"In the same ward were many wounded upon the floor stretchers, lying still in their soaked and muddy clothes just as they had fallen, with bloody bandages showing up in dreadful contrast against their poor soiled bodies. Some delirious, others lying in profound silence, but noble fortitude. In a ward like this one sees nothing but tragedy. "In the receiving room the R.A.M.C. officers were working at highest pressure to save life and limb, by steady hand and cheery manner imparting confidence and hope to every patient in turn. "I could not help expressing admiration for the way in which each piece of work was carried out, but the officer commanding simply said, 'You know, Padre, we cannot sacrifice enough for the man who is standing up to this hail of hell for us.' "I was surprised to see such a large percentage of officers among the wounded. No wonder our men are proud of their leaders; where risks must be taken, the officer claims this as his privilege and thus shows the way in every undertaking. One brave major leading his men into the German trenches, when hit, simply shouted "Go on!" as he fell wounded in the head. He is being buried to-day, as every brave soldier desires, in his uniform and blanket." It will be perhaps as well to look at a similar scene through a doctor's eyes, and I therefore quote a letter from a medical officer at a receiving base in France published in the _Scotsman_. "We get the wounded here at practically first-hand. They are brought in with all possible speed, dealt with at once, and sent out to other hospitals as soon as we can send them, to make room for the others who may (and who invariably do) come. They're wonderful chaps, those Tommies. Great stuff; too good to lose! They are brought to us at all hours. Exhausted, covered with mud, hastily but well bandaged on common-sense principles; and aye the quiet, plucky grin, or the patient, enduring set of the jaw. "'What price this little lot, doctor? '--and the querist indicates where the bullet entered his thigh. 'And me futball leg, too!' growled another one, brought in dripping one night. 'And who will do the schorin' fur the ould tame now? All the same, sir, I schored ag'in' the man that did this, or wan av his side.' Man, they're wonderful! They tell us, under the nervous stress in which we usually find them, some things that have made me wish to lay my eye to the sights of a rifle, despite my bay windows. They tell them in such a matter-of-course fashion, too, that they simply sink in. "'When did you get this?' I asked a man wounded in both thighs.