Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - IX. With the Fourth Army
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
Below is the raw OCR text
from the above scanned image.
Do you see an error? Proofread the page now!
Här nedan syns maskintolkade texten från faksimilbilden ovan.
Ser du något fel? Korrekturläs sidan nu!
This page has never been proofread. / Denna sida har aldrig korrekturlästs.
1 64 WITH THE GERMAN ARMIES IN THE WEST
centre controlling his organs of speech has been injured.
He lapses once more into unconsciousness, his thoughts no
longer wander. Shortly they will cease altogether and the
soldier will rest, as now beside his comrades, in the little
churchyard in the village.
The doctor passes on to the next man and rearranges his
bandages. " What regiment ?
" he asks once more. " Ninety-
nine," is the reply. " Where are you from ? " " Ninety-
nine." " Are you married ? " " Ninety-nine." He gave the
same answer to all the questions put to him. " Anyhow, I
suppose he really belongs to the ninety-ninth regiment of
reserves ?
" " No, his regiment has quite a different
number."
But why this persistent answer to everything ? Had there
been ninety-nine men in his trench or had he estimated his
opponents at this number ? Had his battalion or company
at some time or other lost ninety-nine men ? Or had he
thought that he would reach the French trenches with his
bayonet before counting to one hundred and had just got to
ninety-nine when struck by a bullet in the forehead ? Why
had this figure, or its counterpart in the mechanism of his
brain, imprinted itself on his mind like the image on the
photographic plate ? Who knows ? The dying soldier was
about to sink into his last sleep, in which there would be no
counting to one hundred to disturb him. And when his
immortal soul awakens beyond the churchyard, other sights
than bayonets and trenches will meet his gaze.
Right opposite the doorway lay some ten seriously wounded
soldiers in a living-room. Near the door lay a man who had
had one leg torn away from the hip joint by a shell. A few
ragged muscle fibres were all that held it to his body. His
face was whiter than the bolster, his big eyes were wide open ;
I noticed vaguely that he had a good nose and a dark beard.
No doubt he had already been drained of blood. But as we
stood opposite him, he turned his head and asked for a glass
of water. It was brought at once, he drank eagerly and
thanked us. We made a hasty round amongst the others
and in five minutes we were back at the soldier by the door.
He was now dead and his vacant eyes were gazing into the
unknown. The doctor stooped down and firmly closed his
eyelids. He patted him affectionately on the forehead and
said in a tender voice, " Sleep well, my poor boy." Later
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
