The condition of the men when they reached us was often pitiable in the extreme.  Most of them had been living in the trenches for weeks exposed to all kinds of weather, their clothes were often sodden and caked with dirt, and the men themselves showed clear traces of exposure and insecure sleep.  In most cases they had lain in the trenches for hours after being wounded, for as a rule it is impossible to remove the wounded at once with any degree of safety.  Indeed, when the fighting is at all severe they must lie till dark before it is safe for the stretcher-bearers to go for them.  This was so at Furnes, but at Antwerp we were usually able to get them in within a few hours.  Even a few hours’ delay with a bad wound may be a serious matter, and in every serious case our attention was first directed to the condition of the patient himself and not to his wound.  Probably he had lost blood, his injury had produced more or less shock, he had certainly been lying for hours in pain.  He had to be got warm, his circulation had to be restored, he had to be saved from pain and protected from further shock.  Hot bottles, blankets, brandy, and morphia worked wonders in a very short time, and one could then proceed to deal with wounds.  Our patients were young and vigorous, and their rate of recovery was extraordinary.

When a rush came we all had to work our hardest, and the scenes in any part of the hospital required steady nerves; but perhaps the centre of interest was the theatre.  Here all the worst cases were brought—­men with ghastly injuries from which the most hardened might well turn away in horror; men almost dead from loss of blood, or, worst of all, with a tiny puncture in the wall of the abdomen which looks so innocent, but which, in this war at least, means, apart from a difficult and dangerous operation, a terrible death.  With all these we had to deal as rapidly and completely as possible, reducing each case to a form which it would be practicable to nurse, where the patient would be free from unnecessary pain, and where he would have the greatest possible chance of ultimate recovery.  Of course, all this was done under anaesthesia.  What a field hospital must have been before the days of anaesthesia is too horrible to contemplate.  Even in civil hospitals the surgeons must have reached a degree of “Kultur” beside which its present exponents are mere children.  It is not so many years since a famous surgeon, who was fond of walking back from his work at the London Hospital along the Whitechapel Road, used to be pointed to with horror by the Aldgate butchers, whose opinion on such a subject was probably worth consideration.  But now all that is changed.  The surgeon can be a human being again, and indeed, except when he goes round his wards, his patients may never know, of his existence.  They go to sleep in a quiet anteroom, and they waken up in the ward.  Of the operation and all its difficulties they know no more than their