I wore those Boche boots sixteen days, and I had to keep going all the time with sore and blistered feet. I suffered more from those German boots than from anything else in the war. On October 4th I had another interesting experience and narrow escape, which was as close as any that I ever want to experience. I was one of a detail that was sent after water. We had to go from our dugouts a distance of about two kilometers. On our way there we were walking in a gully. Fritz had probably used that gully for the same purpose himself when he held that ground, and he probably knew that we would be using it too. At any rate, he had the range to a nicety. On our way he first dropped a number of gas shells around us. We hastily put on our masks and escaped injury. But the gas shells were followed by a few high explosives. A flying fragment severed the air tube of my gas mask. This meant immediate death, unless there was quick action. I had the presence of mind to take hold of the tube, so as to prevent any gas from entering my lungs, and then I ran to high ground. The reason I sought high ground is because the chlorine gas is heavy and settles in low places and is not likely to be as thick if high ground can be reached. I was accompanied by one of the buddies, who saw my plight and ran to assist me. By a stroke of luck that seems almost unbelievable, we ran across a salvage dump on the ridge to which we ran, and there we found a good gas mask, which I hurriedly slipped on, and used until a new one was issued to me. As if to add insult to injury, while I was having trouble with the mask, I was struck on the shoulder by a piece of shrapnel. The fragment, however, had about spent its force, and while I was knocked down by the force of the blow and suffered from a bruised shoulder for several days, the skin was not broken and my injury did not reach the dignity of a wound. We proceeded on and got our water, and on our way back we were shelled again when we were in approximately the same place. This time one of the men received a small scratch from a piece of flying shell. It just broke the skin between the knee and the thigh, but was so small that it did not cause any inconvenience. Shortly after this, another bit of shrapnel hit my helmet and knocked it off my head. I gave the boys cause for a hearty laugh as I scrambled on all fours after my "tin derby," and no doubt I cut an amusing figure. Fritz seemed to be picking on me all day, but I was glad that I got off so lightly after being exposed to so much danger.