and a large piece of the shell had gone clean through, wounding the
kidney behind and the bowel in front. That man crawled across
several fields, a distance of nearly a mile, on his hands and knees,
dragging with him to a place of safety a wounded companion. When
from loss of blood he could drag him along no longer, he left him
under a hedge, and dragged himself another half-mile till he could get
help. When he was brought into the hospital, he was so exhausted
from pain and loss of blood that no one thought that he could live for
more than a few hours, but by sheer pluck he had pulled through.
Even now he was desperately ill with as horrible a wound as a man
could have, but nothing was going to depress him. I am glad to say
that what is known in surgery as a short circuit was an immediate
success, and when we left him three weeks later in Ghent he was to
all intents perfectly well.

There were plenty of other serious cases, some of them with ghastly
injuries, and many of them must have suffered agonizing pain; but
they were all doing their best to make light of their troubles, whilst
their gratitude for what was done for them was extraordinary. The
Belgians are by nature a cheerful race, but these were brave men,
and we felt glad that we had come out to do what we could for them.

But if we give them credit for their courage and cheerfulness, we must
not forget how largely they owed it to the devoted attention--yes,
and to the courage and cheerfulness--of the nurses. I wonder how
many of us realize what Britain owes to her nurses. We take them as
a matter of course, we regard nursing as a very suitable profession
for a woman to take up--if she can find nothing better to do; perhaps
we may have been ill, and we were grateful for a nurse's kindness.
But how many of us realize all the long years of drudgery that have