It was a
fearsome sight.
In an hour or so my face was commencing to throb violently, and I hunted
up the nearest dressing station, which was a casualty clearing station,
and addressed myself to the nurse.
"What's the matter, Canada?" she asked, looking at my jaw.
"Why, I got hit, nurse."
"I can plainly see that, but what makes it that color? It looks like
gangrene! Come in and see the doctor."
He examined me and found there was a piece left sticking there; I would
have to be operated on at once, he said, and there was no time lost
getting down to business. He extracted a small splinter.
"See that this man is put to bed at once; gangrene has just started."
When I got off the table my face was so bound up in bandages that only
my nose and one eye were visible.
"Go to bed, now," said the nurse. "Oh, no, I can't," I said; "I have got
to leave at once."
"No, no, you mustn't do anything of the kind; you must go to bed at once
and have the closest care for some weeks." She fixed up a cot for me in
the station and I went to bed.
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