A Soldier's Sketches Under Fire

"Entrenching" the Piano.

One night, while one of our concerts was at its height, the officers even joining in, the order came to advance. So we had to bid a hasty farewell to our much-prized "Johanna," which had given us so much pleasure.

"Seventy-Five Hotel."

"Seventy-Five Hotel."

Now I think of it, there was another ex-"pub" where we touched lucky in the matter of finding things—though they didn't include a piano. This was "Seventy-five Hotel." We called it that because the enemy fired seventy-five shells into it in seventy-five minutes on one memorable occasion, and then only killed one man. The building, which had been the scene of fierce fighting even before our battalion arrived on the scene of action, still bore the sign "Estaminet," and so we could safely conclude that it had been the village "pub," or wine lodge. There were a few bottles of wine still in the cellar, which the Germans must have overlooked when they were in possession, or had not time to take away. We found many articles, some useful, some otherwise; amongst them a large warming-pan, which caused amusement. The article we put to the best use was the dinner bell. This was turned to great account. In front of the estaminet was our "listening post," where we kept watch and guard at night. Well, by aid of the dinner bell we installed our own brand of telephone system. This was to connect the bell by string to the wrists of those out on the watch. Whenever they saw anyone approaching or any other indication of possible danger they gently pulled the string, the bell tinkled, it was heard by our companions in the trench, word was passed along, and everyone prepared for emergencies.

"Chicken Farm."

"Chicken Farm."

Here something really like a little bit of sport came in our way. When we arrived there the farm was deserted, its lawful owners having found the situation too hot for them. Cows roamed about at random, and so did pigs. But after we had dug ourselves in and made our position secure, the chickens were what interested us most. There were two hundred and fifty of these at the least, and they used to parade on the strip of ground shown in the picture and the bolder spirits peep over the edge of our trench. Catching them was good sport, but eating them was something finer. What a nice change from bully beef and biscuit! Cooking not quite a la Carlton or Ritz, but more on prehistoric principles. So many fowls were caught, killed and plucked for cooking and eating that the wet mud was completely covered with feathers, and resembled a feather bank. As for ourselves, the feathers, sticking to the wet mud on our uniforms and equipments, turned us into Zulus, wild men, or Chippeway Indians. The enemy presumably did fairly well also with a poultry farm in the distance. They appeared to have a portable kitchen. We often watched the funnel moving about their trench. One day a line was stretched from this funnel to a pole and German officers' uniforms were hung out on the line to dry over the stove. It made us a lovely target. Shooting at officers' uniforms was a pleasant diversion, and they had been well pierced with bullets before they were taken in.

A French Comedian.

Later on, and farther on—after our capture of a position I shall shortly have occasion to describe—we made the acquaintance of a French "born comedian," who was a tower of strength at our entertainments, and who in various other ways was a cause of constant amusement. He had been left behind by his regiment, and we found him hanging around the place. It had been his home, and it seemed that the magnet of life-long associations held him to it. He was very useful in taking us round to cottages which, to our surprise, we found to be still inhabited, and in giving us the tip where to find cheap, if very thin, beer and other refreshments. He was particularly proud of his German jack-boots—made for legs very much bigger than his own. When we had concerts he used to give us clever imitations of the late Harry Fragson in his "Margarita" and other varieties, to the accompaniment of the mouth-organ band. He used to say: "Ze Engleesh soldier—très bon—ze French soldier—bon—mais ze Allemand—no bon!" On one occasion he told us: "Après la guerre, ze Engleesh soldier beaucoup admirers—ladees! Ze French soldier admirers, too. Ze Allemand—non!"

A French Comrade-Comedian.

He got hold of peasants to wash our clothes for us and introduced us to a little mill-race, which we reached through a thicket which concealed us, and the spectacle of our men stripping and diving into the stream in cold weather amused him hugely. He jumped about in his big boots, exclaiming: "Vat your vife say if she see you in ze water? Vat she say if she see you ici? The English replied, in the best French at their command, "beaucoup lavé—très bon," at which our comical comrade-at-arms laughed more heartily than ever. When his regiment found out where he was a guard was sent up, and he was obliged to remain in charge of it, to his great regret, when we moved on. He wished us "bonne chance," assuring us that it was his one desire after the war to get to Angleterre, where he had never been; but now that he knew the English he must visit us to make our further acquaintance. So much for our comical French friend, ever so amusing and ever so polite.

We found fun in all sorts of things, made fun of all sorts of things. That we could do so and did do so may appear strange—it seems strange sometimes to me now. But 'twas a merciful thing that we were able to.

