"That is the real meaning of war, almost the worst tragedy of it" (so I
wrote at the time). "The soldier suffers less than the women and the
non-combatants. His agony perhaps is sharper, but the wound of the
spirit is hardest to bear."
So it seemed to me then, before I had seen greater ghastliness. I was
surprised also by the cheerfulness of some of our wounded soldiers.
They were the "light cases," and had the pluck to laugh at their pain.
Yet even they had had a dreadful time. It is almost true to say that the
only rest they had was when they were carried into the ambulance
cart or the field-hospital. The incessant marching, forwards and
backwards, to new positions in the blazing sun was more awful to
bear than the actual fighting under the hideous fire of the German
guns. They were kept on the move constantly, except for the briefest
lulls--when officers and men dropped, like brown leaves from autumn
trees, on each side of the road, so utterly exhausted that they were
almost senseless, and had to be dragged up out of their short sleep
when once again they tramped on to a new line, to scratch up a few
earthworks, to fire a few rounds before the bugle sounded the cease
fire and another strategical retirement.
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