When we were waiting for the order to go in I saw a cavalry sergeant who had been badly wounded three times and was still pegging away at it. As he was fighting I saw him go to a badly wounded corporal who was shouting to be taken out of the way of the line. The wounded sergeant bound up the other man’s wound, and then sat him on his own horse and sent him back out of the way. Then I saw the sergeant limp along on foot as best he could after his regiment to fight again. I don’t know what became of him, but I know I shall never see a finer thing as long as I live: _A Wounded Hussar_. What McCabe Did McCabe helped me to dress my knee wound under a hail of shells and bullets. I had been lying there for half an hour when Mac came along. “Hullo,” he said, “what’s up?” “Rip up my trousers,” I cried, “and help me to bind my knee.” While we were getting on with the job the shells started to pepper about. I said, “Clear out, Mac, you’ll get hit.” He said, “After I’ve finished with you.” He then went after the ambulance men, but it was like looking for a bushel of gold. He did not return. I then made up my mind to crawl to safety, so I discarded my rifle and equipment, and with another fellow crawled about 600 yards back through a swede field: _Corporal Erler_. Taking the Salute A troop train with a thousand Belgian soldiers came in. They looked terribly dirty, but awfully earnest. They seemed delighted to meet an Englishman, and always wanted to shake hands. I reckon I shook hands with a couple of hundred of them. When they saw an English officer they jumped to the salute. As they passed a major of one of the Scottish regiments who was lying on a stretcher, having been shot in the chest twice, and also other parts, they saluted him, too. The major, although he was very weak, cried to his orderly, “Hold me up. I can’t take a salute lying down.” His orderly told him he was too ill to move, but he persisted, and he was propped up, and acknowledged the salutes, with hardly sufficient strength to hold his hand to his forehead. It was a pathetic sight: _Anonymous_. A Brave Sergeant We were in a very hot attack in defending a bridge. The Germans poured a very destructive fire into us; we were forced to give way, and had to retire across the bridge. There was practically no shelter, and during our retirement one of our officers was severely wounded. He would undoubtedly have fallen into the hands of the enemy but for the extreme bravery of Sergeant Cropp, who, perceiving the situation, gallantly ventured on to the bridge and, seizing the wounded lieutenant, placed him on his back. Instead of risking a journey across the shot-swept bridge, he decided, encumbered as he was, to swim the canal, which he did, and swam with the wounded officer out of the line of fire and into a place of safety: _A Scots Fusilier_. Officer and Gentleman