By the curses of the tender-hearted friend who collects in No-man's-land between the lines the scattered fragments of his comrade's body -- the dabs of flesh, the hand, the head he knows so well, a boot with a foot still in it -- and puts them all together in a sack for burial;
By the silent stupefaction of wives and mothers trying vainly to picture to themselves a death which cannot be pictured; by the insane laughter of those who having witnessed these things can no longer weep;
This must not be again!
By the beach at Gallipoli covered with the prostrate and writhing forms of men exhausted and emaciated with dysentery, who have crawled down from the hills only to lie out there in the terrible sun tormented with flies and thirst, or to shiver through the frosty night, waiting for the tardy arrival of the Hospital Ship;
By the hundreds of bodies thrown at the last into the sea at sunrise, for their unceremonious end;
And each poor body for all its loat