s to be falling out of all things stable, but generally no sign of
aught else than the dulling of death--dulling to sleep--a drunken
sleep--drunken death it often seems--very commonplace as a rule. A
smile as often as, or oftener than, any sign of pain, but generally no
sign of either. Think of this, mourning mothers of England. Don't
picture your sons as drowning out of the world racked with the red
torture from the bullet's track, but just as dropping off dully to
sleep, most probably with no thought of you or home, without anxiety
or regret. Merciful Mauser! He suffered much more pain when you
brought him long ago to the dentist, and his agony in that horrible
chair was infinitely greater than on his bed on the veldt. Merciful
Mauser be thanked!

The first man I saw badly hit during the war was a Devon at
Elandslaagte, just after they had advanced within rifle-range. He was
shot through the head, and it seemed quite useless for the bearers to
take the trouble of carrying him off the field; yet they went back
looking in vain for a field ambulance. They carried him instead to the
cart belonging to a well-known war correspondent. The owner had given
the driver strict orders to remain where he was until his return, but
the shells were falling around the cart, which, in fact, seemed to be
made a mark of by the Boer gunners--perhaps they thought it belonged
to one of our generals, whom they may have imagined had taken to
driving, like Joubert and some others of theirs. The arrival of the
wounded man was a great godsend to the driver, who immediately, with
the most humane insistence, offered to drive him to the nearest field
hospital. Neither cart nor driver was again seen until long after the
battle was over, about nine o'clock in the evening. Strange to say,
the man recovered from his wound.

In our first engagements there was rather too much anxiety on the part
of a wounded man's comrades to carry him to the rear; but it did not
continue for long. The actuating motive is not always kindness and
humanity, but a desire to get out of danger. It was soon evident that
it was only going from the frying-pan into the fire, as the danger of
walking back carrying a wounded man was immensely greater than
remaining or advancing more or less on one's stomach. Sometimes it was
the unfortunate wounded man who was hit again. Men carrying off a
wounded comrade of course render themselves strictly liable to be
regarded as combatants.