CHAPTER VI.

THE "MAKE" OF A BRITISH TRENCH.

The four following sketches will, I hope, give a fairly clear and accurate idea of the construction of a British trench. The first depicts one of my comrades (who was also a brother-artist by profession, and a brother-sniper) sitting reading, during a surcease of the firing, on the firing platform in a trench corner. It will be noticed that he wears his sleeping cap. Very close and handy are his tall jack-boots—so serviceable in wet weather and heavy mud. My artist-friend, I should like to remark, was considered among snipers a great shot, and there is no doubt that he often did deadly work with his rifle.

A Trench Sniper Resting.

After the trench has been dug out the sandbags are placed along the top so as to form what is called a "parapet." Then the trench is dug deeper still and the firing platform is put in. Next the vertical struts of wood are put in position with wiring in between to hold back the mud, and in places where it is possible blocks fill in gaps to strengthen the structure. Finally the bed of the trench is boarded over with long heavy planks, some of which require two men to carry them; these are very often placed on bricks or blocks of wood to give air spaces underneath to keep them dry as far as possible. The trench is now completed as far as its construction is concerned, but it is left to be "furnished" with any supplies that happen to be handy. One of the first essentials is naturally the fireplace. This, as in the present instance, is very often an old tin pail with a few holes knocked in it, somewhat similar to the one used by Mr. Wilkie Bard in his famous sketch, "The Night Watchman." The fuel consists of charcoal, wood and coke, to get which fully lit it is usual to swing the receptacle round and round so as to create a draught and start the contents thoroughly on the go. There is a great danger attending this, for if the Germans catch a glimpse of the brazier being whirled in the air they immediately locate the whirler and begin firing in his direction.

The black patch in the centre of the picture represents the sniping place, which is a thick piece of iron let into the parapet with a hole bored through it large enough to take the muzzle of the rifle. It also allows enough space for the sniper to see through, and, with the aid of the periscope, held usually by a comrade at his side, he is able to get the sight for his firing.

A Traverse.

A Traverse.

Here is a "traverse" in a trench. The sergeant is reading the orders of the day to one of his men. This was a very damp corner—on the top of the dug-out to the left tunics were hanging to dry in the early morning air. The soldier still has on his sleeping cap (like the figure in the last picture); his mess-tin is by his side, and his rifle, encased in a waterproof cover. He is sitting on the firing platform, and the depth of the trench is noticeable, showing how low the men are in the ground. The sandbags shown it took us four hours one night to place in position. As fast as we put them up they were shot down again by the enemy's maxim fire. We were all so tired and sleepy that, working on automatically, we hardly knew whether we were putting the mud in the sandbags or outside them.

It was not only the dampness and the incessant maxim fire we had to contend with here, but an army of insects, which jumped about us in battalions, and saw to it we were never lonely. A Cockney member of our company, after catching a particularly active jumper, called out: "Now then, you blighter, where is your respirator?"

The enemy were only thirty yards away, and we could often hear them shouting at us and would answer back. Many of our men were hit by snipers, while the shelling was often terrific, but we stuck on, as we were holding a part of an important military position. I remember how on an occasion when the shelling was very heavy one man engaged himself in making soup as coolly as if nothing was happening until the earth knocked up by the shells began to drop into the mess-tin, when he gave us his opinion of the Boches in his own forcible vernacular. We often laid for hours at the bottom of the trench—flat on the ground in the water and mud to escape the shells.

The Birth-Place of a Song.

The Birth-Place of a Song.

The third bit of trench of this chapter has a claim to fame as the birth-place of a song. The song was one which only British soldiers could have concocted, and none but British soldiers would have sung. It had no known author and no known composer. It sort of "growed," like Topsy. If it had had a title given to it I suppose it would have been called "I want to go home," for that was its dirge-like refrain, always sung very cheerfully indeed, or with mock earnestness. Time and again I heard its chorus taken up with terrific gusto from end to end of this trench, and the whole extraordinary composition spread to other trenches like a contagion. Its popularity was instant and enduring—and as unaccountable as the popularity of many other popular songs. I think I quote the inspired words of the chorus correctly:—

Three rifles are deposited on the steps of the fireplace—the usual position for rifles when not in hand, dropped inside canvas bags, bayonets protruding—kept well greased, to prevent them from getting rusty.

Trench Periscope.

Trench Periscope in Use.

The uses of a trench periscope are so well known that they need not be described. The feature of my last sketch of a trench from the inside is that it shows one in actual employment.

