They had all been slightly wounded. I had twenty-two pieces of shrapnel and some shell fragments imbedded in my left leg between the hip and the knee. I followed the usual custom of the soldier who has “got it.” The first thing I did was to light a “fag” (cigarette) and the next thing was to investigate and determine if I was in danger of bleeding to death. There wasn’t much doubt about that. Arterial blood was spurting from two of the wounds, which were revealed when the other men in the hole helped me to cut off my breeches. With their aid, I managed to stop the hemorrhage by improvising tourniquets with rags and bayonets. One I placed as high up as possible on the thigh and the other just below the knee. Then we all smoked another “fag” and lay there, listening to the big shells going over and the shrapnel bursting near us. It was quite a concert, too. We discussed what we ought to do, and finally I said: “Here; you fellows can walk, and I can’t. Furthermore, you’re not able to carry me, because you’ve got about all any of you can do to navigate alone. It doesn’t look as if its going to be any better here very soon. You all proceed to the rear, and, if you can get some one to come after me, I’ll be obliged to you.” They accepted the proposition, because it was good advice and, besides, it was orders. I was their superior officer. And what happened right after that confirmed me forever in my early, Kentucky-bred conviction that there is a great deal in luck. They couldn’t have travelled more than fifty yards from the shell-hole when the shriek of a high-explosive seemed to come right down out of the sky into my ears, and the detonation, which instantly followed, shook the slanting sides of the shell-hole until dirt in dusty little rivulets came trickling down upon me. Wounded as I was, I dragged myself up to the edge of the hole. There was no trace, anywhere, of the four men who had just left me. They have never been heard of since. Their bodies were never found. The big shell must have fallen right amongst them and simply blown them to bits. It was about a quarter to seven in the morning when I was hit. I lay in the shell-hole until two in the afternoon, suffering more from thirst and cold and hunger than from pain. At two o’clock, a batch of sixty prisoners came along under escort. They were being taken to the rear under fire. The artillery bombardment was still practically undiminished. I asked for four of the prisoners and made one of them get out his rubber ground sheet, carried around his waist. They responded willingly, and seemed most ready to help me. I had a revolver (empty) and some bombs in my pockets, but I had no need to threaten them. Each of the four took a corner of the ground sheet and, upon it, they half carried and half dragged me toward the rear.