Private Peat

war may be over inside of a few months. Neither contingency would surprise me. We might lose twice as many in killed and wounded as we did th

od were crippled or dead, though our old men and our boys were called to the field, though women had to gird on sword

not lick one thin line of English, of French and Canadians,

entific brain of a Kaiser, of a

h terrible and awful conditions. The folks back home are the only ones who worry. We do not. Tommy Atk

lies every want of the soldier, from a high explosive shell to a button. It is as near to the one hundred per cent. m

It is all the same. It is all run with the precision of clockwork. Its whole aim

my corps there are two or more divisions. In a division there are three infantry and three artillery brigades, three field companies of engineers, three field ambulanc

army corps by rail, and is distributed to the divisional headquarters by divisional transports which are operated by the Army Service Corps or the Mechanical Tran

mpany, and they, with their staff, during the daytime pack up and get ready for distribution supplies for each separate platoon. At night the company wagons, alre

em. It all depends on a number of circumstances. On a moonlight night it is not possible to come so close as on a dark night. In rain the wagons may sink into mu

ration. Scene from the Phot

rporal or sergeant in command will detail a couple of men for ration party. Rati

ation. Scene from the Photo-

o him they tell their platoon number-Number Sixteen Platoon, Section Four, perhaps-and the quartermaster will hand them the rations. One man will get half a dozen parcels, maybe more. His comra

neous assortment of packages. He slips and struggles and swears and falls, then picks himself up and gathers together the scattered bundles. But what of the other? A jug held tightly in both hands, he choose

sunrise hour, and again that hour at night when every man stands to the parapet in full equipment and with fixed bayonet. After mornin

the war, when these two hours were those most favored by the Germ

hich is about equal to a tablespoonful. It is not compulsory, and no man need take it unless he wishes. This is not the time or place to discuss the temperance quest

e, rarely below the ankle, and it revives us as tea, cocoa or coffee could never do. We are not made drunkards by our rum ration. The great majority of us have neve

n Jack was killed in action after he had walked two hundred miles to enlist. No cant, no smug psalm-singing, mourners'-bench stuff for him. He believed in his Christianity like a man; he was ready to fight for his belief like a man; he cared for us like a father, and

s own meals. For the first few months we were unable to place our braziers on the ground; they would have sunk into the mud. If we

ther conveniences which simplify the domestic ar

all chum in together. We may all take a hand in the cooking, or we may appoin

an get too much of a good thing once too often. So sometimes we eat it, and sometimes we use the unopened tins as bricks and line the trenches with them. Good solid bricks, too! We get soup powders and yet more soup powd

hand bombs was like our supply of shells, problematic to say the least. After a time, back of the line, instruction schools were opened in bomb making and bomb throwing. One or two out of a platoon would go back and learn "

illery Brigade," and they tickled many

ll stirred and brought to a boil, then thickened by several soup powders, is a recipe for a

ood may be rough and monotonous, but there is plenty of it, and it is of the best quali

rse, and make jokes and laugh, b

nd comfortable meals. Three good squares a day. We have here our field kitchens and our regular coo

hing they had had at home. After investigation I usually found that the me

ants to keep in touch with the home folks, and every effort is made to get communications up on time. But war is war, and there are days and even weeks when no letters reach the front line. Those are the days that try t

th-five dollars. Why put on any limit? You may owe a man a hundred, or even two hundred dollars, but what's

robably four big ones. "I raise you five," says Bill. Bang!-a whiz bang explodes twenty yards away. "I raise you ten." Bang!-a wee willie takes the top off the parapet.

. We kick the poker board high above the trench, cards and chips flying in all directions. No one cares, even

w these aside to be opened later, and snatch for the letters. But luck is not always good to all of us, and poss

he shoulder and say: "Say, Bill, old boy, I've got a letter. Listen to this-" And then, no matter how sacred the letter may be, he will read it aloud before he has a chance to glance at it himself. If it is from the g

nding ourselves in that we are finding true sympathy with our brother man. We have everything in common. We have the hardship of the trench, and the nearness of death. The man of title, the Bachelor of Arts, the bootblac