Combed Out Part 10

"Not a bad souvenir," he said, as he put it into his own pocket and returned to his stool. Of course this was not stealing, it was merely "scrounging" or "pinching" or "collecting souvenirs," which is an entirely different thing.

For a time the surgeons worked silently, amputating arms and legs, holding the bare skin between two fingers and cutting the flesh, throwing bleeding bits on to the floor, dressing and bandaging stumps and excised wounds.

Captain Calthrop was grumbling at the tedium of the work when his anaesthetist lit upon a happy thought and said:

"How'd you like to try your hand at giving an anaesthetic? I'll have a shot at surgery--I've never done it before. I'd like to see if I'm any good at it."

"Right you are," replied Captain Calthrop, "we'll change over."

"Jolly good idea," added Captain Wycherley at the next table, "we'll change over too."

"Right-o," said his anaesthetist.

And so the two anaesthetists operated and the two surgeons gave anaesthetics. It was, perhaps, rather a dangerous thing to do, but as the wounded men were only Germans it did not matter.

Captain Dowden took no part in this experiment. In fact he even suggested that it was "a bit thick," but his disapproval did not a.s.sume a more tangible form.

After finis.h.i.+ng one case each, the four surgeons and anaesthetists changed back again.

"Surgery, isn't so bad as I thought it would be."

"Isn't it--you wait till you get an abdominal!"

"Giving an anaesthetic's rather a ticklish affair. I thought my man was going to choke to death, he got so blue in the face."

A few more Germans with slight flesh wounds that only required dressing were brought in, and then the work of the night s.h.i.+ft was over.

The surgeons, anaesthetists and sisters trooped out gaily to have tea and cakes in the shed opposite the entrance to the theatre.

Our work was not yet over, for we still had to put everything in order for the day s.h.i.+ft.

The operating theatre looked like a butcher's shop. There were big pools and splashes of blood on the floor. Bits of flesh and skin and bone were littered everywhere. The gowns of the orderlies were stained and bespattered with blood and yellow picric acid. Each bucket was full of blood-sodden towels, splints, and bandages, with a foot, or a hand, or a severed knee-joint overhanging the rim.

Two of us got pails of hot water and set to work with swabs, scrubbing brushes and soap. We mopped up the pools of blood and wrung our swabs out over the pails until the dirty water became dark red. We scrubbed till our arms ached. With our bare hands we brushed the bits of flesh, skin and bone into little heaps and threw them into the buckets, and these we emptied into a big tub after picking out the amputated limbs which we carried off to the incinerator to be burnt. Within an hour and a half the theatre was clean and tidy.

A heap of blankets and articles of clothing had been left in a corner.

We loaded them on to a stretcher and carried them to a small tent some distance away, taking a candle with us.

We folded the blankets and stacked them carefully. Some of them were clammy and slippery to the touch. Others were hard and stiff. The rank smell of stale, clotted blood was sickening.

The clothing we carried to the pack store, a large marquee, where we sorted it, putting great-coats, tunics and s.h.i.+rts on separate heaps. I was holding a s.h.i.+rt when I became aware of a tickling sensation across one hand. I hurriedly dropped the garment and lowered the candle so that I could see it distinctly. It was swarming with lice.

We walked out into the darkness and made for our own marquee. As we pa.s.sed the prisoners' ward an orderly called out from inside:

"'Ere, just come in a minute. 'Ere's a Fritz been 'ollerin' out all the evenin'--come an' tell us what 'e wants."

We went in. The prisoners were lying on stretchers in two rows. Most of them were asleep, but one was tossing about and crying in piteous tones:

"Hab'ich noch'n Arm, oder hab'ich keinen?"

"'E's bin at it for 'ours, pore bloke. Arst 'im what 'e wants--I 'xpect it's somethin' ter do with 'is arm what they took orf early in the evenin'."

I asked the man what he wanted and noticed that his right arm had been taken off at the shoulder. He was silent for a moment and looked at me with haggard eyes. Then suddenly he wailed:

"Kamerad, sag mir doch--Comrade, tell me--is my arm still there, or is it gone?"

"He wants to know if he's still got his arm," I said to the orderly, who turned to the prisoner and exclaimed: "Arm bon, goot!"

"Aber ich fuhl ja nichts--But I can't feel anything--for G.o.d's sake tell me if it's still there!--Ach Gott, ach Gott, ach Gott."

He buried his face in his pillow and sobbed hysterically.

I explained to him that it had been necessary to remove his arm, but that he would live and be well treated and see no more fighting.

He turned round and stared at me and then shouted jubilantly:

"Jetzt weiss ich's--Now I know--thank G.o.d, I shall live, live, live. O du lieber Himmel, das Gluck ist zu gross."

He gave a deep sigh of relief and satisfaction and closed his eyes and turned on his side to go to sleep.

Somehow it seemed strange that there could be any happiness left in the world.

"Thanks awfully," said the orderly. "It must 'a' bin the uncertainty what upset 'im. I'm b.l.o.o.d.y glad yer came in. Yer've done 'im a world o'

good. I took to the pore bloke some'ow--I allus feels pertickler sorry fur wounded Fritzes, I dunno why. I 'xpect 'e's got a missis an' kiddies just like meself.... Good-night!"

"Good-night," I answered, and added mentally:

"Your profession of soldier, the most degrading on earth, has not degraded you. You are engaged in the most infamous and sordid war that was ever fought, and yet you have remained uncontaminated--there is no honour or decoration in all the armies of the world good enough for you."

We entered our marquee and made our beds.

All at once I noticed how utterly tired I was both in mind and body. I crept under the blankets and closed my eyes and saw a vast confusion of red and yellow patches, of severed limbs and staring eyes and blue, distorted faces of suffocating men. They thronged the darkness in ever increasing numbers and then they arranged themselves into a kind of gigantic wheel that began to turn slowly round and round. And suddenly I became conscious of a grief so intense that it seemed almost like physical pain, but weariness soon mastered every other sensation and I fell into a dreamless sleep.

V

WALKING WOUNDED

"The war is doing me good as though it were a bath-cure."

(FIELD MARSHAL VON HINDENBURG.)

Some had dirty bandages round their heads. Some had their arms in slings. Others had hands so thickly swathed that they looked like the huge paws of polar-bears. Many were caked with mud and wore tattered uniforms. Some limped or hobbled along. Others could walk unaided. Some leaned heavily on our shoulders and some we had to carry on our backs.

As each one entered the waiting-room--a little wooden shed opposite the swing-doors of the operating theatre--we took off his boots and tunic and made him sit down in front of the glowing stove. From time to time an orderly would shout across from the theatre: