erflowing with wounded
the evening of a battle, I find in these lines by an eyewitness: "Some
moderate complaints among the crowded stretchers: one asks for a drink,
one wants relief for pain, a bed, a dressing, to be quickly attended.
But let some story be told in the group, some incident come out like a
trumpet-call, all faces brighten, the men lift themselves a little, the
mirage of glory gives them heart again. I commemorate with piety the
anonymous example of a little Zouave, doubled over on himself, holding
his bullet-pierced abdomen in both hands, whom I heard gently asked:
'Well, little one, how goes it?' Oh, very well, _mon Lieutenant_, our
company has passed the road from B---- to the south; we had gotten there
when I was knocked out. It's all right; we are smashing them!"

[Sidenote: Their first thought for victory.]

I, personally, received such answers from wounded who came to us from
the Chemin-des-Dames, or from the fort of Malmaison. When I asked for
news, my mind preoccupied with their individual sufferings, their first
thought was to tell me of the victory. The ordinary French phrase for
"How are you? _Comment ca va-t-il?_" (literally: How goes it?) may apply
to an event or to a person. This being so, it is never of himself that
the newly-wounded soldier thinks, but of what is interesting to
everybody--the common success. I went to welcome a patient brought in
October 26th and asked: "You came tonight?"

"Yes, Father."

"Not too tired by the journey?"

"No, not too much."

"What wound?"

"Jaw pierced by a bullet, arm broken, wound in the thigh."

"How goes it?"

[Sidenote: The wounded are delighted with the success of the attack.]

"Very well! The wounded who came to the hospital at the front were
delighted, we had gotten everything we were trying for!"

"You were in the attack?"

"Unfortunately no, I was wounded the day before."

"In the bombardment?"

"Yes, while we were filling up the trenches to make a way for the tanks
toward the fort of Malmaison."

"That must have been pretty constant thundering?"

"Yes, but very soon we did not think of it. In the little bombardments
you hear the shells coming and try to get to shelter, but, in those
great days, when it is going on all the time, you can no longer
distinguish anything, it is a continual noise, a kind of huge snoring.
Then you are quite calm."

[Sidenote: They do not speak of what they have done or seen.]

These are a few