The Wahpeton times., 1918-03-21

to enter the bureau. But never
does one come into the place where
the others are without receiving
some kind of greeting. There is
nothing particularly personal
about it; it seems rather recogni-
tion Of the shortened trouser-leg
or the empty sleeve as the token
of what they had all been through
together "o..t tlier. "a sort Of
g,im fellowship OF sacrifice.
Most Of theAi alet young mon,
in,antrymen. who have been
wounded either in the trenches or
in the cheering scramble cover the
top" in an assault. They are a
v ell-shavea:, decidedly clean-look.
ing crew, and many OF them AZ. Of
fine physiqu ebarring the lost arm
or leg. One of the singular things
about them is the prolonged 81
lence in which they sit upon the
benches in the waiting room.
Shyness is scarcely what one
would expect Of men who have all
save struck hands with the Great
| Adventure even imagination
| does not suggest shyness. But, as
a matter of fact, it is with un-
feigned difidence that these men
talk of themselves even to the
bureau chief, whom they see one
by one and quite alone. The ques-
tion asked of them. as part of the
necessary records of the bureau,
are answered with pauses of COLI
fusion, with resort to generaliza-
tions which comprehend a world
of suffering in a sentence.
Here is one of them. Fernand
G., a young man, just returned,
twenty-six, once farm laborer in
Normandie. His right leg has
been amputated above the knee
and. with a '::pilon.'' he clatters
awkwardly through the bureau
doorway upon two shiny. new
crutches.
"How was I wounded. Mon
sieur? Yes, my right leg. When?
1t was in one of the attacks OF
Tahurc. We came out of the
trenches that day. More. Mon
sieur99 All. yes.-we were run
ming Notwithstanding burst
before he and threw me down.
It was all wire. barbed wire.
ther"-Stretched zig gag. so. Mon
sieur. I was topping over when
it burst at my feet-it tore away
part of this leg-the chief doctor
took the rest of it off. Monsieur.
There was a long pause. Fer
nand reaches for his handkerchief,
because this extended and difficult
anecdote has brought the perspi-
ration cut upon his forehead. As
he moves, one of the crutches slips
and calls With clattcr to the
uoor A quick smil" of confusion
succeeds the rerspiration as tn"
soldier stoops for his crutch. He
is evidently relieved when he has
another question to answer.
"Hospital I was taken to x
Monsieur. Perhaps it would have
been better for me if | had not
had to lie two days between the
trenches. How. When | came -
my senses | found | was caught
in the balbed wire. my clothing,
Monsieur, and | couldn' move far
enough to get myself free. There
the brancardiers found me-they
couldn't t come before-the fire was
too heavy-one could not blame
them. Monsieur. Oh, yes. l was
very weak when they came. I
seemed to haye spent much time
sleeping there-but | was lucky,
don't you think, Monsieur?
'What do l want to do for
work? A shoemaker? No! \
farmer again? Will that be pos
sible-with my leg: Truly. Mon.
sieur, l had never thot.'
Behind him comes Emile E.
from the Vesges: an older man
forty perhaps. He too wants to
be a cobbler. 1t is the work which
seems to attract most of them for
the bench it offers. His right leg
also was missing.
Il was canal boatman before
Monsieur. Yes. ] want to go back
to it. if l can. | can steer and
handle all the ropes-the boats are
very steady YOU know" He
smiled at his intended dro1lery.
MY wound? In the Somme
| fighting Monsieur. They attacked
us-we could not hold our posi-
1.tion-that was all. Lots of us
went down. l don't know what
struck me-shell. perhaps. Mon
sieur,-here it struck He bent
forward and touched his "pilon
about four inches below where his
knee had been. Perhaps not 50
bad wound at first. | was able