I saw an awful sight: a man of the Royal Irish with six wounds from
shrapnel. He called me for water, but I had none. I managed to carry
him about half a mile and found water: then he was as happy as if
he was not wounded. I stuck to him although he was heavy, and I was
feeling weak and tired. I had to carry him across a big field of
turnips; when half way I slipped, and we both fell. I then had a look
back, and could see the fire mountains high. “Thank God!” I said to
him, “we are out of that; it’s worse than bullets”: _Private G. Kay, at
Mons_.
“Boldly They Rode!”
Two drivers of the Royal Field Artillery brought a gun out of action
with shells bursting around them. They had noticed that the gunners had
been all killed, but calmly and heroically walked their horses down to
the gun. One driver held the horses under a terrific fire, while the
other limbered up, and the gun was brought safely back, neither men nor
horses being hit. They had a miraculous escape. As we watched them from
the trenches we thought it impossible for them to escape death: _Corpl.
Bignell, Royal Berks Regiment_.
“Basted” Him!
A private of the South Staffords, named Murphy, performed a gallant
deed. They were on outpost duty, and were being continually picked off
by snipers. One night Murphy got a wound in the arm, and, in broad
Irish, he vowed he would find the sniper. Despite the remonstrances of
his officers he kept on hunting for him. Two nights later Murphy was
missing from his post, but the sniping had stopped. Later on, search
being made for him, he was found lying at the foot of a big tree,
close beside the body of the sniper, who was pinned to the ground with
Murphy’s bayonet. Murphy told the officer that when he located “the
blighter” he was high up in the tree. Getting underneath he threatened
to shoot, when the German dropped his rifle and scrambled down. “Then
I gave him a good basting with my fists, and finished off by pinning
him down”: _Pte. J. Smith, 3rd Coldstream Guards_.
Help the Others!
There was an English regiment out in front of us who had been getting
it pretty hot all the morning, and, towards the evening, we saw a small
party of their wounded coming in, among them a young subaltern, just a
lad. His coat was off, and he stood bareheaded grasping his revolver in
one hand. He had had the other arm blown clean away at the shoulder.
Someone had dressed it temporarily for him, but he was anxious to find
a doctor, and asked one of our officers where the nearest doctor was.
Our officer told him where to find one, but added, “You’re not fit to
go alone owing to the blood you’re losing. I shall get some of our men
to help,” “Oh, I don’t require help,” he remarked, “and the poor devils
have enough to do to carry themselves out of this hell.” With that he
went away smiling. Help! He wouldn’t have it at any cost: _Pte. A.
Russell, 2nd Seaforth Highlanders_.