The Great Push

ns at

a real Alleymong; you ain't able to 'ate '

en an ephemeral constellation of star-shells held the heavens. We never fired at these shadows, and they never fired at us; it is unwise to break the tacit truces of the trenches. The first real live German I saw was the one who blundered down t

8

erse slopes of a shell-scarred parapet. The enemy suffered as we did, yelled with pain when his wounds prompted him, forgot perhaps in the insane combat some of the nicer tenets of chivalry. After all, war is an approved licence for brothe

rkable constructions, caves leading into the bowels of the earth, some of them capable of holding a whole platoon of soldiers. These big dug-outs had stairs leading down to the main chamber and steps leadin

urtained bed with a white coverlet stood in one corner. Near the door was a stove and a scuttle of coal. In another corner stood a table, and on it was a half bottle of wine, three glasses, a box of cigars, and a vase

ruded on the privacy of a dying man. There come times when a man on the field of battle should be left alone to his own thoughts. I

" I inquired, and

tle contained, and he permitted me to place two under his tongue. When rummaging in my pocket I happened to br

ded a

tle mud-stained booklet and handed it to me. I noticed that the volume

ssession his life might be a few hours shorter than it really would be if he were left to die in peace. I could see that he required me to do something further for him. Raising his left hand with difficulty (I now saw that blood was flowing down the wrist) he pointed at his tunic pocket, and I put my hand i

as coming along the trenc

n that dug-out

" I r

to personal danger as shown in his loud laughter was somewhat exaggerated. As long as he had

ven of them alre

s dying," I said.

out door, looked curious

revolver, a mere toy of a thing, and touching him was a German with a bullet in his temple. The boy told

What do you think was happenin'? There was a bloomin' German sniper under cover pottin' at our boys, and that cover was a bundle of warm, livin'

king at the weapon. "You might as well try t

e pet out. And the German was pot-pottin' all the time. Then I fetched the weapon up, stuck the muzzle plunk against the ma

ve," I t

ist over the trench. You shove your bayonet forward and it sticks in something soft and almost gets dragged out of your hands. Then yo

his arm was working in the centre of a square formed by four of his dead countrymen, digging a gr

u doing ther

ish, pointing a shaky finger at the prostrate figu

I inq

lish shoot a

ching him. "We're not going to do you any ha

shovel shook in his hands. Fifteen minutes later when I passed that way carrying in a wounded man, I saw M'Crone

heir hands in the air, and stern Tommies marching on flank and at rear. The party was a mixed one. Some of the prisoners were strong, sturdy youngsters of nineteen or twenty, others wer

r. He came down to M—— as he was taken prisoner, his sole clothing being a pair of stockings, a shirt and an identity disc. Four big Highlanders, massive of shoulder and leg, escorted a puny, spectacled youth along the rim of the

95] bent under him, the other stretched forward almost touching a photograph of a woma

He took no notice of me. Across the level at this point came a large party of prisoners amidst a storm of shells. The German gunners had shortened their range and were now shelling the ground occupied by their troops an hour previous. Callous, indifferent destruction! The oncoming prisoners were Germans—as men they were of no use to us; it would cost our country money and men to keep and

riven battlefield. The wounded man, thank heaven! has only his own pain to endure, altho

give that rest and quiet which a man requires when an excited heart persists in pumping blood out through an open wound! In the East morphia is known as "The gift of God"; on the field of battle the

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