When they were carrying Donovan in I met him at Lawrence’s station. He looked up from the stretcher and said to me smilingly, “Father, you’re a disappointed man. You expected to have the pleasure of burying me over here.” “I certainly did, Bill, and you are a lucky dog to get off with nothing more than you’ve got.” He was in great pain after his five hours lying with that leg in the shell-hole, but it had not affected his high spirits and good humor. He was still of opinion that the regiment could get through the wire, with proper artillery preparation and co-ordination of infantry forces. On October 12th I was in Jim Mangan’s little dugout at Exermont with his Lieutenants Joe McNamara, McCarthy and Flynn when in walked Dennis O’Shea, formerly our color sergeant, and now a Lieutenant in the 1st Division. Accompanying him was Father Terence King, a Jesuit Chaplain. They had been detailed for the task of burying their regimental dead. It was a joyous meeting, but they had one thing to tell that made me sad. Father Colman O’Flaherty had been killed by shell fire while attending to the wounded. I had never met him, but when we were alongside of the 1st after Saint Mihiel I met a large number of officers and men, all of whom spoke of him with affectionate admiration. An Irishman, well read, brilliant and witty in conversation, independent in the expression of his opinions; sometimes irritating at first encounter by reason of his sallies, but always sure in the long run to be admired for his robust and attractive personality. I got this story with no names mentioned and was too discreet to ask for them. A patrol was out for the purpose of getting in touch with the enemy. As they were ascending the reverse slope of the hill a young officer who was with two or three men in advance came running back, stooping low and calling breathlessly to the Lieutenant in command, “The Germans! The Germans! The Germans are there.” Nobody thought him afraid but his tone of excitement was certainly bad for morale. There was a sudden halt and a bad moment, but the situation was saved when a New York voice in a gruff whisper was heard, “Well, what the hell does that guy think we are out here looking for?—Voilets?” If eloquence is the power to say things that will produce the desired effect on one’s hearers, neither Demosthenes nor Dan O’Connell himself ever made a better speech.