his badges should see a feverish man lying on a dirty deck and pass him by. I am growling, of course, but then all men growl when they are sick, and I am only growling to my diary anyway. At last, a big English Tommy with a bandage over one eye lifted me on his shoulder and carried me downstairs. He put me on this little bunk with its straw mattress, and tucked me around with this blue blanket. What a relief! For the first time in days my leg has stopped throbbing, and how much easier it is lying in bunk. ... The first bugle-call for tea woke me from a half-sleep, with the burning feeling gone. Some good Samaritan let me lean on his shoulder while I climbed those weary stairs to the tea saloon. It hurts horribly to move about.
...One of my bunk companions lit a cigarette for me. He told me that the ladies of Athens had sent the wounded soldiers thousands of cigarettes. They are done up in very pretty little packets of twelve cigarettes each. If only those ladies of Athens could know how their gift has been appreciated by all these hurt men!
...Last night I only woke three times. Such a splendid rest after four nights’ sleeplessness. It hurt horribly to stumble to breakfast. Is it getting better or worse?
...Was only a little bit feverish to-day, and the knee does not hurt when I’m lying down, but it is awful when I’ve got to walk. ... Had a bad two hours before dinner. Got feverish and couldn’t walk. Yet a persistent idea of mine is that without decent tucker this leg won’t get right. I called out to a long-legged, homeless-looking Australian. He soon came hobbling back with a plate of beef and vegetables, a big pannikin of broth and an appetizing grin. You can just imagine what that hot soup tasted like. But I could only peck at the meat and vegetables, after all.
...Feel real good this afternoon and am going to tackle those stairs again for tea. But, my heavens, the bugs are awful.
Next day—I’m continuing this tale of woe. Why shouldn’t I! Nobody loves me! Anyway, if a man does get through this war, he’ll have something to give him a fit of the blues just by reading up these notes and remembering things. But I know this growl is justified. Here it is. From ten in the morning until five in the evening, all men (except the distant cot-cases) are supposed to be on deck. At ten o’clock a ship’s officer examines the ship, with a great flourish of trumpets. What ridiculous nonsense it is. Here are hundreds of men, not supposed to be seriously wounded, many of them limping about as I am myself, the majority, between them, hurt in almost every part of the human body; and yet they are debarred from the only thing this under staffed, overcrowded ship can give—rest. I got over the difficulty. On the mornings I can manage it I crawl up the stairs and get my leg dressed, then crawl back again. When the Tommy M.P.S. comes down to clear the ship for inspection I tell the sergeant to carry me up on deck if he wants to. He is nonplussed. You see, there are hundreds of us. Some just stare at him with fever-glazed eyes.
Why not have a good growl while I am about it? It is so wearisome lying here. Now, the Tommy doctor and the French one are working hard all day long dressing the wounds of those hundreds of men. My doctor has four assistants who undo the bandages, but three of them appear quite incapable of doing up a simple bandage. It is a shame the things that happen here daily. This might explain some of the things I am trying to tell. An assistant took the bandage off my leg and then started to pick hairs and fluff from the inflamed wound with a squat thumb-nail under which the dirt was thick.
The doctor can’t watch all and dress our wounds at the same time. I have seen him suddenly turn around and “go” for an assistant in a most fierce manner. But with all us men in the big room he is working at the very fever-pitch of mental and physical strength. And all of us, especially those whose wounds are paining, are quite willing to let anything be done to them if only the doctor will dress their wounds and give them ease. The poisoned pus accumulates and hurts like hell. We have got a very kindly feeling towards the big French doctor. The men who patronize the Tommy doctor, like him too, Both doctors are as gentle as they can he, but they have such a terrible lot of men to get through.
...I feel a little better this morning, so much so that I’m going to growl again. The lice are accursed things. I’ve broken out in a red rash all over the body from their bites. And it’s hell lying here feverish with the bugs biting a man, I suppose they go and bite some other poor devil and fill him with poisoned blood.
By Jove, writing these notes when I’m able passes away the time and helps a man.
There goes that accursed raucous-toned bugle for the first dinner sitting. And I can hobble up there to-day, it will be quite an adventure. This is the first day I’ve not been feverish for some days past.
...Here is another howl. We only had two small slices of bread and jam and half a pannikin of tea for the evening meal. I’ve been whispered that we can buy buns at 1d. a piece, and coffee at 2d. a pannikin, and so fill up that way. It seems to me like kicking a man when he’s down. Of course, I feel hungrier than I suppose I really am. If the blooming old leg would get better I wouldn’t care if they gave me bully-beef and biscuits, even if this is a hospital-ship.
...I wonder what this ship really is classed as. The lucky few who can hobble about say that she has no green band around her, and no red cross. They say she has been waiting to sail for Alexandria for these last twelve days, unload her wounded, then sail to England for troops. But it has been far too risky to sail. I suppose she will make a great dash for the sea one of these fine nights and if she gets through we will be very proud of the fact of having saved some green and white paint. But if she is torpedoed, what a cry there will be of a hospital ship with two thousand helpless men aboard having been sent to the bottom, “murderously” torpedoed, etc.
...This is a huge ship, but I am unable to look over it and can’t describe it. It is strangely quiet and subdued, very different to a troopship. With this number aboard a troopship she would he a hive of Babel many times multiplied. Our little squadron in their dining hut at Mahdi kicked up fifteen times more row than comes from all this great ship’s dining-halls.
...Mr McLaughlin came down and saw me this morning. I’m glad he is better, but he looks jolly miserable on it. ... I’m blest if the Tommy sergeant hasn’t been trying to urge me up on deck to get into a life-belt. It appears we are actually off to-night. The men are being shown their posts should anything happen. I pray we may truly leave for Alexandria, but I wouldn’t climb those stairs unnecessarily for all the life-belts in the world.
...Hurrah! I believe it is really, really true. If only we do go to Alexandria, my knee will have a chance. I have had grave doubts lately. All our wounds are only dressed. Nothing else can be done to them. A man would inevitably have to lose his leg.
...Thank God! We are off right enough, amidst frantic cheering. There are glad hearts aboard to-night, which may seem a strange thing to say of this ship of misery. But you see, many others besides me realize that our only hope is a hospital and attention. May we have a safe voyage, above all a swift one. I wish I could be on deck now while we are going out; all is excitement; they say there are many ships anchored around us.
6
EGYPTIAN GOVERNMENT HOSPITAL,
ALEXANDRIA.
June 28th—Here I am, in Alexandria, growling as usual, tired of having been in bed so long. The old leg, under efficient treatment, healed rapidly, but it seems to have broken out again. I employed the time lying here by thinking out a couple of war inventions. I forwarded the plans to the Brigadier and to Admiral Robinson. Naturally I got no reply. However, it helped time pass. I saw Trembath in the Deaconess Hospital yesterday. He is still the same cheerful old growler.
...Such a lot of our fellows have been wiped out. Poor Allan Williams died as he had lived, a Christian and a gentleman. ... Am in Mustapha Base now. In a few days numbers of us patched-up chaps are going back.
...We have just heard of the death of Colonel Harris. The 3rd Infantry Brigade were attacking the trenches in front of Tasmania Post, while the 2nd Light Horse Brigade masked the enemy’s fire. The colonel was shot through the neck and died within two minutes: the 5th will be sorry. The colonel was a disciplinarian, but not oppressively so. We all respected him, and many liked him.
August 23rd—At sea again, in