nated, and made them forget the anguish of their wounds....

I remember one poor fellow who was asked if he wanted anything. ... He
had a terrible wound in the chest, and was waiting to be examined. He
replied timidly that he wanted the urinal, and when the orderly hurried
to him bringing it, he was dead.

The pressure of urgent duty had made us quite unmindful of the battle
close by, and of the deafening cannonade. However, towards evening, the
buildings trembled under the fury of the detonations. A little armoured
train had taken up its position near us. The muzzle of a naval gun
protruded from it, and from moment to moment thrust out a broad tongue
of flame with a catastrophic roar.

The work was accelerated at the very height of the uproar. Rivers of
water had run along the corridors, washing down the mud, the blood and
the refuse of the operation-wards. The men who had been operated on were
carried to beds on which clean sheets had been spread. The open windows
let in the pure, keen air, and night fell on the hillsides of the Meuse,
where the tumult raged and lightnings flashed.

Sometimes a wounded man brought us the latest news of the battle.
Between his groans, he described the incredible bombardment, the
obstinate resistance, the counter-attacks at the height of the
hurly-burly.

All these simple fellows ended their story with the same words,
surprising words at such a moment of suffering:

"They can't get through now...."

Then they began to moan again.

During the terrible weeks of the battle, it was from the lips of
these tortured men that we heard the most amazing words of hope and
confidence, uttered between two cries of anguish.

The first night passed under this stress and pressure. The morning found
us face to face with labours still vast, but classified, divided, and
half determined.

A superior officer came to visit us. He seemed anxious.

"They have spotted you," he said. "I hope you mayn't have to work upon
each other. You will certainly be bombarded at noon."

We had forgotten this prophecy by the time it was fulfilled.

About noon, the air was rent by a screeching whistle, and some
dozen shells fell within the hospital enclosure, piercing one of the
buildings, but sparing the men. This was the beginning of an irregular
but almost continuous bombardment, which was not specially directed
against us, no doubt, but which threatened us incessantly.

No cellars. Nothing but thin walls.