alized that one of my men had been
killed. I crept farther in the direction of the groaning. I bumped into a
huddled mass. It was another body.

Still I groped around. I had found three now. At last I reached the man
who was hurt. He wasn't moving, only groaning. I thought that there were
others of the little party who needed help. In the darkness I wriggled
here and there. I found another body. That made four. Then
five--six--seven--and so on till I found eleven. There were only two of
us left--the wounded man and myself!

I stood up despairing and like one lost. I almost wished that I had been
one of the eleven who had "crossed the bar" once for all. I got the
wounded man onto my shoulder in the style which is known as "the fireman's
carry," and started back with him, walking erect. I had forgotten the
danger of shells. Luckily it was inky dark and I was not seen.

I staggered against a part of our barbed wire entanglements. I called for
help. Four men crawled over the parapet to meet me. They dragged the
wounded man to the edge of the parapet. He was still groaning faintly
though he lay as one dead. As we lifted him over the edge of the trench,
the groaning ceased. He was dead! _I alone of the thirteen had come back
alive!_

While we were laying out the corpse, we heard the look-out sentry halting
some one. I jumped onto the fire-step and plainly saw a figure
straightening up on our side of the barbed wire, with his hands over his
head, coming right forward. He dropped into our trench, of course with the
sentry holding his bayonet pointed at him. It was plain to be seen that
the young German was giving himself up, no doubt being sick of the
fighting. He made a motion as if to put his hand inside his coat, but the
man with the bayonet was taking no chances and made a lunge at him, which
greatly frightened the lad. So he made us understand as well as he might,
still holding his hands aloft, that he had something in his pocket he
wanted to show us. The sergeant stepped over and took out the contents of
the pocket. He did not have any firearms at all. Among the few things in
his pocket was a worn plain envelope, and at this he pointed. Inside was a
sheet of paper and on it was written in good English:

"English soldiers, please be kind to my boy."

The sergeant asked me to take the boy back to the officers' quarters with
him, as I had yet to report my sad experience in "Crossing the Bar." The
case of the boy prison