That was the beginning of my baptism of fire, and it was the most startling awakening I ever had. It was a stern warning, too, and we quickly retired to another reserve trench a short distance away and jumped pell-mell into it. There were some good goers that night, in spite of heavy ground and heavier equipment; but we soon recovered our composure when we were in the trench, and laughed and made the best of it. [Illustration: _To face p. 208._ STREET-NAMES FOR TRENCHES.] From this reserve trench we entered the main communication trench, and here we had one of those mysterious and unnerving experiences which have been so often known in this tremendous war. Progress at the best was slow and difficult, but it was made far worse because of the repeated issue of the order, “Retire!” For some time we kept going “about turn,” up and down the trench, though when word was passed down the line all our officers denied having made use of the term, and they urged us forward. This strange matter gave us something to talk about for a long time, and the general feeling was that it was the work of a German spy, though the mysterious agent was never discovered. We were now getting really into the thick of things, and two companies of the battalion made their way into the firing-line, while my own company went into reserve; and there we had our first touch of gas, though luckily without any serious loss of life. When the gas attack had passed we tried to snatch some sleep, but this was impossible, as we were quickly detailed for various duties, such as ration-carrying and supplying the first line with ammunition. I found myself at the latter task, and started out to find a regiment which was holding the front line on the right. And now I had one of those awful experiences which have so often fallen to soldiers in this war--one of the things which, little in themselves, mean so much to the individual, especially to one who has not got accustomed to such warfare as this. After making my way through countless trenches, some of which were empty and absolutely reeked of gas, I found myself in a narrow ditch--it could not be called a trench--which was literally filled with dead bodies. Snipers’ bullets were whizzing all around me, and often I had to take cover by lying alongside a dead comrade. Each side of the ditch was strewn with bodies, the wounds on which were too ghastly to be described. Thoroughly sickened at the sight, I had to press on, treading on poor fellows’ bodies all the time. It was truly horrible, but the ammunition had to be got there, and this was the only way to get along.