BRIGGS OF BASE No. ##8

It may be that you know him. A slim and likely kid;

Red-headed, tall, and soft of speech and glance.

He never took a prize at school ( his talents always hid ),

And yet he's got a medal from the Government of France!

He did n't kill a lot of men;

He never injured one;

He did n't hold a trench alone;

He never manned a gun;

He drove an ambulance — that's all;

But those above him knew

He'd take it into hell and back

If he was ordered to!

That night ( he'd been right on the job

For twenty hours or more )

They telephoned again for him —

And as he cranked — he swore.

Half dead for sleep, he drove too far,

Straight into No Man's Land,

And there he gathered up four men

Who did n't understand

Or care what happened.... Then a chap

Sagging with gobs of mud

He shoved into his throbbing car

That smelled of drugs and blood.

The other roared, but Briggs, sleep-deaf,

Stared at the moon on high —

‘ Twas like some spent star-shell glued on

A blue-black, tired sky —

And did n't try to hear or think;

He only tried to keep

His car from sliding off the road —

And not to fall asleep.

The ambulance went skidding back

( His chains had lost themselves ),

While now and then a growl came from

Its stretcher-ladened shelves.

Briggs never stopped, but when the groans

Were punctured with a curse

He told the weary moon, “At least

This flivver is no hearse!”

And slowly yawned again.... At last

They rounded Trouble Bend,

Base Eight before them — and that ride

Was at a welcome end....

The blood-stained orderlies came out

To take the wounded in,

Opened the doors to lift the wrecks....

Before they could begin

There tumbled out the mud-caked man,

Whose mouth was shot away;

A man who stared like some wild beast

Finally brought to bay;

For Briggs, Base Eight, American,

Had brought ( beside his four )

A German officer, half drunk

For need of rest! who swore

And cried, and then sank back again

And fell asleep.... That's why

They've decorated little Briggs —

Red-headed, tall, and shy!

“I did n't do a thing,” he growls;

“‘ Twas just a fool mistake,

And he'd have captured me, of course,

If he had been awake.

He tried to talk ( his battered mouth

Was just a shredded scar );

But we were wasting time, and so

I pushed him in the car

And came on back.... Now, what is there

About that sort of stuff

To make a fuss for? I am not

A hero.... I'm a bluff!”

The surgeon smiles.... “If he can make

A capture in the night

When doing Red Cross work, what would

He do if he should fight?”

He asks, and looks a long way off

To where the pounding guns

Are making other harmless wrecks

Of one-time hellish Huns.

I wonder if you know him? A slim and quiet kid,

Red-headed, tall, and soft of speech and glance;

He does n't like to have you talk about the thing he did —

And yet he's got a medal from the Government of France.