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 didn't kill a lot of men; He never injured one; He didn'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 didn'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 didn'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 didn'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 doesn't like to have you talk about the thing he did— And yet he's got a medal from the Government of France.