re still hot. Sergeant Faulkner, who had just come back, after
recovering from his second wound, for his final one that morning.
"Carry on," he said; "I'm done." A little bunch of the 28th were
holding the cemetery and expecting a counter-attack any moment.
McMurchie was there in his glory. "Let the devils come," said he,
"I'll chase them back with me entrinchin' tool handle." The wounded
were lying around everywhere, and Tommy Lowe, Danny Dugan and I carried
them up that road to the dressing-station. All forenoon the German
snipers were on our track, and we had to hug the bank all the way up.
The shell fire had died down, though our artillery was still giving the
Germans a heavy shelling. When Tommy and I got tired we lay down in a
shell hole, but the sun was hot and the odour from the dead bodies was
so awful we had to move on.

That night the shelling was wicked, and we lost heavily. Our boys came
along with a few prisoners, and as they couldn't get through the shell
fire we allowed them to share our hole. They went out next morning,
and the Huns wanted to shake hands with us for being so kind to them,
but I gave one the toe of my boot and pointed the way out. Our
artillery had made things unbearable for the Germans by this time, and
they pulled out, leaving only a few snipers to harass us. McMurchie
crawled over with a bomb and brought two of the snipers back with him.
It was a funny sight to see them going up the road; those big six
footers walking ahead of little Mac; the latter was barely five feet;
but he marched proudly along, keeping his bayonet mighty close to them.
The same day our cavalry went over, but they ran into a nest of machine
guns and their little bunch was cut to pieces; it was dreadful to see
the poor frightened horses running in all directions.

That night we were relieved and we went to a place called Sauage
Valley. Here I said "Good-bye" to Bink; he was starting back to
Blighty to get his commission. I went down the road with him and
watched him till he was out of sight, and then I'm not ashamed to say
that I went off into a shell hole by myself and cried like a kid. He
was the last one of the old boys that had signed up with me, and now he
was gone. It's hard enough to lose friends at home, but in the Army a
fellow's pals are all that make life bearable. I never saw Bink
again--he joined the flying corps and came down in Flanders with five
bullets through his head. Well, afte