of us were just breaking into the
little old game for the balance of the night (morning).

In the middle of the game Downey came running in. "Say, fellows, there's
a hell of a smell out here,--something sweet, never smelt it before,
don't know what it is." "It's gas," I yelled, "the new kind! Get on your
masks!"

We adjusted our protectors and made for the entrance. Downey began to be
overcome by the fumes and I took over sentry; the warning gas horns were
booming up and down the line like a deep-throated buzzing,--a most
unearthly and weird sound.

The gas shells were now dropping plenteously round about and one of my
pals, Dory, was instructed to assist me in relighting our lamps, as they
were growing dim; these are our feed lamps that are lit every night with
candles and placed, one for each gun, about 50 feet in front, and on
these lights the sights are trained, so that it is vital to keep them
burning all night long.

We rapidly commenced replacing the burnt-out candles, and just then we
heard the warning roar of a coming shell, but before it burst I heard a
splash; it was Dory taking a header into a shell hole full of water; I
threw myself flat. In adjusting our lamps we had to remove our gas
helmets, and after waiting some time for the expected explosion and
hearing none, I looked up; white fumes were rising from the ground at
about the spot the shell had entered; there had been no explosion of
splinters.

This particular shell is very thin, is fired with great velocity, and
when meeting resistance it breaks and cracks and the white gas fumes
like steam come floating out. "What do you think of that, Grant!" from
Dory in the shell hole; "I thought the blankety-blank was a Jack
Johnson." His thought had cost him a soaking and the reflex action of
his thought was strongly in evidence during the balance of our watch.

The remainder of our lonely duty was not enhanced in pleasure by the
contemplation of scores of stretcher bearers carrying out men who had
been caught unprepared by the gas and who were choking and suffocating
from its effects.

So earnestly pernicious is the gas device as a fighting weapon that it
is a matter of common talk among the boys that Fritz, when he invented
his contrivance, must have been in direct communication with his Satanic
Majesty.

Working tooth and nail to smother the Hun, and he in turn working might
and main to smother us, was the order of the day continuously throughout