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WITH THE FOURTH ARMY 163
it is eleven o’clock. I try to step as lightly as possible on the
creaking floor boards so as not to wake them. " Up, ye
warriors, arise and hie ye to the fight !
" Had I exhorted
them thus, they would have lain there just the same, sound
asleep with peaceful placid faces and a smile playing about
their lips. Why is their sleep so deep, I wonder ? They are
all shot through the head, and in most of them the bullet is
still there.
Here is a reservist. What a tremendous figure of a man.
What can Latins, Slavs, Celts, Japs, Negroes, Hindoos, Ghur-
kas, Turcos, and whatever they are called, do against such
strapping giants of the true Germanic type ? His features are
superbly noble, and he seems pleased with his day’s work.
He does not regret that he has offered his life for Germany’s
just cause. I cannot leave him, he holds me back, and I ask
for a chair to make if but an imperfect sketch of the dying
hero and his neighbours. But yesterday he had sung himself
hoarse with the proud refrain :
" Lieh Vaterland magst ruhig
sein !
" But yesterday he lay in the cold, narrow trench, and
when he and his comrades dashed forward to charge, he was
struck in the head by a bullet which lodged in the lower part
of the temple. From the first collecting-place he was now on
his way to the field hospital.
The doctor comes in accompanied by two assistants. They
support and lift him into a sitting posture, whilst the doctor
carefully undoes the bandage and lays bare his skull. A large
lump of cerebral matter has been squeezed out of the wound
and still lies exposed. The doctor does not remove it, merely
dries the edges after the hair round the wound has been cut
away. The edges of the lump are painted with tincture of
iodine, and a fresh, spotlessly white bandage is wound round
his head. " But why don’t you remove the exposed cerebral
substance ?
" I ask the doctor. " Because one wants to dis-
turb his poor head as little as possible, and cerebral inflamma-
tion must be avoided."
" Can his life be saved ?
" «
" There is little or no hope for any of those lying in this
room."
The wounded man half opens his eyes. The doctor taps
him gently on the shoulder and asks :
" What regiment do
you belong to ? " He mumbles a few unintelligible words
which we take to mean " Reserve Regiment 87." The brain-
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