The blanket was removed and a blood-sodden strip of linen unwound from
the German boy's right forearm, which was hanging to his shoulder by a
few shreds of flesh and sinew.

"Tell him his arm's got to come off."

I explained to the boy that it would be necessary to remove his arm in
order to save his life.

He did not seem to understand at first and looked at me with a puzzled
expression. Then he suddenly broke into a wail, like a little child, and
cried, "Ach Jesus, ach Jesus, ach Jesus ..."

The chloroform mask soon muffled his cries and he became unconscious. I
grasped his cold hand and slender wrist. The arm was rapidly amputated.
The red stump with the disc of severed bone in the middle was cleaned
and bandaged and he was carried back to the prisoners' ward, retching
and vomiting.

On Captain Wheeler's table lay a healthy looking German with a bronzed
face. His legs were pitted with a great number of small wounds caused by
minute bomb fragments. The mask was clapped over his mouth and the
chloroform allowed to drip on to it. But he inhaled the fumes with
difficulty, and began to choke.

The anæsthetist got angry and snarled:

"That's it, choke away--a choker like all the rest of them--you blasted
race of murderers--I'm sorry for the individual though, this deluded
fool, for instance."