It was
dreary.
These wounded men passed two whole days there without help. On the third
day the Germans arrived and the narrator gave himself up for lost. But
the German Captain, with whom the Frenchmen had divided their food and
drink, begged that they be cared for. Ultimately they were taken to the
German camp and their wounds attended to. But in a few minutes the camp
became the centre of a violent attack, and again it looked as if the
last day of the wounded prisoners had come.
Suddenly the Germans ran away and left everything. An hour later, when
the firing ceased, they returned, carried away the wounded of both
nationalities on stretchers, crowded about twenty-five of them into one
wagon (the narrator's broken leg was not stretched out, and he
suffered,) and all the way the wagon gave forth the odor of death. All
day they rode without a bite to eat. At 1 o'clock at night they reached
the village of Cuvergnon, where their wounds were well attended to. The
following day the Germans departed without saying a word, but the
villagers cared for the wounded, both friends and enemies, and in time
the American automobiles carried them to Neuilly.
It is a paradise [added the wounded man.
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