But there was still trouble ahead. All afternoon the trench mortar shells and whiz-bangs kept bursting in the whole sector, making the work of litter bearers and liaison men very difficult. Also the task of burying the dead, which Mr. Jewett of the Y’s athletic department volunteered to superintend for me with the sturdy assistance of Corporal Michael Conroy of Company H. Company H was in support—the most thankless and difficult sort of a job for any unit, whether Company, Regiment or Division. It is called upon for detachments which must go up under shell fire, and go in where the battle is hottest, and in unfamiliar surroundings. The unit generally gets little public credit for its share in the fight though military men know that it is a compliment to be held in support. It means that the Chief Commander has confidence that the smaller fractions into which it may have to be split are under well trained and competent leaders. However, nobody likes the job. Certainly big courageous Captain Jim Finn did not like it. He wanted to lead his own company in the fight and the H men would rather fight under their great hearted Captain than under any other leader in the world. That pleasure was denied them, but the Company surely did honor to the training and the spirit their Captain put into them. I saw a platoon going up the boyau with Lieutenant Wheeler, all of them flushed with the joy of action. “Over the top with Fighting Joe,” called John O’Connor, from the words of Tom Donohue’s song. Their services were needed often on the 15th to support the gallant defenses of Companies F and G. On the morning of the 16th there was another furious assault. A whole German Battalion attacked one of the defense positions and for a time the situation looked serious. Lieutenant Young of F was killed while organizing the resistance. Lieutenants Wheeler and Anderson of H and Sears of F took all kinds of chances in meeting the situation and were carried off wounded. Some parties of Germans managed to get up into the trench. Joe Daly, while carrying ammunition, almost ran into a German. The latter was the more excited of the two, and before he could recover his wits, Daly had snatched a rifle which was leaning against the trench, whirled it over his head like a shillelah, and down on the German’s skull. Then he ran into the middle of the fight.