, with only one left when he drew near his
destination.

But he was a provident man. He had collected all available loot from
the men who had fallen on the way down, and the unfortunate survivor
was so laden that he collapsed, sank into the mud under an immense
load of helmets, caps, belts, everything that could have been taken
from the dead. The Munster Fusilier stood over him with his rifle.
"You misfortunate b----," he said. "And them words," he said to me
confidentially, "got a move on him, though it was myself had to carry
the load for him the rest of the way."

CHAPTER XIV

A BACKWATER

I look back with great pleasure on my connection with the Emergency
Stretcher-bearers' Camp. It was one of three camps in which I worked
when I went to B. I liked all three camps and every one in them, but
I cherish a feeling of particular tenderness for the
Stretcher-bearers.

Yet my first experience there was far from encouraging. The day after
I took over from my predecessor I ventured into the men's recreation
room. I was received with silence, frosty and most discouraging. I
made a few remarks about the weather. I commented on the stagnant
condition of the war at the moment. The things I said were banal and
foolish no doubt, yet I meant well and scarcely deserved the reply
which came at last. A man who was playing billiards dropped the butt
of his cue on the ground with a bang, surveyed me with a hostile
stare and said:

"We don't want no ---- parsons here."

Somebody in a far corner of the room protested mildly.

"Language, language," he said.

I did not really object much to the language. I had heard the British
soldiers' favourite word too often to be shocked by it. What did hurt
and embarrass me was the fact that I was not welcome; and no one made
any attempt to reassure me on that point.

Indeed when the same unpleasant fact that I really was not welcome
was conveyed to me without obscenity in the next camp and with
careful politeness in the third I found it even more disagreeable
than it was when the stretcher-bearer called me a ---- parson. The
officers in the convalescent camp, the centre camp in my charge, were
all kindness in their welcome, but the sergeant-major ----. We became
fast friends afterwards, but the day we first met he looked me over
and decided that I was an inefficient simpleton. Without speaking a
word he made his opinion plain to me. He was appallingly efficient
himself and I do