ot cry out nor make the slightest complaint but kept
assuring me that "everything is all right."

Meantime, the sniper was keeping up a continuous fire, hitting
everything in the neighborhood but me, at whom he was shooting. It was
such a miserable exhibition of marksmanship--only about five hundred
yards distant and a bright clear day--that I told Charlie I would be
ashamed to have such a poor shot in our outfit. Any American soldier
who could qualify as a marksman would scarcely miss such a target and
a sharpshooter or expert rifleman would be forever disgraced if he
made less than the highest possible score. However, I forgave that
fellow; being a German he could not be expected to know how to shoot
straight at any range beyond three hundred meters. The shot that hit
Charlie was just a "luck shot," but that did not help much.

I tried to drag him along toward a slight depression, but it hurt him
so I desisted and waited for the stretcher-bearers. When I saw them
approaching I called a warning and had one of them crawl to us with
the small trench stretcher, on which we managed to get Charlie into a
sheltered place, where they shifted him to a long litter and started
out with him. The last thing he said was: "It's all right, Mac;
everything is all right; don't you worry."

They did all they could for him while I had to go back and get the
machine gun that he had dropped. The fellow across the way showed
perseverance, at any rate, and kept up his "schutzenfest" as long as I
was in sight but without result.

Next day we learned that Charlie had died and was buried at Bailleul.
He was not only one of the most popular men in the section, but was
the first we had had killed and we all felt very much depressed. I got
a permit to go to Bailleul to see whether or not he had been properly
buried and there made my first acquaintance with the G. R. C. We had
often seen those letters, followed by a number, on the crosses, in
trenches, in cemeteries or along the roads, but none knew what they
meant. At Bailleul I found the head office of the "Graves Registration
Commission" and, within five minutes, knew where Wendt was buried and
the number of his grave. This wonderful organization undertakes to
furnish a complete record of the burial place of every soldier. Where
suitable crosses have not been provided, they furnish one, bearing an
aluminum plate showing the name, number, regiment and date of death
wherever this information i