were trying to rescue
him, for the machine-gun bullets chipped the edge of the hole and
showered us with dirt. In about half an hour Mahoney returned with the
stretcher, but we had to dig the poor fellow's limbs out, and only just
managed to get into the next hole during a pause in the machine-gun
bursts. To cap all, our passenger broke into song, and we just dropped
in time as the bullets pinged over us. These did not worry our friend
on the stretcher, nor did the bump hurt him, for he cheerfully shouted
"Down go my horses!" We _gagged_ him after that and got him safely in,
but the poor fellow only lived a couple of days, for blood-poisoning
had got too strong a hold of his frail body for medical skill to avail.
His name I have forgotten, and the hospital records would only state:
"Private So-and-so received [a certain date]; died [such a date].
Cause of death--tetanus."

CHAPTER XX

DAYS AND NIGHTS OF STRAFE

We had only been a few days in the trenches in France when I was sent
for by the General. I went in fear and trembling, wondering what
offense I had committed; but I soon did not know whether I was standing
on my heels or my head, for he said to me: "I have recommended you for
a commission, and you are immediately to take over the duties of
intelligence or scouting officer." This was a big step up, as I was
only a corporal, though I had been acting in charge of a position over
the heads of many who were my seniors in rank.

Now began for me many adventurous and happy days, for my job afforded
me a great deal of independence and scope for initiative, and I was
able to plan and execute many little stunts that must have irritated
Fritz a good deal. When I was returning at dawn from my night's
peregrinations, I would generally meet the brigadier on his round of
inspection, and no matter in what mood he was in I always had some
story of strafe to tell him that would crease his face in smiles, and I
saved many another officer from the bullying that was coming his way.

Our brigadier was very popular because of his personal bravery. One
morning I was showing him the remains of some Germans I had blown up,
and in his eagerness he stuck his head and shoulders, red tabs and all,
over the trenches, when--ping!--a sniper's bullet struck the bag within
an inch of his head and covered him with dirt. "Pompey" roared with
laughter and was in good humor for the rest of the day. On one
occasion in Egypt this