A few straggling prisoners came out to wash at the tap in the
courtyard, and I went over to join them, for I was grimy, too, with
the long and horrible ride. With one hand I could make but little
progress, and was spreading the dirt rather than removing it, until a
friendly Belgian, seeing my difficulty, took his cake of soap and his
towel, and washed me well.

We were then given a ration of bread about two inches thick, and a
drink of something that tasted like water boiled in a coffee-pot, and
after this we were divided into ten groups. Those of us who knew each
other tried hard to stay together, but we soon learned to be careful
not to appear to be too anxious, for the guards evidently had
instructions to break up previous acquaintanceships.

The wounded were marched across the compound to the "Revier," a dull,
gray, solid-looking building, where again we were examined and
graded. Those seriously wounded were sent to the lazaret, or hospital
proper. I, being one of the more serious cases, was marched farther
on to the lazaret, and we were all taken to a sort of waiting-room,
and taken off in groups to the general bathroom to have a bath,
before getting into the hospital clothes.

With me was a young bugler of the Fifth Royal Highlanders, Montreal,
a little chap not more than fifteen, whose pink cheeks and curly hair
would have made an appeal to any human being: he looked so small and
lonesome and far from home. A smart young military doctor jostled
against the boy's shattered arm, eliciting from him a cry of pain,
whereupon he began to make fun of the little bugler, by marching
around him, making faces. It gave me a queer feeling to see a
grown-up man indulging in the tactics of a spoiled child, but I have