The momentary glimmer was sufficient to show that
we were standing amongst the ropes of the mortuary marquee. The man
struck another match to show us the way in. We entered and added our
burden to a double row of other dead, who lay there in the flickering
match-light staring at the roof with sightless eyes and rigid,
expressionless faces.

When we got back to the theatre all the three teams were busy again.

The bearers came in with a case, and one of them said:

"This is the last Englishman, sir. There's about half a dozen Fritzes to
do, sir."

"Bring 'em along--let's get the job done."

The swing-doors were pushed open and two bearers appeared with a
stretcher on which a man clothed in grey was lying. His dark hair was
matted. His boyish face was intensely white. His eyes were closed. He
gave a hardly audible moan with every breath. A blanket was drawn up to
his chin.

"Is this a Hun or a gentleman?" asked Captain Calthrop.

"A 'Un, sir," said one of the bearers and grinned.

"Dump him on the table!"

The blanket was removed and a blood-sodden strip of linen unwound from
the German boy's right forearm, which was hanging to his shoulder by a
few shreds of flesh and sinew.

"Tell him his arm's got to come off."

I explained to the boy that it would be necessary to remove his arm in
order to save his life.

He did not seem to understand at first and looked at me with a puzzled
expression. Then he suddenly broke into a wail, like a little child, and
cried, "Ach Jesus, ach Jesus, ach Jesus ..."

The chloroform mask soon muffled his cries and he became unconscious. I
grasped his cold hand and slender wrist. The arm was rapidly amputated.
The red stump with the disc of severed bone in the middle was cleaned
and bandaged and he was carried back to the prisoners' ward, retching
and vomiting.

On Captain Wheeler's table lay a healthy looking German with a bronzed
face. His legs were pitted with a great number of small wounds caused by
minute bomb fragments. The mask was clapped over his mouth and the
chloroform allowed to drip on to it. But he inhaled the fumes with
difficulty, and began to choke.

The anaesthetist got angry and snarled:

"That's it, choke away--a choker like all the rest of them--you blasted
race of murderers--I'm sorry for the individual though, this deluded
fool, for instance."

Captain Dowden was vainly trying to converse with a German who had been
hit in the back. The bullet had pas