III

THE WILTSHIRES

“You talk to him, sir.  He zeed a lot though he be kind o’ mazed like now; he be mortal bad, I do think.  But such a cheerful chap he be.  I mind he used to say to us in the trenches:  ’It bain’t no use grousing.  What mun be, mun be.’  Terrible strong he were, too.  One of our officers wur hit in front of the parapet and we coulden get ’n in nohow—­’twere too hot; and Hunt, he unrolled his puttees and made a girt rope of ’em and threw ’em over the parapet and draw’d en in.  Ah! that a did.”

It was in one of the surgical tents of “No. 6 General” at the base.  The middle of the ward was illuminated by an oil-lamp, shaped like an hour-glass, which shed a circle of yellow radiance upon the faces of the nurse and the orderly officer, as they stood examining a case-sheet by the light of its rays.  Beyond the penumbra were rows of white beds, and in the farthest corner lay the subject of our discourse.  “Can I talk to him?” I said to the nurse.  “Yes, if you don’t stay too long,” she replied briskly, “and don’t question him too much.  He’s in a bad way, his wounds are very septic.”

He nodded to me as I approached.  At the head of the bed hung a case-sheet and temperature-chart, and I saw at a glance the superscription—­

     Hunt, George, Private, No. 1578936 B Co. ——­ Wiltshires.

I noticed that the temperature-line ran sharply upwards on the chart.

“So you’re a Wiltshireman?” I said.  “So am I.”  And I held out my hand.  He drew his own from beneath the bedclothes and held mine in an iron grip.

“What might be your parts, sir?”

“W——­ B——.”

His eyes lighted up with pleasure.  “Why, zur, it be nex’ parish; I come from B——.  I be main pleased to zee ye, zur.”

“The pleasure is mine,” I said.  “When did you join?”

“I jined in July last year, zur.  I be a resarvist.”

“You have been out a long time, then?”

“Yes, though it do seem but yesterday, and I han’t seen B——­ since.  I mind how parson, ’e came to me and axed, ’What! bist gwine to fight for King and Country, Jarge?’ And I zed, ’Yes, sur, that I be—­for King and Country and ould Wiltshire.  I guess we Wiltshiremen be worth two Gloster men any day though they do call us ‘Moon-rakers.’  Not but what the Glosters ain’t very good fellers,” he added indulgently.  “Parson, he be mortal good to I; ’e gied I his blessing and ’e write and give I all the news of the parish.  He warnt much of a preacher though a did say ’Dearly beloved’ in church in a very taking way as though he were a-courting.”

“What was I a-doin’, zur?  Oh, I wur with Varmer Twine, head labr’er I was.  Strong?  Oh yes, zur, pretty fair.  I mind I could throw a zack o’ vlour ower my shoulder when I wur a boy o’ vourteen.  Why!  I wur stronger then than I be now.  ’Twas India that done me.”