160
Thi: Vpres Times.
Certainly not."
Why
Well, the man might recover—the resources of surgery
Milligan broke in
You are deliberately begging the question. My supposition was that there was no
chance of recoveryall the doctors being agreed
Argument was not the kindly chaplain's strong point. He was painfull}- conscious
of his own weakness.
I am sure," he said, that you yourself would not act upon your theories. An
immortal soul may rise to higher heights through suffering, and no one has a right to
commit murder."
Bosh! cried Milligan, I hope I may never be put to the proof. But if it was
anyone I really loved I should force myself to act in the best interests of my friend and
do to him what I'd wish him to do to me."
Further argument was not possible, as they had arrived at the landing-stage. The
boat was already in, and the Paris passengers, stepping off the gangway, were being
hurried over the railway lines into the custom-house. F,verybody seemed to be talking
at once. Porters, burdened with hand luggage, were pushing and shouting at each other.
French soldiers, lining the route, tried to regulate the stream of hurrying travellers.
Milligan caught sight of a tall, slim figure in khaki, leaning over the rail of the boat,
waving to him. A change seemed to come over him. He thawed and softened per
ceptibly. He was no longer the tiresome, argumentative fanatic, but the most devoted
of brothers. Poor Milligan had many faults, but one redeeming feature, the love he
cherished for his brother, five years his junior. Motherless from boyhood, Walter had
only his brother to lean on for that help and guidance fathers so often neglect or forget.
He had been given a commission in the same regiment as his brother, but ill-health had
prevented him leaving England when the others did. He had always been delicate
in khaki he looked almost fragileyet the war often taught us that a stout heart may be
found in a weak body. Until the excitement of the greeting had passed, the padre,
forgotten, rested himself upon a large packing-case and smiled on the world and the
dwellers therein, whom he loved instinctively.
It was about an hour before dawnalready a thin line, as if made by a red pencil,
marked the leaden sky. The silence, only disturbed by occasional shouts and far-off
calls, seemed all the more intense after the hell of a few hours earlier. The excitement
and exhilaration of battle had given place to agony and horror. The scent of death was
everywhere, the indescribable reek of blood which we may pray that our children and our
children's children may never know.
John Milligan raised himself painfully and looked about him, but he could see
nothing and hear nothing. He sank back again exhausted, and tried to close his eyes.
His head ached dreadfully, and he guessed both his sight and hearing were impaired at
all events for a time. But the sharpest pain came from his foot. Laboriously he tried
to feel in the dark what damage fie had sustained. He succeeded in pulling away the
remains of his boot, and, ever practical, he tried vainly to recall what had been taught
him in his lessons of first aid. His hand, sticky with blood/fumbled at his shirt. He
tried to tear off a strip to bind round his wounded heel.
There had been a night attack. Orders had been received to take the enemy's
position at all costs. They had succeeded, but the enemy's retreat had bèen protected
as usual by their artillery, which had wrought fearful havoc in the attacking ranks.
.Milligan himself had been wounded, as far as he remembered, very early in the fight
and lay now at the base of a wooded hill, waiting for the stretcher bearers.
