Captain W----t came in soon afterwards. In the second line German trench he had looked over the parados to see if any opposition was coming up from the third line trench, and had been hit by a machine-gun bullet in the shoulder. In making his way home he had been hit twice again in the shoulder. H---- also put in an appearance with a bullet wound in the arm. He had taken a party of "walking wounded" up to Sailly-au-Bois, and got a car on. A doctor brought round the familiar old beverage of tea, which in large quantities, and in company with whisky, had helped us through many an unpleasant day in the trenches. Captain W----t refused it, and insisted on having some bread and jam. I took both with much relish, and, having appeased an unusually large appetite, got an orderly to wash my face and hands, which were coated with blood. "I dare say you feel as you was gettin' back to civilisation again, sir," he said. Much refreshed, and quietly looking at a new number of _The Tatler_, I certainly felt as if I was, though, in spite of an air ring, the wound was feeling rather uncomfortable. At the end of the hut two or three poor fellows were dying of stomach wounds. It was a peculiar contrast to hear two or three men chatting gaily just outside my end of the hut. I could only catch fragments of the conversation, which I give here. "When Mr. A---- gave the order to advance, I went over like a bird." "The effect of the rum, laddie!" "Mr A---- was going strong too." "What's happened to Mr. A----, do you know?" "Don't know. I didn't see 'im after that." "'E's all right. Saw him just now. Got a wound in the arm." "Good. Isn't the sun fine here? Couldn't want a better morning for an attack, could you?" The hut was filling rapidly, and the three stomach cases being quite hopeless were removed outside. A doctor brought in an officer of the K----'s. He was quite dazed, and sank full length on a bed, passing his hand across his face and moaning. He was not wounded, but had been blown up whilst engaged in cutting a communication trench across No Man's Land, they told me. It was not long, however, before he recovered his senses sufficiently enough to walk with help to an ambulance. A "padre" entered, supporting a young officer of the ----, a far worse case of shell shock, and laid him out on the bed. He had no control over himself, and was weeping hysterically. "For God's sake don't let me go back, don't send me back!" he cried. The "padre" tried to comfort him. "You'll soon be in a nice hospital at the Base, old chap, or probably in England." He looked at the padre blankly, not understanding a word that he was saying. A more extraordinary case of shell shock was that of an officer lying about three beds down from me. In the usual course of events an R.A.M.C. corporal asked him his name. "F----," he replied in a vague tone.