me we would go over at them. We had to sit around and
wait. Some of the men were carefully cleaning their rifles. Others ran
their thumbs along the edges of their bayonets. Many were writing letters.
But almost every face that I could see was pale. The greater part of them
were nervously puffing away at fags, very often unlit.

Here and there a man would glance at his watch--furtively, as if afraid it
would be thought that he was hoping the time had not yet come. Others were
swearing softly and grumbling because they could not charge at once.

Occasionally a man would joke or tell a funny story. Those who heard him
either looked as if they hadn't heard or laughed rather thinly. It is one
thing to go at them with steel and rifle, but quite another to sit around
and wait for the short blast of the whistle which sends you out to kill or
to be killed.

Our artillery was pouring shells and shrapnel upon the Huns and their guns
were replying. The combat wagons with the ammunition and the wagons with
the rations had to reach us through a curtain of fire. One hundred extra
cartridges were distributed to every man, also extra tins of "bully." I
was on my way to regimental headquarters with a message, when a shell
squarely struck a transport wagon. It was obliterated. Men were torn into
shreds. I saw the whole fore-quarters of a horse blown high into a tree
and caught there in a crotch. The stretcher bearers picked up some of the
men. Some they could not even find. I was soon back again in the firing
trench. We had gouged out little footholds to help us over the top.

At last it came--the little shrill metallic blast we had been waiting for.
It could be heard distinctly above the roar of the artillery. The blood
surged back into the faces of the pale men. We were fighting now. It was
different from the waiting and thinking--the thinking of what we may be
leaving behind us for always.

I was the first man out of the trench--not that I was brave, but because I
had already learned that it was the last man up and the last man down who
usually are shot. I sped ahead of all the platoon; for in that lay safety.

It is a fact that men in trenches will fire at the mass in rear rather
than stop to aim at a single runner out ahead. Each man seems to feel that
he is sure to hit someone if he fires into the mass and that another will
pick off the leader.

* * * * *

We were back again in our own trenches.