We tumbled quite suddenly on to some men, a small Red Cross shelter and two or three hundred soldiers sitting under the trees by the road resting--most of them sleeping.

The doctor in the Red Cross place--a small fussy man--was ill-tempered and overworked.

There were at least thirty dead men lying in a row outside the shelter, and the army sanitars were bringing in more wounded every minute.

"Why weren't there more wagons?
What was the use of coming with so few?
Where was the other doctor, some one or other who ought to have relieved him ?" There he was, like a little monkey on wires, dancing up and down in the blazing road, his arms covered with blood, pincers in one hand and bandages in the other and the inside of his shelter with such a green, filthy smell coming out of it that you'd think the roof would burst! I filled seven of my wagons, sent them back and went forward with the remaining three.

We were climbing now, up through the Forest road, the shell, very close, making a terrific noise, and in between the scream of the shell the birds singing like anything! The road turned the corner and then we _were_ in the middle of it! Now _here's_ the worst thing I've seen with my eyes since I came to the war--worst thing I shall ever see perhaps.