The Ypres Times.
.201
I felt, therefore, a longing to experience for myself the emotions those people of by-gone
days must have felt.
As I got nearer to the trench, which the Germans had improvised the day before, I
heard someone groaningnot loudly, but in a pitiable, plaintiff way.
I stood still, and listened more acutely.
Presently I picked up the direction, and went towards it to investigate.
In a hollow in the trench lay a German soldier, his body moving in pain, his right
leg drawn up, and his face pale and haggard. From his lips came the low moaning I had
just listened for.
GERMANS CARRYING IN A WOUNDED BRITISH TOMMY.
Imperial War Museum. Crown Copyright.
His body momentarily stopped its writhings, and into his face came a look of appre
hension as approached. But when I knelt down beside him, this frightened look
vanished, and the first pitiable haggard expression in all its force returned.
I knelt and gazed at him for a few moments. That the man was dying appeared
only too true.
He was muttering something in German, but so low and indistinct that the little
I knew of the language served me not at all. So I spoke, perforce, in English.
Where are you hurt, soldier I asked.
The words brought some look of remembrance to his face.
I'm thirsty," he said, in guttural English. Goda drink!
I took out my water bottle, and held it to his lips. He eagerly gulped a few mouthfuls
down.
Then he tried to smile.
Thank you," he said, simply. Thank yousovery much."
The next moment a fit of shivering seized him. I knew what that meant in his case,
having come face to face so many times out there with Death.
A blanket lay beside one of his dead comrades. I picked it up, and covered the
trembling soldier's body with it. As I did so, he smiled again.
