not. I lay on the floor of his office till three in the morning, when
an ambulance arrived and took me off to some place in a field, where
they were collecting casualties. From thence I was despatched to the
large asylum at Amiens which was operated by an Imperial C.C.S. The
major who examined me ordered me to go to the Base by the next train,
as they had no time to attend to cases of influenza. For a while I was
left on the stretcher in a ward among wounded heroes. I felt myself
out of place, but could do nothing to mend matters. Two sisters came
over to me, and apparently took great interest in me till one of them
looked at the tag which was pinned on my shoulder. With a look of
disgust she turned and said to her companion, "He isn't wounded at
all, he has only got the 'flu'". At once they lost all interest (p. 287)
in me, and went off leaving me to my fate. Stung by this humiliation,
I called two orderlies and asked them to carry me out into the garden
and hide me under the bushes. This they did, and there I found many
friends who had been wounded lying about the place. My batman had come
with me and had brought my kit, so a box of good cigars which I handed
round was most acceptable to the poor chaps who were waiting to be
sent off. By a stroke of good luck, an accident on the railway
prevented my being evacuated that evening. I knew that if they once
got me down to the Base my war days would be over.

On the following morning, feeling better, I got up, shaved, put on my
best tunic, and, with a cigar in my mouth, wandered into the reception
room, where I found the major who had ordered me off on the previous
day. Puffing the smoke in front of my face to conceal my paleness, I
asked him when he was going to send me down to the Base. He looked a
little surprised at finding me recovered, and then said, "Well, Padre,
I think I will let you go back to your lines after all." It was a
great relief to me. The chaplain of the hospital very kindly took me
in charge and allowed me to spend the night in his room. The next day
I got a ride in a Canadian ambulance and made my way back to Beaufort.
There, to my horror, I found that the Division, thinking they had got
rid of me for good, had appointed another padre in my place. Through
the glass door of my room, I could see him giving instructions to the
chaplain of the artillery. I felt like Enoch Arden, but I had not
Enoch's unselfishness so, throwing the door wide open, I st