n
anything else. I think, too, that I was led a little by a kind of
youthful curiosity, and it may be that I wanted to appear brave in
the eyes of these men who so evidently held me more or less in
contempt as a newcomer.

Blofeld accepted me, and one of the other new men offered. He was
taken too.

It turned out that all the older men were married and that they
were not expected to volunteer. At least there was no disgrace
attaching to a refusal.

After Blofeld left, Sergeant Page told us we'd better get down to
"kip" while we could. "Kip" in this case meant closing our eyes and
dozing. I sat humped up in my original position through the night.
There wasn't room to stretch out.

Along toward morning I began to itch, and found I had made the
acquaintance of that gay and festive little soldier's enemy, the
"cootie." The cootie, or the "chat" as he is called by the
officers, is the common body louse. Common is right. I never got
rid of mine until I left the service. Sometimes when I get to
thinking about it, I believe I haven't yet.

CHAPTER III

A TRENCH RAID

In the morning the members of the raiding party were taken back a
mile or so to the rear and were given instruction and rehearsal.
This was the first raid that "Batt" had ever tried, and the staff
was anxious to have it a success. There were fifty in the party,
and Blofeld, who had organized the raid, beat our instructions into
us until we knew them by heart.

The object of a raid is to get into the enemy's trenches by stealth
if possible, kill as many as possible, take prisoners if
practicable, do a lot of damage, and get away with a whole hide.

We got back to the front trenches just before dark. I noticed a lot
of metal cylinders arranged along the parapet. They were about as
big as a stovepipe and four feet long, painted brown. They were the
gas containers. They were arranged about four or five to a
traverse, and were connected up by tubes and were covered with
sandbags. This was the poison gas ready for release over the top
through tubes.

[Illustration: A HEAVY HOWITZER, UNDER CAMOUFLAGE. Copyright, by
Underwood & Underwood, N.Y.]

The time set for our stunt was eleven P.M. Eleven o'clock was
"zero." The system on the Western Front, and, in fact, all fronts,
is to indicate the time fixed for any event as zero. Anything
before or after is spoken of as plus or minus zero.

Around five o'clock we were taken back to Mechanics trench a