CHAPTER VII.

THE RUSE OF A GERMAN SNIPER.

Snipers on both sides exhibited the most extraordinary artfulness, cunning and ingenuity in the discovery, adaptation and invention of "cover." The great desideratum, of course, was to hide where we could see without being seen, to shoot from where there was least danger of being shot.

I helped to track and put an end at Houplines to one German sniper who had resorted to a ruse that I really think deserves the dignity of a short chapter all to itself. The story is tellable in a few words, and may be introduced by this drawing of "The White Farm," so christened because of the whiteness of the walls of its house; although, as will be noticed, there was little of this or anything else left upstanding when I drew my sketch.

"The White Farm."

The position shown is the entrance to the trench at this point, and the shovels, barrels, pails and water trough are all such implements as had been used in making and draining the cutting.

The cart shown is the "ration cart" used at night for bringing provisions from the Transport Corps wagon. It was usual for the ration parties (as elsewhere) to go out every night after dusk. These were even more than ordinarily dangerous excursions, as the enemy trenches commanded the road, we having captured the position from them shortly before. Hence sniping was continuous, and the cart was often hit and our men killed or wounded. We therefore took observations.

The Sniper who Lived in a Tree.

A German Sniper's Nest.

In course of time we came to notice that the most dangerous part of the road lay between a willow tree-stump and the White Farm. Our men were shot here nightly in getting back to the trenches. A party was formed to make a tour of the field in which the tree-trunk stood. The first thing we noticed was that after we entered this enclosure the shots were less numerous. We split up in open order and approached the willow, taking care to drop to the ground on our hands and knees. As we neared the tree, lo and behold! a shot rang out from it and only just missed the corporal. He jumped up at once and we all followed suit. All dashed on for the tree. What did we find? It was nothing but a purposely hollowed trunk used as a shielded nest for a German sniper, the inside being fitted with a shelf to rest his arm on as he coolly picked off our men through a hole. He endeavoured to make his escape in the darkness, but we brought him down. He had evidently been using this sniping place for weeks, though this was the first time we had located him.

CHAPTER VIII.

THREE DEATH TRAPS.

I suppose it may be said, without exaggeration, that we were in a death trap all the time, but I have sketches to show of three particular and "extra special" sort of death traps. The first is of:—

Suicide Bridge.

"Suicide Bridge."

This bridge, made by the British, was called "Suicide Bridge," because it was, and was at, such a specially dangerous spot. The British trenches were in the foreground and beyond the bridge. We held these trenches for fourteen days against the enemy's attacks. The gap was nine feet deep at this corner, and the black hole on the left faintly showing a fireplace was our kitchen, scarred by bullet marks made by snipers.

The place was infested with rats. Great water-rats were continually getting at our food and cheese in the dug-outs. In one "rat hunt" we killed eighteen of these rodents in one morning. The stream itself supplied us with drinking water, but one day our men began to fall ill. The doctor analysed the water and discovered that the dastardly Huns had poisoned the stream higher up, where it ran through their lines. We warned the rest of the battalion by the field telephone wires and saved them all from being poisoned.

An exasperating though not murderous "kultur" trick was to send us insulting messages down the stream enclosed in bottles, calling us "dirty dogs," "English swine," etc., etc.

The final furious attempt of the Germans to dislodge us began in the daylight. Their snipers advanced first in an open field beyond the trees and took cover in a wagon, which we located by the ridge of flame.

At night they advanced in great masses for hand-to-hand fights, which took place in the stream. The carnage was terrible. The poisoning tricks had worked our fellows up to a high pitch, and they fought with reckless bravery. We managed to explode a mine and caught their reserves. Then their artillery opened on the stream and we rushed out to meet them. They didn't get "Suicide Bridge" from us, but the losses were heavy on both sides and the stream itself was red with blood.

Suicide Signal Box.

"Suicide Signal Box."

The sketch of "Suicide Signal Box" takes us to a spot on the railway line close to the scene of one of the biggest battles of the war. Its chief feature is the dug-out actually under the line itself. Of course the line was not being used across the top of the dug-out. As a matter of fact, at this time a railway truck was run up to the edge nightly propelled by forty of our men, bringing filled sandbags for making a barricade across the line, thus affording the relieving party cover when getting out of trench. The position was known to us as "Suicide Signal Box," because it was so dangerous as to be almost suicidal to cross the line, as was necessary to reach the road only five yards beyond. The ruined building is the signal box itself, protected by the line of sandbags in front of telegraph poles and shelled trees.

