be nothing but the
salt of death which has lain for a brief instant on the tongue of
every soldier--a revolting salt which the soldier refuses to swallow
and only is compelled to with strange cries and demon-like mutterings.
Sometimes, poor mortal, all his struggles and his oaths are in vain.
The dread salt is forced down his throat and he dies. The very
fortunate have only an acrid taste which defies analysis left them. Of
these more fortunate there are, however, many classes. Some, because
they are neurotic or have some hereditary taint, the existence of
which they have never suspected, in the end succumb; others do not
entirely succumb, but carry traces to their graves; yet others do not
appear to mind at all. It is a very subtle poison, which may lie
hidden in the blood for many months and many years. I believe it is a
terrible thing.

Nobody should have been allowed to stay behind after hearing for so
many weeks that ceaseless roar, sustaining that endless strain,
enduring so much. They should have been made to forget--by force.

And yet even this nobody understands or cares to speak of, although a
number of men are still half mad. The newcomers, soldiers and
civilians alike, who never cease streaming in now to gaze and gape and
inquire how it was all done, are quite indifferent. Some say that it
must have been an immense farce--that there was really nothing worth
speaking about. Others wish to know curious details which have no
general importance. The Englishmen are proud, and want to know whether
you were inside the British Legation, their Legation, and when they
have heard yes or no their interest ceases. They little know what the
Legation stood for. The Americans march up to the Tartar Wall, talk
about "Uncle Sam's boys," and exclaim that it requires no guessing to
tell who saved the Legations. The French are the same, so are the
Germans, so even the Italians. Only the Japanese and the Russians say
nothing.

At first I was at some pains to explain to each separate man what
really occurred. I pulled out my rough map, all thumb-marked and
dirtied with brick chips and the soil of the trenches, and showed
stage by stage how the drama unrolled. It was no good. Poor me! nobody
quite understood. Some thought possibly that I was a glib liar; others
did not even trouble to think anything. How much they understood! They
had not the background, the atmosphere, the long weeks which were
necessary to teach even us ourse