Still no hay stations could be found, and we
were also hungry, having had no breakfast. We passed a mound covered
with thousands of Austrian prisoners waking up in the twilight. Another
hill was black with boys. Still no station. Then we saw some haystacks
being taken to pieces by various drivers. Our ten coachmen ran to the
stacks and came back with loads of hay which they packed in the carts.
In five minutes the haystacks existed no more.
"Better not leave that good hay for the Swobs," said the corporal, as he
whipped up the horses. We passed a dressing-station. It was a sort of
laager of ox carts over which flew the red cross. Wounded soldiers were
sitting and lying on the grass everywhere, while doctors and nurses were
hurrying to and fro with bandages and lint.
Water was difficult to find. At last we stopped at the top of a hill in
a furious wind. The water which we got from a stream looked filthy, but
we boiled it thoroughly in a biscuit tin, and Angelo again presided over
a magnificent curry filled with bully beef, while we hit our toes on the
ground to keep warm.
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