A most curious fact about this place was that, though it was being continually shelled by the enemy and their maxim guns were trained day and night on this very important position to catch troops coming up as relieving parties, it was a wonderful place in which to hear the birds sing. The larks trilled at every dawn to herald the coming day, and never seemed in the least disturbed by the roar of artillery. In the left-hand corner of the sketch will be noticed the firing platform, over which is the "funk hole," so called from its being the refuge to run to when the shells arrive. The soldier buries his head like the ostrich—only he beats the ostrich by getting his shoulders in as well—and then feels fairly secure.

A Mile-and-a-Half of Hell.

A Ghastly Promenade.

I show a little bit of a ghastly promenade near Messines, some six miles from Armentières. The road of which the bit in the foreground leads to what remains of a very handsome gateway to a park is a mile-and-a-half in length, and had to be traversed by our men in order to get to the British position, which was placed beyond the left corner of the picture (where the broken tree slants). Relieving parties had to cover the whole of this distance exposed to the enemy's enfilading fire from two sides of the triangle right up to the apex. The apex was a British trench in the most advanced position we could possibly hold. Our determination to throw back the enemy made it absolutely necessary to hold it. The road was covered by the Germans' maxim guns from three points, both down each side and from the centre between the pillars of the gateway. Our method of advance was in Indian file at several paces apart, and instructions were given that whenever the maxims fired upon us we were to drop flat on the ground immediately, and when the searchlight was turned upon us (which it frequently was with blinding force) we were to stand stock still in whatever position we were, the reason being that even with such powerful searchlights as are used by the enemy, which have a perfect range of five miles, it is easier for them to distinguish a moving object than a stationary one. It was almost unendurable to have our rifles in our hands—the barrels frequently hit by the enemy's bullets—and to have to stand still unable to use them—by order; but of course it would have been fatal to have opened fire. We should all have been annihilated.

The Hole in the Wall.

The Hole in the Wall.

As a pictorial sequel to "Suicide Bridge" and my little account of the great fight there, hand to hand in the darkness, the next illustration will not be out of place. The barricade across the road, at the entrance to a village, marks the spot to which we advanced from the stream after that struggle in it. The clean hole in a remaining wall of the almost demolished house on the left had been cut by a shell. The house in ruins on the right had been a mansion, and pictures and furniture were strewn about—some of which we used in the trenches. A case of wine had been left behind unbroached. A cat left behind, that refused to quit, bore a charmed life—never was hit—and often ran about on the parapet. The parapet barricade of sandbags was called "The High Jump," because we had to mount it and get over it each night and jump for our lives, to take up our positions by our advanced listening and observation post. It was absolutely fatal for anyone to show himself on the road in the daytime. Many a time we should have liked to have stretched our legs, but dared not. But after the fourth day we did actually get on the road, as the enemy shifted their position, and the relief was wonderful. It had been a speculation whether we or the Germans would get on the road, and after dislodging them we managed it. Our men ran about, some skipping with a piece of wire, others rolling on the ground, in their enjoyment of newly-found freedom, occasional spent bullets reaching us from a great distance. The position was always referred to as "Hole in the Wall."

CHAPTER IX.

GERMAN BEASTS IN A FRENCH CONVENT.

It is fitting that my sketch of a French Convent, as the abode of holy women whose innocent lives were dedicated and devoted to the service of the Prince of Peace, should stand by itself, apart from any drawings suggesting less faintly the devilry of war. The nunnery had been in the possession of the Germans for some short time before we arrived on the scene, and bore traces of their customary depredations and violations. The stories related by the nuns themselves were not of a description to bear retailing in the public Press. I would to God that they could be told to every coward of a shirker at home, to every skunk of a "conscientious objector," to every rat of a "stop-the-war" "pacificist." They would stir to boiling indignation the dregs of their manhood—if they have any dregs. They would make them sick—even them; and I should like them all to be sick—sick unto death. There are not many of them, all told, but they are noisy as well as noisome. The good sisters hailed the British as deliverers, and gave us a welcome I can neither describe nor forget.

A Violated Convent.

The enemy had abstained from destroying the building, probably from a subtle motive. They had retired to a wood in the rear. We made a sharp attack upon them to the right of this wood the next day; caught them at night completely unawares, and, after a very stiff fight, routed them, and they left 150 dead on the ground.

