"Take it easy, bearers. There's no hurry--we haven't got many more to
do. Just put him on that table there."

The newcomer's left leg was thickly bandaged, but the blood was oozing
through and forming a pool on the table. When the bandage was removed,
Captain Dowden examined the limb, but no injury was visible on the upper
surface. I grasped the foot--it was blue and cold. I raised it, so that
the surgeon could look at the under-surface of the leg. As I did so, the
calf gave way in the middle. He told me angrily to pull harder. I pulled
until the leg was taut again. The muscles and the sinews squeaked
faintly as they stretched. Underneath the calf was a big hole and the
bone had been completely shattered. The man was strangely quiet. His
bare chest did not move. I looked at his face and suddenly I saw his
lower jaw drop. He was dead.

"Another slab for the mortuary!"

The remaining tables were empty and no more wounded were brought in for
a while. The bearers were obeying the surgeon's order and were taking a
rest. The officers and sisters in the theatre were in high spirits. They
were trying to speak French and ridiculing each other's efforts. Captain
Wycherley began to hum a tune and wave his amputation knife like the
conductor of an orchestra, whereupon the others locked arms and danced
up and down the theatre, talking and joking. Then Captain Calthrop broke
away and danced by himself, kicking his legs up in the air. The Sisters
watched him and laughed loudly. One of them could hardly control
herself, and shrieking with laughter, cried:

"Oh, Captain Calthrop, you really are _too_ funny!"