One by one they took their places, in line at intervals of about ten
yards, and lay down each on his appointed spot to die, or be wounded,
and to be bandaged and carried off. But now a terrible question arose.
_Would there be enough to go round?_ I had only counted nine of them,
which was one short of the necessary complement, but at this supreme
moment another grievously wounded warrior ran lightly up and lay down
opposite the tenth detachment. We breathed again.
And now began some charming manoeuvres. Each detachment walked round
its stretcher twice, then stood at ease again, then at attention, then
dressed up and arranged itself, and brushed, itself down. All this
while their wounded comrades lay writhing, and appealing for help
in vain. It was with difficulty that, lame as I was, I could be
restrained from dashing to their aid. But at last everything was in
order. Stretchers were solemnly lifted. The detachments marched slowly
forward, and deposited their stretchers each beside a wounded man.
Then began a scene of busy bandaging. But not until the whole ten had
been bound up, legs, arms, heads, feet, fingers &c, was it permissible
to lift one of them from the cold cold ground which he had bedewed
with his blood.
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