There was a pond in the Convent grounds, and while getting water for our transport teams we came across some tin cases hidden away by the enemy—a great find, for on getting them out we found they contained many thousands of rounds of the enemy's ammunition. It was perfectly dry, as the cases were watertight; so we made a big haul of most useful supplies.

CHAPTER X.

ANOTHER SCENE OF BOCHE BRUTALITY.

The accompanying sketch is of the Market Square of Armentières, the building shown in the centre being the Town Hall. The cobble stones of the roadway and the lattice-shuttered windows are of the style which has lasted for generations. This quaint and picturesque town was devastated and almost totally destroyed; in fact, the bit of it I show was the only portion the enemy left uninjured. We captured the place, taking four machine guns, several horses, a quantity of equipment and ammunition. Two of the machine guns were mounted in the clock tower, a position commanding the range of the street. It is revolting to recall the stories we were told here, and carefully verified, of the shameless atrocities of the Huns. The populace were still in occupation of the buildings when we were driving the Germans back from the barricades. Of course they were greatly terrified, and we did our best to pacify them and soothe their nerves as we came in contact with them. How different was the treatment they received from the enemy. Take the house on the left of the picture. Here Germans walked their horses through the door shown, along the passage into the yard in the rear, as a mere piece of bravado—an incident scarcely worth mentioning in view of the crimes they proceeded to commit. The householder, with his wife and two daughters, was sitting eating his dinner when the party arrived. The cowardly brutes shot this man on sight—in full view of his family—carried his body out and later on buried it in the chicken run. Meanwhile, they came back and ate the dinner. The various members of the family were tied up to beds and subjected to the grossest of infamies and greatest of cruelties.

Where Germans Raped and Murdered.

I repeat that we verified the stories of these horrors, as we had verified elsewhere other such stories before, and as we verified elsewhere other such stories afterwards.

Naturally, our men fought their hardest, and by four o'clock in the afternoon of the day we advanced we drove the Boches at the point of the bayonet.

CHAPTER XI.

THE TRICK THAT DIDN'T TRICK US.

"The Black Hole."

Returning to the "group system," the three following sketches in juxtaposition relate to one and the same happening—our taking of a distillery (on the outskirts of Armentières) of which the Germans had been in possession for about three weeks, and within the boundaries of which they set a big trap that didn't catch us. The air was poisoned with the stench of dead animals as we arrived within smell of the block of buildings I show first—and, with thoughts in the minds of some of us of what we had read of the ill-savour of the Black Hole of Calcutta, "the Black Hole" was an ejaculation before it was a designation. The enemy occupied the portion of yard shown in the foreground and used the front of the buildings and the gateway for cover. The British advanced to a position within twenty yards of the gateway in front of it, and, after several nights' work, erected a barricade of twigs, grass, and earth, rapidly collected and thrown into place. By one of their clever tricks the Germans had made the buildings look as though entirely deserted. They had been careful not to shell them when they took them from the French, and it was their intention to draw us on into the yard unsuspectingly and so get us at their mercy. For the surrounding buildings contained machine guns, though we did not then know the fact, and so quiet was everything that I was able to make my sketches undisturbed. The yard could have accommodated quite 3,000 of our men, who, if the enemy had had their way, would have been riddled with shot. However, we naturally proceeded with military caution. Scouts advanced first, and were somewhat deceived because the Germans had artfully left a caretaker and his wife in the building seen adjoining the central arch. These people, doubtless under orders, passed out milk through the window to the scouts at night to give the idea that the buildings were still peacefully occupied, though, as a matter of fact, they contained, not only the enemy soldiers, but their machine guns as well. Really we might have been drawn into the trap but for one lucky incident. The enemy were foolish enough to do some secret signalling with a light at night from the tower above the gateway. This was immediately observed by the scouts, and the game was up.

"Jam-tin Artillery Party."

When the scouts gave the warning that the enemy were in the buildings, volunteers were called for to make up a bombing party to blow up the tower where the signalling had been observed. We had no idea how many Germans the tower contained, but later found traces of only one. There were evidences that he had been there for some time, and he had stores of milk and food for a longer stay; they were not wasted, but he had no part in their consumption. The volunteers were known as the "Jam-tin Artillery Party," from the fact that their bombs were made of jam-tins filled with gun-cotton, cordite, etc. The party had to do all the "sticky work," and this was a very sticky job. The plan was to lay a trail with a fuse to bombs, which we placed under the floor at the top of the stairs leading to the upper storey of this old and disused gateway. We crept up these stairs silently for three nights running before we were successful. One hitch and the whole show would have been given away. However, we managed to place the bombs, light the fuse, blow up the floor, and blow off the top of the tower as well, the German signaller being blown up with it. Then we waited. Still the enemy showed no sign of moving, and word was sent back to our artillery to shell the building, which it did to great effect. We were then ordered to advance with fixed bayonets, in platoons, to take various buildings. The place when we captured it was found to be fitted up like a fortress inside, with machine guns trained on the yard to mow our men down as they came through the gate, if the enemy's plan had succeeded; but it entirely failed. We found but little resistance. Inside were a number of dead Germans killed by our artillery fire, a very scientific signalling apparatus, and a complete telephone system to the army corps which was intended to have wiped us out. It was solely due to our scouts and the "Jam-tin Artillery Party" that we were not all killed.

