“Help him, Terry. Get his jacket and shirt off. Use a little iodine. You’ll be all right.” “Are we going on, sir, soon?” Clem asked. “Very soon. To the village over the next rise, about three miles from here. Bouresches they call it.” “I want to find my squad and tell them about poor Giddings. Have you seen my Captain?” “Dead. At the bottom of the hill. Lieutenant Wells, too. I am in command now. Was Giddings--?” “Yes. Went down while he was getting off a joke about a Hun who was yelling for mercy. When we turned to let some others of a gun crew have it--they had their gun trained on us--a brute fired at Giddings at about five steps. But I got the skunk with the bayonet and then Davidson and I went on and got two of the other gun-crew. The others of both crews surrendered; Jones’ squad, coming up, took them in. Then I got hit.” A bugle call echoed sweetly along the slope. A sergeant came running up the hill, calling right and left to officers. He passed the lieutenant and Clem. “Orders from the General. Form quick in place in the road due south of the hill. Headquarters down there now. Enemy attack from the east. We are to hold support positions.” Again and again the bugle call sounded from the road. There was some lively running about and falling in. Then once more, in broken formations, the marines descended and under rapid orders lined up, partly along this old road, behind a low bank, and somewhat sheltered by a row of trees. Some of the regulars came up and formed beyond, in the same line. The rest were held in reserve farther back. At the left some regiments of French infantry stretched the line, making a front of about two miles. Fully half a mile to the east a French division occupied the first line facing the enemy positions. Corporal Clem’s arm hurt considerably. A member of his squad had treated and bandaged it with materials out of a first aid kit. But the wound was becoming more and more painful, and his arm began to stiffen. He could not understand why he should feel sick at the stomach and hungry at the same time. The “Leathernecks” had not eaten since breakfast, and it was now well on in the afternoon. Clem looked about him, for misery loves company. There were wide gaps in the line, though that was anything but comforting. It was horribly depressing to think that some of these cronies, jolly good fellows all, would now be dumped under the sod, and that others were never more to walk, nor to know the joy of health. Perhaps some would never see nor hear again. Many less seriously injured would bear scars all their lives. Martin there, formerly next in line to Giddings, and now next to Clem, had his head elaborately done up in two-inch bandages. Replying to a question he said, jovially: