Free And We Go On by Will R. Bird Page B

rush an enemy post on Patricia Crater. We waited tensely after they had gone. Not a sound was heard over the way, then, much later, they returned. They had gotten over safely without being seen, but when they entered the German post no sentries were there. Dumbfounded, they waited, and waited, resolving to capture the first Hun to pass along. None came and the moon began to rise, shedding too much light for a safe return. So they cautiously withdrew before any “goose stepper” came to their clutches.
    We felt old soldiers as we went back to Mount St. Eloi that time, and “Maggie frae Dundee” rang out merrily. We ragged Freddy but he remained as inconsolable as ever. Big Herman kidded him continually. This time there were parades and we saw our company commander, a genial-looking gentleman whose appearance I rather liked. We were marched to baths, an old building the wind whistled through, and which was floored with muddy slime. There was a tiny trickle of water from overhead pipes, always failing when a man succeeded in soaping himself before he became too cold to endure the operation. We had little soap and we slipped about on the greasy surface and helped each other all we could. When we went to get dressed we found ourselves with shirts we could not enter, with unmatched socks, anything a bleary-eyed assistant cared to pitch our way.
    When we went back to the line our sergeant told me that I would be one for Vernon Crater, and from the way he said it I judged that something was unusual. I asked questions and learned that it was a three-sentry post not usually held in daylight, and not over fifty yards from the German lines. We were to hold it for four days.
    We went into the trenches heavily laden. It was bitterly cold and all the ground was frozen hard. We wore leather jerkins over our greatcoats and had socks pulled over our hands in place of gloves; there had only been enough of the latter to supply the oldtimers. It was very clear weather and every sound carried, so that we moved carefully and slowly. The main trench was a long black-shrouded ditch full of dark figures, scuffling,muttering to each other, and there were hissed curses when a steel helmet clanged against a rifle.
    We reached a low-walled sap where a sentry stood and pointed to Smaillie, the lance-corporal in charge. Up we went, moving carefully, bowed over like skulking Indians. We were relieving the Princess Pats and four of their men came hurriedly by us and went on to the main trench. Our post was a wide affair, in three sections. In the right-hand corner, like an enlarged well with a firestep, two men were placed, a short lad, Dunbar, one of our draft, and Doucette, another. They were to take turns in doing sentry in that position. On the left, ten yards from them, was a similar post, and in it were Laurie and old “Dundee.” I was at the centre post, a cup-like hollow, and MacMillan was my mate. Behind us was a roofed space about six feet square and in it Smaillie stayed. He had a seat there, and his flares and pistol, as well as extra bombs and ammunition. A blanket was hung over the rear entrance.
    We prepared to meet the cold. I had drawn sandbags over my boots and tied them at the knee and ankle. We had on our woollen caps underneath the steel helmets, and little cloth gas bags to put our heads in in case of gas attack. They were frightful arrangements with nozzles to breath through, and we were glad when the box respirators arrived. We had sandbags over our rifle muzzles, and kept breech covers on them all the time. Our rations, mess-tins, and haversacks were in the shelter with Smaillie.
    MacMillan told me all there was to learn about sentry duty, and I did not duck when the first flares went up. We could hear plainly the Germans coughing in their trenches, hear them walking on frozen boards, and hear the creaking of a windlass drawing chalk up from some dugout. The first night passed uneventfully. At daylight we put up