The righteous indignation of Major Kemp, who is situated somewhere
about the middle of the procession, reaches its culminating point
when, with much struggling and pushing and hopeless jamming, a
stretcher carrying a wounded man is borne down the crowded trench on
its way to the rear. The Major delivers himself.
"This is perfectly monstrous! You stretcher-bearers will kill that
poor chap if you try to drag him down here. There is a specially
constructed road to the dressing-station over there--Bart's Alley, it
is called. We cannot have up-and-down traffic jumbled together like
this. For heaven's sake, Waddell, pass up word to the C.O. that it is
mistaken kindness to allow these fellows down here. He _must_ send
them back."
Waddell volunteers to climb out of the trench and go forward with a
message. But this the Major will not allow. "Your platoon will require
a leader presently," he mentions. "We'll try the effect of a note."
The note is passed up, and anon an answer comes back to the effect
that no wounded have been allowed down from the head of the column.
They must be getting in by a sidetrack somewhere. The Major groans,
but can do nothing.
Presently there is a fresh block.
"What is it this time?" inquires the afflicted Kemp. "More wounded, or
are we being photographed?"
The answer races joyously down the line--"Gairman prisoners,
sirr--seeventy of them!"
This time the Major acts with promptness and decision.
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