The Black Tower.

The sketch entitled "The Black Tower" exhibits the other side of the gateway, and shows the road with the caretaker's house, and our barricades to the right.

Dilapidated Quarters.

Where the Trap was Set.

The part of the distillery buildings standing in its yard interior, where we blew up the tower and the spy, and into which the enemy had hoped to entice us to our destruction, was very old, very dirty, and very dilapidated—in fact, had apparently not been used for years. We had to sleep in it for several nights, and made the acquaintance of thousands of rats and other pests. There was only one staircase, by which some hundreds of troops had to find access and egress. A curious fact was that the fumes of the spirit had eaten so into the woodwork, which was generally worm-eaten and rotten, that to strike a light near it was to incur the danger of igniting it and burning the building down. But our boys found a walled-in yard in the background covered by a tarred roof which had no windows, and this they converted into a smoke-room. Roominess and a covering offered a welcome change from the mud, dirt, and rain of the trenches, and Tommy's spirits kept up, in spite of all shortcomings. Our musical evenings continued as before, and we thoroughly enjoyed being able to stretch our legs. In fact, we had become quite reconciled as well as quite used to our surroundings by the time we were called away. Afterwards we looked back with pleasure to our stay in the distillery, for we were much worse off in the next place at which we were stationed. We were moved from here into one of the most dangerous positions in the line at Ypres.

CHAPTER XII.

THE BARRED ROAD TO CALAIS.

Almost on the last page of my Sketch Book I come on the last sketch I took "under fire."

"Golgotha.".

It shows the most advanced positions taken by the British in the course of one of the biggest battles of the war—at St. Julien. The trench, which was a very rough one, was originally dug by the Germans and captured by our forces in our advance. The fighting was so intense at this spot that the casualties went far into five figures on both sides, the losses of the enemy being admittedly much higher than our own. Appropriately enough was it called "Golgotha."

"Golgotha."

To the left of the picture will be seen the remains of a building which was all that was left of what once was a magnificent chateau. The avenue of trees outlined the road to this chateau. Several trees, it will be noticed, had been either cut in two or broken off by the enemy's shelling; by-and-by there was not one left standing. On the right of the picture the ruined building was what was left of a large farm which had a moat around it. The ruined walls of the farm were found very useful cover for our men to take whilst sniping the enemy, and by the road, at a much lower level, ran the stream which fed the lake in the grounds of the chateau. The elevation of the road giving us fair protection from the enemy's shots, we were able, by stringing a number of boards together and making rafts, to indulge in bathing; until the water became so dirty from the earth dislodged from its banks by the shells that it was repugnant for us to indulge in ablutions in it any longer—none of us having been ordered mud bath treatment by the medical officer.

On the third day of the second grand attempt of the Germans to break through to the road to Calais I was bowled over by shrapnel and poison gas. Gas in cylinders and gas in all manner of shells was used against us—and our regiment had no respirators then.

Before I dropped I had the satisfaction of knowing that the Royal Fusiliers, supported by the Hampshires and the Durhams, had taken five lines of the enemy's trenches in counter-attack; and afterwards I had the satisfaction of learning in hospital that the German casualties for the day amounted to 60,000 against British casualties of 20,000. Mine was one of about 500 gas cases—perhaps more.

In Hospital.

My hospital itinerary was from the field to the dressing station at Bailleul, thence to Boulogne; from Boulogne to Rouen, and from Rouen to Southampton and Brighton.

I like to remember that the day on which I finished my little bit for the Empire—or rather the day on which it was finished for me—was an "Empire Day": Monday, May 24th, 1915—a day on which Britons of every clime salute the symbol of their unity and the pledge of their emergence from every peril; that dear flag under which I did what I could.

Pike's Fine Art Press, Limited, Printers, 47 & 48, Gloster Road, Brighton.