An English soldier was
on each side of him, and each man carried a hand-bag, while this
black-bearded giant chatted with them.
It was a strange group, and I edged nearer to them and spoke to one of
the men.
"Who's this? Why do you carry his bags?"
"Oh, we're giving him special privileges," said the man. "He stayed
behind to look after our wounded. Said his job was to look after
wounded, whoever they were. So there he's been, in a dugout bandaging
our lads; and no joke, either. It's hell up there. We're glad to get
out of it."
I spoke to the German doctor and walked with him. He discussed the
philosophy of the war simply and with what seemed like sincerity.
"This war!" he said, with a sad, ironical laugh. "We go on killing one
another-to no purpose. Europe is being bled to death and will be
impoverished for long years. We Germans thought it was a war for
Kultur--our civilization. Now we know it is a war against Kultur,
against religion, against all civilization.
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