The Rev. E.L. Watson (Baptist chaplain) vividly describes one such outpost as I have indicated.
"In the vicinity of the trenches star bombs were constantly being thrown up, causing whole lines of trenches to be under the weird flare. German search-lights swept the whole of the surrounding country, bringing to light every movement of the troops not under cover.
"For one brief moment the shaft of light rested on me as I stood watching the scene of battle. The experience is equal to an unexpected cold douche. Night fighting under modern science is, I should imagine, hell let loose, and the surprise to me is that so many should survive the inferno.
"From 8 P.M. to 8 A.M. the rush was terrific. In one of the field hospitals no less than seventy odd wounded were treated, about twenty of these requiring chloroform.
"Be it remembered that each case is hastily but carefully dressed by the regimental doctor at the Regimental Aid Post before coming in to the field hospital for more thorough treatment, then one realises the enormous amount of work that often falls to the men occupying these positions of grave risk and tough work.
"These gentlemen are night and day at the call of the man in the trenches, and gladly make any and every sacrifice to render needed medical and surgical assistance. Each trip they make to the line of fire means that they carry their lives in their hands; for there is more danger getting into the trenches than actually exists in the trenches, because most of the fire passes over our trenches and sweeps the approaches night and day.
"Some few days ago, I had occasion to spend some time with a young regimental doctor in his lonely outpost. We were drawn together by common interests and promised ourselves a smoke night together. The first case that met my gaze in the field hospital was my friend the young regimental doctor, fatally wounded whilst going in the rush of work to render help to the wounded.
"Perfectly conscious, he said as he took my hand, 'You see, Padre, they have claimed me at last. I always felt it would come.'
"Calmly he dictated a brief message to his young wife and child, then bravely waited for the end. He knew exactly the nature of his wound and was quite prepared for the surrender of his soul to God. He accepted his end as nobly as he had striven to do his God-inspired work. The real tragedy of this is in the house yonder in England made desolate by this cruel war."