You will remember that there were thirteen bullet holes in the Potsdam bugle which I brought back from the charge on the German trenches near La Bassee. How many of them were made after the bugle came into my possession and was put in my pack, I do not know, but, at any rate, I believe that thirteen is my lucky number. This is the reason: After a short rest in billets, we were returned to a portion of the trench near a part we had occupied before. The regiment had been recruited up to full strength again, and I can tell you that there were very few of the original Black Watch left. In fact, the personnel that we now had was almost a third regiment. In order to reach the high broken ground to our right, where there was a great deal of patrolling and scouting to be done, it was necessary to cross an absolutely exposed strip of ground about thirty yards long. So many men had been killed here that we called it "crossing the bar" when we had to traverse this neck of land. You must remember, we did not have a decent air fleet in those days and infantry patrolling and scouting were much more important than they are to-day. From the high ground to the right, much information of the movements of German troops could be gained. Whenever they saw even a single man "crossing the bar," the Huns would let loose a salvo of artillery fire. I usually waited until it was dark enough to see the flashes of their guns before crossing this strip, and whenever I saw the first flash I would sprint a few paces toward it and then flop down. The Germans had the range exactly. By sprinting, I stood a good chance of getting in ahead of the burst, and as shrapnel carried forward, the ruse worked nicely. In order to show a party of the new scouts the way across the bar, I was sent out with twelve of them, _thus making a party of thirteen_. Before we started I drew a rough sketch for them and told them, as exactly as I could, just what to do when we were fired upon. That we would be fired upon was a certainty. About the centre of this open strip was the dried bed of a stream between deeply worn banks and this afforded the only protection on the way across. When the light was just right, we moved out to the edge of the bar. I gave my men a few last instructions. It was time to go. I took one last look across the ground which was literally covered with shell splinters and deeply furrowed. "Rush!" I yelled. We went forward in a thin line. I saw the expected flash of the guns. "Straight toward them!" I shouted; and we all ran madly in the direction from which the shells were coming. "Down!" I roared with every bit of voice that was in me, at the same time flopping down flat on my face.