was in this spot unobstructed, for the fringe of pines on the hillside below had been shorn close by the shot and shell; and that light fell upon the wan features of the fallen, and upon their gory stains; while their groans, and the faint plash of the high tide against the rocks below, were the only sounds to break the stillness which had succeeded to the tumult of that fateful day.
Hard by the ruins of Roche’s Tower, in the thick of the slaughtered, with his head resting on a part of the prostrate signal-staff, an English private of powerful build spoke in accents of pain to an equally stalwart comrade, who was doing his best to staunch the gash that was making a pool around him.
‘Ah, Bill, my boy—beggared if this ain’t sarve us roight for goin’ a soldierin’. Why couldn’t we stop at ’ome and do jobs loike about the river, and live a quiet life, instead o’ listenin’ like fools to your recruitin’ sergeants a standin’ drink and gettin’ round a feller with a lot o’ lies!’
‘Oi’d never no more, Joe, dimd if a would,’ groaned the other, in reply. ‘This is what they calls milipery glory, this is. To lie ’ere with my ‘ip smashed, and bleedin’ to death as fast as fast, and moy poor Betsy a-thinkin’ of me all the while, and ’opin her Bill’s a-comin back to her after the war! Dim the war, and them that makes war, oi say. It makes _ lots of honest folks miserable, and does no good to no one. If ever oi gets well—but per’aps oi never shall, Joe—call me a turnip if ever yer sees me a-fightin’ battles agin.’
‘Curse them doctors, why don’t ’ee come round?’ gasped his comrade. ‘Oi can’t be a settin’ my broken arm and rib for myself, can oi? Bother them chaps! they’re no good.’
‘Doctors wun’t be o’ no use to me, Joe,’ whined the other, more faintly than before. ‘Oi’ma goin’, oi feel oibe. Oi’m a losin’ all my blood, and oi can’t stop it, and oi can’t do
