There my tireless Tiadatha Came one dark October evening, Found a certain Captain Siomme, Sitting in a dim-lit dug-out, Pledged with him eternal friendship In a loving-cup of _vin rouge_. Then said gallant Captain Siomme, “I will show you all the trenches, All the wire beyond the trenches, Show you where it wants repairing, Show you also where the gaps are.” Silently they crept towards it, Siomme and my Tiadatha: “_Silence!_” said the gallant Siomme, Lifting up a warning finger, Pursing up his lips in warning, “_Sérieux, fort sérieux_, sir, _Silence, silence_, Tiadatha”— Didn’t see the barbed wire coming Didn’t see it in the darkness, Into his own wire went crashing, Dragging Tiadatha with him, And straightway forgot his warnings. Terrible the oaths he uttered, Cursing loudly in the French tongue, Crept out of the jangling barbed wire, Extricated Tiadatha. Thereupon a Bulgar sentry, Wakened from his pleasant slumbers, Feeling rather bored about it, Heaved a bomb at Captain Siomme, Heaved a bomb at Tiadatha, As a householder in London, Wakened from his pleasant slumber By a tomcat on the house tiles, Opens wide his bedroom window, Heaves a boot jack at the noises. Then a zealous Dudshire sentry Swiftly flung a bomb in answer, Followed it with five rounds rapid, Thinking that there was a war on. Then the Bulgars sent a light up, And another and another, Made the darkness light as Bond Street On an afternoon in winter. Siomme and my Tiadatha Lay and grovelled on their tummies, Still as any startled tortoise. After that the German gunners Put a dozen salvoes over, And the English field-guns opened, Feeling sure there was a war on. Bits of bombs and crumps and shrapnel Made the autumn evening hideous, Groups stood to, machine-guns rattled, All the telephones got busy, And supports turned out in dudgeon. As a prairie fire is started By a match or cigarette end, So a mighty strafe was started All because the gallant Siomme Fell into his own defences. Swiftly as it came, it faded, And the night regained its stillness, Gunners settled down to slumber, Sentries settled down to watching, Telephones at last subsided, And fed-up supports departed To their dug-outs in the trenches. Siomme and my Tiadatha Found their way back in the darkness To the Company Headquarters, Pledged once more eternal friendship In another mug of _vin rouge_, Afterwards in one of whisky, Then wired in “relief completed.” After which the gallant Captain And his officers and privates Straggled off into the darkness To wherever they were going. LONDON, _February 18, 1918_. CHAPTER XI TIADATHA’S DUG-OUT