It was growing dark outside and the electric light was switched on. The
wounded still arrived in multitudes. Towards eight o'clock the
day-shift came to an end and the night-shift began. We had no time to
clear the theatre. The new surgeons continued where the old had left
off. They were in high spirits and set to work merrily, exchanging jokes
all the time.

The bearers were utterly exhausted and several of them had blue rings
round their eyes through lack of sleep.

"Poor bearers," said one of the Sisters, "I _do_ feel so sorry for
them--they have an awfully hard time!"

Captain Dowden--another "head specialist"--said to me:

"Give the bearers a bit of a rest. Go to the Prep. yourself and bring me
a nice head case."

I went accompanied by an orderly. The Prep. was a long marquee and on
either side was a long row of stretchers, one close up against another.
A man was lying on each, generally silent and motionless. Only a few
were groaning feebly. We selected one whose head looked like a parcel of
blood-sodden bandages. We carried him into the theatre and laid him on
to the table.

The bandages were unwound. The man's hair was matted and caked with
gore. There were three deep gashes in the skull. The head was washed and
shaved and then painted with picric acid. The brilliant electric light,
the clean white garments of the fresh teams, the bare head painted
bright yellow and the three thin streaks of red blood trickling down