the wound at length discovered the bullet in the canteen-tin. The
apparently moribund corporal, seeing this, instantly recovered, and
leaping briskly to his feet told them to countermand the
stretcher-bearers and pressed forward to the attack with renewed
vigour.

Just as we left De Aar a train full of Queensland Mounted Infantry was
entering the station _en route_ for the front. The occupants were in the
highest spirits and cheered loudly. "Ah!" said some of our poor fellows,
"we were like that when we went up!" The contrast between the two
trains--there, life and vigour: here, weakness and death--was very
striking.

So far from being "absent-minded" about their people at home, the
wounded soldiers were continually thinking about their sweethearts,
wives and families. Several soldiers in my ward, _e.g._, had lined their
helmets with ostrich feathers. "My eye," said they, "won't the missus
look fine in these!" One of the reservists asked me: "Do you think I
shall lose my thigh? You see, I want to do the best I can for my family,
and if I do lose my leg I shall be useless, as I work in the pits in
Fife." Another Scotchman, a shoemaker, was full of anxiety about the
future support of his wife and children. "If only my wound," he said
dejectedly, "had been below my knee instead of above it! Because
this"--pointing to the wounded spot--"is just the place I use for my
work."

Yes! to mix with the rank and file of an army as one of themselves is a
great privilege. One understands them in this way far better than
through the medium of books. Many little acts of unostentatious heroism
are casually spoken of--noble deeds done by humble soldiers who live