“That fellow won’t last long,” said the M.O. , rising from a stretcher. “Hardly a heartbeat left in him. Sure to die on the operating-table if he gets as far as that⁠ ⁠… Step back against the wall a minute, will you?”

We flattened ourselves against the passage wall while ambulance-men brought in a line of stretchers. No sound came from most of those bundles under the blankets, but from one came a long, agonizing wail, the cry of an animal in torture.

“Come through the wards,” said the colonel. “They’re pretty bright, though we could do with more space and light.”

In one long, narrow room there were about thirty beds, and in each bed lay a young British soldier, or part of a young British soldier. There was not much left of one of them. Both his legs had been amputated to the thigh, and both his arms to the shoulder-blades.