6



The Great Army of the Wounded

Poor boy ! the long train of exhaustion, depri-
vation, rudeness, no food, no friendly word or
deed, but all kinds of upstart airs and impudent,
unfeeling speeches and deeds, from all kinds of
small officials (and some big ones), cutting like
razors into that sensitive heart, had at last done
the job. He now lay, at times out of his head
but quite silent, asking nothing of any one, for
some days, with death getting a closer and a surer
grip upon him ; he cared not, or rather he wel-
comed death. His heart was broken. He felt
the struggle to keep up any longer to be useless.
God, the world, humanity — all had abandoned
him. It would feel so good to shut his eyes for-
ever on the cruel things around him and toward
him.
As luck would have it, at this time I found him.
