Thirst drove him to fumble for his water-bottle, only to find, when
he had twisted it round, that a bullet had punctured it, and that it
was dry; and, after fifteen tortured minutes, thirst drove him to
the impossible, and brought him crawling and dragging his broken leg
to a dead body and its full bottle. An eager, choking swallow and a
long breath-stopping, gurgling draught gave him more life than he had
ever thought to feel again, a sudden revulsion of feeling against
the thought of waiting helpless there to be picked up and carted to
a German prison camp or butchered where he lay, a quick hope and a
desperate resolve to attempt to escape such a fate. He had managed to
crawl to the water-bottle; he would attempt to crawl at least a little
nearer to the fighting lines, to where he would have more chance of
coming under the hands of his own men. Without waste of time he took
hasty stock of his wounds and set about preparing for his attempt.
The broken leg was the most seriously crippling, but with puttees,
bayonets, and trenching-tool handles he so splinted and bound it about
that he felt he could crawl and drag it behind him. He attempted to
bandage his head, but his arm and shoulder were so stiff and painful
when he lifted his hand to his head that he desisted and satisfied
himself with a water-soaked pad placed inside a shrapnel helmet. Then
he set out to crawl.
It is hard to convey to anyone who has not seen such a place the
horrible difficulty of the task the Corporal had set himself. The wood
had been shelled for weeks, until almost every tree in it had been
smashed and knocked down and lay in a wild tangle of trunks, tops,
and branches on the ground. The ground itself was pitted with big and
little shell-holes, seamed with deep trenches, littered with whole and
broken arms and equipments, German and British grenades and bombs,
scattered thick with British and German dead who had lain there for
any time from hours to weeks. And into and over it all the shells were
still crashing and roaring. The air palpitated to their savage rushing,
the ground trembled to the impact of their fall, and without pause or
break the deep roll of the drumming gun-fire bellowed and thundered.
But through all the chaos men were still fighting, and would continue
to fight, and the Corporal had set his mind doggedly to come somewhere
near to where they fought. The penetration of such a jungle might have
seemed impossible even to a sound and uninjured man; to one in his
plight it appeared mere madness to attempt. And yet to attempt it he
was determined, and being without any other idea in his throbbing head
but the sole one of overcoming each obstacle as he came to it, had no
time to consider the impossibility of the complete task.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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