to swear; we hadn't the strength; as a matter of fact, we were suffering with a slight shell shock. The dose consisted of about 200 shells, administered in quantities, first, of six at a time, then ten, then twenty-five. One of the fellows nearest me again ventured the remark that he thought our number was up, and I just had enough vocal power left to curse him roundly for a damn fool. "You know what happened Lawrence, don't you? Cheer up, you mutt! They will never get my number." Throughout my three years' campaigning I persisted in repeating that "they would never get my number," until it almost became second nature with me, and the hairbreadth escapes I have had almost convinced me "there is something in it." Be that as it may, hundreds of men all around have "gone West" while I have been permitted to go through three years of it comparatively unscathed. We finally got past the observed spot. The trench now commenced to run into a valley, and although there was water in it to a depth of fully two and a half feet, through which we had to wade, we were glad we were alive to paddle through it. But there was more trouble ahead. Fritz was turning gas into the valley, and I, being in front, got the first whiff. "Masks, on with your masks," I roared, jamming on my own at the same moment. In addition to the gas, our friends had succeeded in shooting up a large ammunition dump, four hundred yards farther on, and the smoke and fumes from the exploding bombs, shells and other ammunition, to say nothing of the ear-splitting din, got me speculating as to whether our 13-squad was to go the way of so many reported thirteens. But my native optimism came to the rescue, and, with a curse, I drove the thought from me. By this time our eyes were so blinded and stinging from the smoke of the ammunition fire that we were making our way almost by instinct, as we were half blinded, but the time-old provision of all things,--"Never a disadvantage without a corresponding advantage,"--came to our help. Under cover of the smoke we were practically secure from the shells and snipers, and stumbling and staggering round the fire, giving it a wide berth, we at last got to our gun position. But, no rest! We had barely arrived when a delayed action shell battery opened up on us with a steadily-increasing fire, and, as the pace grew hotter every moment, I felt as if my nerves couldn't hold out longer; but the knowledge that these men were in my care helped me again to take hold of myself. But the rest of the fellows were commencing to show signs of giving way to the shock effect. My best pal, Billy McLean, staggered toward me. "They've got my number, they've got my number," he shouted in my ear, and, beginning to give way to the shock, he fell at my feet, in the mud. I grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. "Cheer up, Billy, cheer up, old pal, how in hell are we going to pull through if you give way like this?"