with the Bolo, but he had just left when we arrived. We were fallen out
temporarily on a muddy Russian hillside in the middle of the afternoon,
the rain was falling steadily, we had been marching for a week through
the muddiest mud that ever was, the rations were hard tack and bully,
and tobacco had been out for several weeks. A more miserable looking and
feeling outfit can scarce be imagined. A bedraggled looking convoy of
Russian carts under Lt. Warner came up, and he informed us that he could
let us have one package of cigarettes per man. We accepted his offer
without any reluctance, and passed them out. To paraphrase Gunga Din,
says Capt. Boyd:

"They were British and they stunk as anyone who smoked British issue
cigarettes with forty-two medals can tell you, but of all the smokes
I've (I should say 'smunk' to continue the paraphrase) I'm gratefulest
to those from Lt. Warner. You could see man after man light his
cigarette, take a long draw, and relax in unadulterated enjoyment. Ten
minutes later they were a different outfit, and nowhere as wet, cold,
tired or hungry. Lucy Page Gaston and the Anti-Cigarette League please
note."

After a long day's march we finally arrived in a "suburb" of Pouchuga
about 7:00 p.m. with orders to place our outposts and remain there that
night. By nine o'clock this was done, and the rest of the company was
scattered in billets all over the village, being so tired that they
flopped in the first place where there was floor space to spread a
blanket. Then came an order to march to the main village and join Major
Corbley. At least a dozen of the men could not get their shoes on by
reason of their feet being swollen, but we finally set out on a pitch
black night through the thick mud. We staggered on, every man falling
full length in the mud innumerable times, and finally reached our
destination. Captain Boyd writes:

"I shall never forget poor Wilson on that march, cheery and
good-spirited in spite of everything. His loss later at Toulgas was a
personal one as well as the loss of a good soldier.

"I also remember Babcock on that march--Babcock, who was one of our
best machine gunners, never complaining and always dependable. We were
ploughing along through the mud when from my place at the head of the
column I heard a splash. I went back to investigate and there was
Babcock floundering in a ditch with sides too slippery to crawl up.
The column was mar