Chapter 21

ALIVE

It was the first night after my arrival at Hanover that I really fully recovered a state of consciousness.

Although I have recorded several incidents of the week which had just passed, they were only occasional glimpses from which I would relapse again into unconsciousness, and it only comes back to me in a hazy sort of way, like dreams through a long night of sleep.

But I remember well the moment when I finally awoke and took in my surroundings. It was early in the morning. I seemed to have had frightful dreams; the horror of what I had passed through had been a frightful nightmare, mocking at me, laughing at me, blowing me to pieces.

I turned over on my side. Strange place this shell-hole; it seemed very comfortable. What was this I was touching--a pillow, bedclothes. Good God! I was in a bed! As my thoughts became clearer I lay perfectly still, almost in fear that any movement I might make would awaken me from this beautiful dream.

A long, long time ago something frightful had happened from which rescue was impossible. Yet, surely this was a bed.

Then I remembered the attack which had taken place over my body while I lay out in No Man's Land; of the shells which had burst around me in violent protest to my presence. I could not possibly have escaped; I must be maimed.

Cautiously I began to feel my limbs, my arms, my body, my feet, my fingers; they were all there, untouched. The whole truth dawned upon me: My God! I was alive!

I sat up in my bed; I wanted to shout and dance for joy. There was a bandage round my head: I was blind! Yes, I knew that, but there was nothing really the matter with me except that. The mere fact of being only blind seemed in comparison a luxury.

I was blind! But joy indescribable--what was that triviality--I was alive! alive!

Oh, my! I never knew before that life was so wonderful. Did other people understand what life was? No; you must be dead to understand what life was worth. I must tell every one how wonderful it all is.

But where was I? I could hear no guns--a bed? There were no beds at the front. I couldn't have dreamed it all; it must have been true; otherwise I should have been able to see.

Where then could I be? Oh, God! Yes, I know--I am a prisoner of war!

But even this knowledge, which for the moment quieted me, could not suppress my exaltation. I was saved! I was alive! No pain racked my limbs; no terror prodded my brain.

But I was weak and wasted. Oh, how weak I was! How hungry! But what of that, I was alive!

And where was England--such a long, long way off. I must go there at once, this minute. No, I can't; I'm a prisoner.

How miserable some people are who have no right to be. They cannot know how wonderful life is. Oh, how wonderful it is to die, and then to come to life again.

I'm only blind! Just imagine it! What is that?--it's nothing at all, compared with life; and when I get well and strong I won't be a blind man.

I may not recover my sight, but that doesn't matter a bit, I will laugh at it, defy it. I will carry on as usual; I will overcome it and live the life that has been given back to me.

I will be happy, happier than ever. I'm in a bed alive. Oh, God! I am grateful!