We heard a shrill crying, “Oh—­h! oh—­h!”

I ran forward, crying to Hardinge, “A man’s hurt!” He answered, “Is he?” The dust was so thick I could not see at first, but as it cleared I found a workman lying on back and elbows, his knees drawn up as though he were trussed; his head waved from side to side, and he was uttering spasmodic cries.  I said to him, “Where? where?” and he placed a hand to his stomach.

The man had been struck just below the ribs by a large piece of bomb, blood was welling from the wound, so I pushed his shirt into it, and ran back to the office.  Mrs. Stobart’s car had been brought by a lady and a youth named Boon, who had both taken cover in the cellar; so I dug up the girl, whose name I have forgotten, as I hoped she knew “first aid.”  Together we ran to the man, leaving Boon to bring the ambulance.  “Bandages,” we demanded.  “Haven’t any,” answered the few Serbs who had gathered round; “the first aid house has been blown to pieces.”  We crammed our handkerchiefs into the place, and a cotton-wool arm pad which was brought, and we then took off the man’s own puttees and tied him up with them.  As we were doing this somebody cried—­

“Aeroplanes returning.”

Immediately every Serb and Austrian fled.  The girl, Hardinge, and I were left alone.  It was a false alarm.  With the returning crowd came a large man, who was weeping.

[Illustration:  BROKEN AEROPLANE IN THE ARSENAL AT KRAG.]

[Illustration:  WHERE THE “PLANE” FELL.]

[Illustration:  HOUSE NEAR THE ARSENAL DAMAGED BY BOMBS.]

“Oh, my poor brother! oh, my poor brother!  What have they done to thee?  Why should this evil have befallen thee?”

As we finished tying him up, Hardinge said, “Is it any good lying down?”

I answered, “If this poor chap had been lying down he would not have been hurt.”

There was no stretcher, so we lifted the wounded man on a blanket into the ambulance, which Boon had now brought.  The girl and the brother climbed within.  I took the steering wheel.  Boon wound up the engine, and swung alongside me.  The driving was a difficult problem.  Whether to drive fast and get to the hospital, or whether to go slow and spare the wounded man as much pain as was possible?  The road was awful:  once it had been laid with stone pavement, but many of the stones were missing, and in so bad a condition was it that although several bombs had fallen in the streets, one could not distinguish the bomb craters from the ordinary holes in the road.  At last I decided that as it was not a fracture I would go as quickly as I dared.  Above the clatter of the machinery I could hear the weeping of the brother and the intermittent cries of the wounded man, “Water, water.”

“I think he’s going,” said the girl through the curtains.

At last we reached the hospital.  We laid the man on the ground and the doctors did all they could.  But it was useless, the piece of shell had cut in directly beneath the heart.  In ten minutes he was dead.  I turned to the brother and laying both hands upon his shoulders said—­