I haven't yet mentioned that although we were an infantry battalion, originally we were cavalry and we still kept our name, "Fifth Western Cavalry," as designated by the yellow letters on our shoulders. It was a big joke to our comrades of the Second Infantry Brigade, and indeed to the whole division, and we were designated under various titles, "The Disappointed Fifth," "The Wooden Horse Marines," "The Fifth Mounted Foot," etc. _ad libitum_, and we were always being chipped about it. Judge of our astonishment, when we had taken our places in the trench and were preparing for the night's duties, a hail came from the German trenches. We listened and in perfect English a voice yelled, "Hello, you Fifth, what have you done with your horses?" And in the morning, when peering across to the German parapet through a loophole or periscope, the lookout called our attention to something moving on the German parapet. As it grew lighter we saw that it was a little wooden horse--a child's toy they had probably looted from some house. "Open fire on it someone; see what they'll do," said the lookout. Two or three of the boys opened up on the dummy horse and knocked it down into their trench. A roar of laughter went up from our boys a moment or two later when the dummy reappeared, swathed in bandages from head to tail. Fritz displayed a rare sense of humor in this instance and we enjoyed the joke immensely. At night those fellows would sing songs and our boys would reply. Going along the road I could hear them jeering and chaffing and then start singing to one another. However, on the third night the Prussians relieved our friends, the Saxons, and the difference was striking. Back came our friends, the snipers, and bursts of rapid fire all night kept one from being bored--or, I might say, kept one bored. Several sentries at different spots on the road were killed at their posts. At one spot a man suddenly leapt out of the darkness onto an isolated post and tried to disarm our sentry, Mitchell, only to receive six inches of steel in his stomach for his pains. We were never allowed to go anywhere alone, as shots came from every direction and it was suspected that men in civilian clothes were sniping at the back of our lines. One day, at this time one of these incidents was brought very close to me. Morgan burst into the old cellar as I lay dozing in the early morning: "What the devil do you want now?" I said irritably. For once he did not reply in his usual manner, he was so full of his news. "What do you think, chum, do you remember that guy that was plowing in the field over yonder? Well, he is the devil that is responsible for the casualties in the ration party and those sentries." "How is that?" I asked.