One day as I was going up the line, a young sapper was carried out on a sitting stretcher.

He was hit through the chest, and all the way along the bath mats was the trail of the poor boy's blood.

He was only nineteen years of age, and had done splendid work and won the admiration of all the men in his company.

I had a short prayer with him, and then saw him carried off to the dressing station, where not long after he died.
The sergeant who was with him was exceedingly kind, and looked after the boy like a father.

As the war went on, the men were being (p.