In a storm-swept trench--a barricade trench we called it--pointing my rifle at an enemy I could not see, I fired my first shot in battle. My section of thirteen men was in the trench which was nearest to the Germans, and that meant that we were separated from them by only a very few dozen yards. An officer of the Connaughts had given a descriptive object to fire at, and this was a small white outhouse which could be dimly made out in the darkness. The outhouse had the German trenches just in front of it, and we made a target of the building in the hope of potting the men in the trenches. The order came, one man up and one man down, which meant that a man who was firing was standing for two hours and the man who was down was sitting or otherwise resting, or observing, as we call it. Throughout that long night we kept up fire from the trenches, all anxious for the day to break, so that we could see what sort of a place we were in and what we were doing; but when the melancholy morning broke there was nothing to see in front of us except the portholes of the German trenches. We had got through the first night of battle safely and had given the Germans good-morning with what we came to call the “awaking fire,” though it sent many a man to sleep for the last time--and we were settling down to make some tea. That was shortly after midday of our first day in the trenches. I was working “partners” with my left-hand man, Private Smith, who said, “I’ll just have a look to see what’s going on.” He popped his head over the top of the trench and almost instantly he fell into my arms, for he had been shot--there must have been a sniper waiting for him--and had received what proved to be a most extraordinary wound. A bullet had struck him on the side of the head, just below the ear, and gone clean through and out at the other side, leaving a hole on each side. “I’m hit!” said Smith, as he fell--that was all. I was badly upset, as this was the first man I had seen shot, and being my special chum it came home to me; but I didn’t let that prevent me from doing my best for him. Smith was quite conscious, and a plucky chap, and he knew that there was nothing for it but to see it through till night came. We bandaged him up as best we could and he had to lie there, in the mud and water and misery, till it was dark, then he was able to walk away from the trench to the nearest first-aid station, where the doctor complimented him on his courage and told him what an extraordinary case it was and what a miraculous escape he had had. Later on Smith was invalided home.