexaltedspiritsbecausetheyhaddonewellinthisordealandhadcomethroughit,andoutofit—alive.theycamelingbackthroughthevillagesbehindthelinestothecasualtyclearing—stationsandambulance-trains.someofthemhadthesleevesoftheirtunicscutawayandshowedbrown,brawnyarmstightlybandagedandsmearedwithblood.someofthemwerewoundedinthelegsandhobbledwiththeirarmsabouttheircomrades'necks.theirkiltsweretornandplasteredwithchalkymud.nearlyallofthemhadsome“souvenir”ofthefighting—germanwatches,caps,cartridges.theycarriedthemselveswithawarriorlook,sohard,solean,soclear-eyed,theseyoungscotsoftheblackwatchandcameronsandgordons.theytoldtalesoftheirownadventureinbroadscots,hardtounderstand,andlaughedgrimlyatthekillingtheyhaddone,thoughhereandtherealadamongthemhadalookofbadremembranceinhiseyes,andoldermenspokegravelyofthescenesonthebattlefieldandcalledit“hellish.”buttheirpridewashigh.theyhaddonewhattheyhadbeenaskedtodo.the15thdivisionhadproveditsquality.theiroldbattalions,famousinhistory,hadgainednewhonor.

thousandsofthoselightlywoundedmenswarmedaboutalongambulance-trainstandinginafieldnearthevillageofchoques.theycrowdedthecarriages,leanedoutofthewindowswiththeirbandagedheadsandarms,shoutingatfriendstheysawintheothercrowds.thespiritofvictory,andofluckyescape,upliftedthoselads,edthem.andnowtheyweregoinghomeforaspell.hometobonnyscotland,withawoundthatwouldtakesometimetoheal.

therewereotherwoundedmenfromwhomnolaughtercame,noranysound.theywerecarriedtothetrainonstretchers,laiddownawhileonthewoodenplatforms,coveredwithblanketsuptotheirchins—unlesstheyuncoveredthemselveswithconvulsivemovements.isawoneyounglondonersosmashedaboutthefacethatonlyhiseyeswereuncoveredbetweenlayersofbandages,andtheywereglazedwiththefirstfilmofdeath.anotherhadhisjawblowncleanaway,sothedoctortoldme,andtheupperhalfofhisfacewaslividanddiscoloredbyexplosivegases.asplendidboyoftheblackwatchwasbutalivingtrunk.bothhisarmsandbothhislegswereshattered.ifhelivedafterbutcher'sworkofsurgeryhewouldbeoneofthosewhogoaboutinboxesonwheels,fromwhommenturntheireyesaway,sickwithasenseofhorror.therewereblindboysledtothetrainbywoundedcomrades,groping,veryquiet,thinkingofalifeofdarknessaheadofthem—foreverinthedarknesswhichshutintheirsouls.fordaysandweeksthatfollowedtherewasalwaysaprocessionofambulancesonthewaytothedirtylittletownoflillers,andgoingalongtheroadsiusedtolookbackatthemandseethesolesofmuddybootsupturnedbelowbrownblankets.itwasmorehumanwreckagecomingdownfromthesalientofloos,fromthechalkpitsofhulluchandthetumbledearthofthehohenzollernredoubt,whichhadbeenpartlygainedbythebattlewhichdidnoteed.outsideasquarebrickbuilding,whichwasthetownhalloflillers,andforatimeacasualtyclearing-station,the“bad”caseswereunloaded;menwithchunksofsteelintheirlungsandbowelswerevomitinggreatgobsofblood,menwitharmsandlegstornfromtheirtrunks,menwithoutnoses,andtheirbrainsthrobbingthroughopenedscalps,menwithoutfaces...