Dickie came up on a horse. There was blood down the horse’s shoulder and he went lame slightly.
His voice came from between his teeth. “A shrapnel bullet through the foot,” he said. “I’m damn sorry Major.”
“Let’s have a look.” I flashed a torch on it. The spur was bent into his foot just behind the ankle, broken, the point sticking in.
There was no doctor, no stretcher, no means of getting the spur out.
“Can you stick it? The wagon is piled mountains high. I can’t shove you on that. Do you think you can hang on till we get down to Flavy?”
He had a drink of rum and lit a cigarette and the battery got mounted. I kept him in front with me and we moved off in the dark, the poor little horse, wounded also, stumbling now and again. What that boy must have suffered I don’t know. It was nearly three hours later before the battery got near its destination and all that time he remained in the saddle, lighting one cigarette from another and telling me he was “damn sorry.” I expected him to faint every moment and stood by to grab him as he fell.
At last we came to a crossroads at which the battery had to turn off to reach the rendezvous. There was a large casualty clearing station about half a mile on.
So I left the battery in charge of the Babe and took Dickie straight on, praying for a sight of lights.
The place was in utter darkness when we reached it, the hut doors yawning open, everything empty. They had cleared out!
Then round a corner I heard a motor lorry starting up. They told me they were going to Ham. There was a hospital there.
So Dickie slid off his horse and was lifted into the lorry.
As my trench coat had been stolen by one of the infantry he insisted that I should take his British warm, as within an hour he would be between blankets in a hospital.
I accepted his offer gladly,--little knowing that I was not to take it off again for another nine days or so!
Dickie went off and I mounted my horse again, cursing the war and everything to do with it, and led his horse, dead lame now, in search of the battery. It took me an hour to find them, parked in a field, the gunners rolled up in blankets under the wagons.
The 21st of March was over. The battery had lost three subalterns, a sergeant, three signallers and a gunner.