File:"Ladies from hell, (1918) (14761006224).jpg

Identifier: ladiesfromhell00pink (find matches)
Title: "Ladies from hell,"
Year: 1918 (1910s)
Authors: Pinkerton, Robert Douglas
Subjects: World War, 1914-1918
Publisher: New York, The Century co.
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: Sloan Foundation

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ering, crawling,dragging themselves as best they may to the havenof a first-line dressing-station! You pity them,yes, and you envy them. Their duty is done, theirwaiting is over, they are going back; your duty isahead, your fate is uncertain. They say that the first wounded man you seeremains with you throughout your life, and to thisday I remember mine with an awful vividness.He was just a kid, and was sitting propped upagainst the sand-bagged parapet, by the side ofa shell-hole filled with slimy water. Off to theleft a frog croaked tirelessly, heedless of the hellabout him. The wounded mans eyes were closed,and his breath was coming in labored gasps. Histunic was thrown back, and his chest was as whiteas a babes; but just over his heart was an uglyred smudge. Clean through the lung he had it,and as we passed by he went west, quietly andpeacefully, like a little child moving in its sleep.There was none of the glory of a dying hero abouthis passing over the great divide. He had merely
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THE BATTLE FOR LILLE 69 done his duty, having been shot on his returnfrom delivering a despatch. Through will poweronly he held consciousness long enough to crawlback to his superiors dugout to report his dutyfinished, and then he had passed on. I was still struggling to throw this picture outof my mind when another chap came limpingback, sweat streaming from his face and bothhands held to his groin. **Got a fag, boysT were his first words. Thefag was instantly forthcoming, but some one hadto light it for him, for he refused to take his handsfrom his injured side. **I got a pretty ^package here, said he—**shrapnel. That single word ^^shrapneP toldthe entire story, the story of a big gaping wound,and I looked at him curiously. **I m getting awfully tired, lads, were hisnext words; ^*I guess I 11 sit down. We helpedhim to a comfortable corner, where he puffed con-tentedly for a moment upon his borrowed ciga-rette, and then gasped and died. Crowding by us in that narrow trench, came an

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