was necessary to scrub and scour every corner of the train and every article in it.
Dinner was an affair of stew and potatoes, bread and rice; tea copied yesterday. Between these sole breaks in the monotony Everitt dozed and exchanged jerky conversation with the man opposite. Also he hoarded scanty cigarette-ends, and once nearly fell headlong in trying to reach across the gangway for a match. Someone loaned him a magazine, bursting with War jokes, and crammed with optimism and robust cheer. But he found reading difficult, and dozed the more as the day grew warmer.
As the chill morning brightened towards noon he was perplexed to notice the air more and more strongly infected with a hideous carrion reek, such as was already only too familiar. The stench seemed more offensive whenever in his twistings and turnings he raised the folds of the blanket on his cot. The sickening sweetish odour filled him with a shuddering disgust, and appetite fled. The strangeness of the thing puzzled him, but it was only in Hospital at Rouen that he learned its meaning. Apologizing shamefacedly to an orderly there, the latter replied cheerfully: âNot a bit of it. Of course sheâs hound to hum after all those hours in the train with never a dressing. Theyâll clean it out for you to-morrow in the butcherâs shop, and youâll be as sweet as a bloody rose.â He realized that he had no cause to feel shamed like a detected leper. His wound had turned septic and that vile odour of decay was part of the dayâs work.
All that day the train jolted through the hot plain of Normandy, and the men grew languorous in the heat. In that polluted air the coolness of evening was doubly welcome, but it was not until ten oâclock on Wednesday night that they reached the sidings and ghastly flickering arc-lamps of Rouen. The delay there was exasperating. Six times they passed the illuminated face of a clock below a signal-cabin, each time on a different pair of rails. Complicated manÅuvres of shunting followed, and the train entered the station three times before reaching its destination.
Excitement now kept every one awake, and rumour declared that a boat was waiting at the quay to ship the whole trainload to England. Jerked downwards and outwards on the stretcher, Everitt found himself on a long platform paved with wounded. The arc lamps showed the dimly lighted train disgorging streams of helpless and grotesquely bandaged men, the platform crowded with strange-looking figures arrayed in rags and tatters of muddy khaki and white linen, and a long line of Red Cross Ambulances filling rapidly and driving away into the darkness. It was early morning before Everitt found a place in one of them, and by then nothing seemed to matter but a bed. There were stories of spring-mattresses, sheets and feather pillows, and filthy as any tramp though he knew himself to be, he felt perfectly willing to crawl contentedly into such a nest of bliss and sleep indefinitely.
At this hour of the morning the town was dark and silent, and their destination uncertain: England was obviously as remote as ever. The night air was cool and refreshing; the flash and roar of the guns were quenched at last. In half an hour they saw lights beside the road and on a board the legend âNo. 1 General Hospitalâ; and there followed a long succession of similar boards numbered consecutively. The Hospital area covered many acres, but in the gloom it was impossible to see anything save the grey shapes of buildings.
At No. 5 board they swung away from the road and halted before a brightly lit double doorway. Here they were carried into a long bare waiting-room already occupied by fifty stretchers. Following the inevitable Inquisition came the night-Sister in the silent ward, clean, sweet-smelling sheets, the discarding of the grimed rags of the journey, and billow upon billow of slumber and sweet forgetfulness.
Here was the Base at last, after a journey of
Dinner was an affair of stew and potatoes, bread and rice; tea copied yesterday. Between these sole breaks in the monotony Everitt dozed and exchanged jerky conversation with the man opposite. Also he hoarded scanty cigarette-ends, and once nearly fell headlong in trying to reach across the gangway for a match. Someone loaned him a magazine, bursting with War jokes, and crammed with optimism and robust cheer. But he found reading difficult, and dozed the more as the day grew warmer.
As the chill morning brightened towards noon he was perplexed to notice the air more and more strongly infected with a hideous carrion reek, such as was already only too familiar. The stench seemed more offensive whenever in his twistings and turnings he raised the folds of the blanket on his cot. The sickening sweetish odour filled him with a shuddering disgust, and appetite fled. The strangeness of the thing puzzled him, but it was only in Hospital at Rouen that he learned its meaning. Apologizing shamefacedly to an orderly there, the latter replied cheerfully: âNot a bit of it. Of course sheâs hound to hum after all those hours in the train with never a dressing. Theyâll clean it out for you to-morrow in the butcherâs shop, and youâll be as sweet as a bloody rose.â He realized that he had no cause to feel shamed like a detected leper. His wound had turned septic and that vile odour of decay was part of the dayâs work.
All that day the train jolted through the hot plain of Normandy, and the men grew languorous in the heat. In that polluted air the coolness of evening was doubly welcome, but it was not until ten oâclock on Wednesday night that they reached the sidings and ghastly flickering arc-lamps of Rouen. The delay there was exasperating. Six times they passed the illuminated face of a clock below a signal-cabin, each time on a different pair of rails. Complicated manÅuvres of shunting followed, and the train entered the station three times before reaching its destination.
Excitement now kept every one awake, and rumour declared that a boat was waiting at the quay to ship the whole trainload to England. Jerked downwards and outwards on the stretcher, Everitt found himself on a long platform paved with wounded. The arc lamps showed the dimly lighted train disgorging streams of helpless and grotesquely bandaged men, the platform crowded with strange-looking figures arrayed in rags and tatters of muddy khaki and white linen, and a long line of Red Cross Ambulances filling rapidly and driving away into the darkness. It was early morning before Everitt found a place in one of them, and by then nothing seemed to matter but a bed. There were stories of spring-mattresses, sheets and feather pillows, and filthy as any tramp though he knew himself to be, he felt perfectly willing to crawl contentedly into such a nest of bliss and sleep indefinitely.
At this hour of the morning the town was dark and silent, and their destination uncertain: England was obviously as remote as ever. The night air was cool and refreshing; the flash and roar of the guns were quenched at last. In half an hour they saw lights beside the road and on a board the legend âNo. 1 General Hospitalâ; and there followed a long succession of similar boards numbered consecutively. The Hospital area covered many acres, but in the gloom it was impossible to see anything save the grey shapes of buildings.
At No. 5 board they swung away from the road and halted before a brightly lit double doorway. Here they were carried into a long bare waiting-room already occupied by fifty stretchers. Following the inevitable Inquisition came the night-Sister in the silent ward, clean, sweet-smelling sheets, the discarding of the grimed rags of the journey, and billow upon billow of slumber and sweet forgetfulness.
Here was the Base at last, after a journey of
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