They must not stay under our own fire. Now they begin to return, with their eyes bright with the excitement of battle, covered with mud, with a German helmet or two, with many stories of the fighting, and with their wounded. The stretcher-bearers are out in No Man's Land seeking others, and we have enough to do dealing with those at hand. We have got most of them close up to the parapet, and the doctor has difficult work to do under circumstances the reverse of helpful, for German shells are landing in our lines pretty thickly. But when you reach this point in a 'stunt' you cease to think of danger; you are absorbed in helping. The wounded turn to the padre as a friend and almost as a father. They babble of their home folks, give you messages, and they hold your hand tightly when they are in pain. You cannot stay with one longer than is necessary, for others ask for you. 'Ask the padre to come' is something which makes it worth your while to be with the men in battle. One man, not at all young, gives me many loving messages to one whom I took to be his wife. I send them all to Australia, and receive thanks from his mother, who explains that her son was a confirmed bachelor. Another poor chap has a slight wound; but it does not bleed, and he is so cold. We heap blankets and new sand-bags on him and give him stimulants. But he gets colder and colder, and just as the ambulance reaches the billets in the village he dies of shell-shock. The wounded men are put on the trolleys, and the stretcher-bearers begin to push them out of the sector; and while they do so the Huns' shells fall all round. 'But who cares?' That is the feeling you have at this stage. Now we have a bother. Some of the raiders are not easily persuaded to start on the homeward march up the communication trench. The special officer stands, notebook in hand, ticking off the names of the raiders who have returned. In spite of his assurance some want to go back to find chums who are really not lost. Others seek excuses because they want to go back for trophies or booty which they now remember to have seen. One of our company is still missing, and a wounded man tells me where he has seen him. As a matter of fact, things have quietened down a lot now, and we have virtual possession of No Man's Land; the Huns have hidden. They are satisfied to sprinkle our sector with shells in the hope of getting returning men. But our stretcher-bearers are indignant at the idea of my attempting to get the lost man. Securing my information, they go into No Man's Land and find him. We still have a number of less seriously wounded men behind the parapets. Everybody is talking of the exploits of one of them. He is an athletic fellow whom the doctor is attending. To counterbalance the pain he is suffering I congratulate him, and suggest that he will probably get recommended for reward. 'No fear of that,' he says laughing. 'More likely ten days' C.B.' (confinement to barracks). 'Why?' I inquire.