"Where is the officer in charge?"

Matches were struck. The few lighted lanterns there were were snatched
from one hand by another. And in spite of all this apparent disorder
the work went rapidly forward. Men climbed in through the open doors.
Sacks and heavy cases were passed along. Porters, bending under their
loads, slipped through the maze of vans and carts to the one they
wanted and deposited their burdens.

After giving Wattrelot orders to prevent any one from invading our
horse-box I slipped out and went towards the station office to look
for the military commissary. I had great difficulty in making my way
through the crowd of men who seemed to be rushing to take the train by
assault in the darkness. Then I had to avoid breaking my neck in
getting across the maze of rails, the signal wires, and the open
ditches.

I got to the station. A number of wounded were there lying on the
platforms; about a hundred of them, with their clothes torn, and
covered with dust. They presented a sad picture. They were, it is
true, only slightly wounded; but it cuts one to the heart to see
soldiers in that plight, hauled out upon the ground without straw to
lie upon or any doctor to attend to them. However, they had all had
first-aid dressings. Below the bandages that bound their heads their
feverish eyes gleamed in the light of the lanterns. Their bandaged
arms were supported by pieces of linen tied behind their necks.
Several of them were sitting on baskets, casks and packages of all
kinds, and they were talking eagerly. Each man was relating, with
plenty of gesticulation, the great deeds he had taken part in or seen.
As I passed, I heard scraps of their conversation: "They were in the