near the stove, which was an old-fashioned coal one with a pipe leading
up to the ceiling. The concussion had shaken this to such an extent that
accumulations of soot had come down and covered him from head to foot,
and he was as[5] black as a nigger! His expression of disgust was beyond
description, and he was led through the other two wards on exhibition,
where he was greeted with yells of delight. It was just as well, as it
relieved the tension. It can't be pleasant to be ill in bed and covered
with bits of broken glass and mortar, not to mention the uncertainty of
whether the walls are going to fall in or not. "Ah," said the little
Sergeant to me, "I have never had fear as I had last night." "One is
better in the trenches than in your Hospital, Miske," chimed in another.
"At least one can defend oneself."

One orderly--a new one whom I strongly suspected of being an
_embusqué_--was unearthed in our rounds from under one of the beds, and
came in for a lot of sarcasm, to the great joy of the patients who had
all behaved splendidly.[6] With the exception of Pierre and the porter on
the surgical side, every man jack of them, including the Adjutant, had
fled to the _cave_. A subsequent order came out soon after which amused
us very much:--In the event of future air raids the _infirmiers_
(orderlies) were to fly to the _cave_ with the convalescents while the
_très malades_ were to be left to the care of the _Mees anglaises_![7]

It took us till exactly 7 a.m. to get those three wards in anything like
order, working without stopping. "Uncle," who had dressed hurriedly and
come up to the Hospital from his Hotel to see if he could be of any use,
brought a very welcome bowl of Ivelcon about 2.30, which just made all
the difference, as I had had nothing since 7 the night before. It's
surprising how hungry Zeppelin raids make one!