It struck me very forcibly that what was immediately wanted was a long draught for each of them of some clean, simple stimulant.  I went and bought them red wine, and I could see that this seemed to do good, and I went to the barge and got bottles of whisky and a quantity of distilled water, and we dosed the men.  It seemed to do them a wonderful lot of good, and in some way acted as an antidote to the poison.  Also, it pulled them together, and they got some quieter sleep afterwards.

Towards the afternoon, indeed, all but one Irishman seemed to be better, and then we began to be cheery, and the scene at the station took colour and became intensely alive.  The khaki-clad forms roused themselves, and (of course) wanted a wash.  Also, they sat on their beds and produced pocket-combs, and ran them through their hair.  In their dirt and rags these poor battered, breathless men began to try to be smart again.  It was a tragedy and a comedy all in one.  A Highlander, in a shrunk kilt and with long bare legs, had his head bound about with bandages till it looked like a great melon, and his sleeve dangled empty from his great-coat.  Others of the Seaforths, and mere boys of the Highland Territorials, wore khaki shirts over their tartan, and these were bullet-torn and hanging in great rents.  And some boys still wore their caps with the wee dambrod pattern jauntily, and some had no caps to wear, and some were all daubed about with white bandages stained crimson, and none had hose, and few had brogues.  They had breathed poison and received shrapnel, and none of them had slept since Sunday night.  They had had an “awful doing,” and no one knew how the battle at Ypres had gone, but these were men yet—­walking upright when they could, always civil, undismayed, intelligent, and about as like giving in as a piece of granite.

Only the young Scottish boys—­the children of seventeen who had sworn in as nineteen—­were longing for Loch Lomond’s side and the falls of Inversnaid.  I believe the Loch Lomond lads believed that the white burn that falls over the rocks near the pier has no rival (although they have heard of Niagara and the Victoria Falls), and it’s “oor glen” and “oor country” wi’ them all.  And one boy wanted his mother badly, and said so.  But oh, how ready they were to be cheery! how they enjoyed their day!  And, indeed, we did our best for them.

[Page Heading:  A GARDEN-PARTY]

Lady Bagot’s hospital was full, and we called it her garden-party when we all had tea in the open air there.  We fed them, we got them handkerchiefs, our good du Pont got them tubs, the cook heaped more coal on the fire, although it was very hot, and made soup in buckets, and then began a curious stage scene which I shall never forget.  It was on the platform of the station.  A band appeared from somewhere, and, out of compliment to the English, played “God Save the King.”  All the dirty bandaged men stood at attention.  As they did so an armoured