The Boche had the range, though, and shelled the area all night. The 1st platoon ran on an average schedule of dig two minutes and duck five. The 3rd was in no better case, and Barney O’Rourke got an ugly little piece of shell through his foot. He hobbled off between Hill and Weber, adjuring me as he left “Don’t let th’ byes get up too soon afther they bor-r-rst, sor-r-r.” And thereafter we didn’t. Rifle bullets were cracking by over our heads now and then, and the rumor got about that snipers were concealed in the nearby woods. The whole sector had of course been in German hands five days before, and all sorts of tales were current about death traps found in dugouts, and lurking snipers, lying close in the daytime in cunning shelters, well provisioned, who came out at night to pot a few of us and eventually escape by underground passages. Most of these tales I recognized as old friends originally met with in the Sat. Eve. Post. But digging was quite unpleasant enough as it was, and the source of the impression was not so important as the fact that it existed. So Osterweis, Woolley and I went forth to bag the franctireurs. We waded through a vast deal of mud, but couldn’t flush anything except a disgusted runner looking for Brigade Hdq.; so I sent the corporals back, and set out myself for the 4th platoon, which was stringing wire over on the left of the sector. On the way I stumbled over the body of a 5th Division soldier. He had a red runner’s brassard on his arm, and was all ticketed for burial. His face seemed to be in shadow. There was a plug of chewing tobacco sticking out of his pocket and this seemed to be in the shadow too. Then I realized that his face had turned black--it was just the color of that plug of tobacco. The vicious shriek of a shell approached, and I hit the dirt. A bit of the shell hit the dead man by me, and he jumped as if alive. I got up and was on my way. The majority of the 4th platoon had taken individual leases on shell holes; Sgt. Rogers and a few others were making valiant efforts to make some headway with the wire. The shelling quieted down after awhile, however, and we got down to business. Then I started back to see how the others were faring.