_When the last charge sounds, And the battle thunders o’er the plain, Thunders o’er the trenches where the red streams flow, Will it not be well with us, Veterans, veterans, If, beneath your torn old flag, we burst upon the foe?_ ALFRED NOYES. There was a Frenchman hit by a shell, so me and “Smosh” got a stretcher and ran out and fetched him to safety, and the shells were bursting all around us. But we have been lucky enough to miss them up to now. It isn’t war out here; it’s murder: _Pte. W. Commons, Royal Army Medical Corps_. Sniping! The Germans have some very good snipers, but the Duke’s have better. We used to take it in turn to do sniping. It is just like going out rabbit-shooting. You see a German crawl out of his trench, up goes your rifle and over he rolls. Then you say, “That’s a bit of our own back for the way you have been treating the French people”: _Sergt. Clark, Duke of Cornwall’s Light Infantry_. The Bayonet! One night after a very hard day in the trenches, when we were wet to the skin, we had lighted fires to dry our tunics, and were at it when we heard firing along our front, and then the Germans came at us like madmen. We had to tackle them in our shirt-sleeves. It was mainly bayonet work, and hard work at that: _Corporal Casemont, Irish Fusiliers_. A Good Sleeper There are six of the boys playing cards now, some are peeling spuds for dinner, the rest are having a sleep. We have a hole dug in a bank, and we only get in when the shrapnel gets a bit too close, to get out of sight of aeroplanes, and to sleep, night-times. My chum only wakes up grub-times and when he does guard: _Corpl. H. Smith, King’s Royal Rifles_. Those Apples We are living in trenches here, all merry and gay. We are being shelled by the enemy with shrapnel, but they are not doing much damage at present. There are apple-trees over our trench, and we have to wait till the Germans knock them down for us. You ought to see us scramble down our holes when we hear a shell coming: _Private G. Caley, of Manor Park_. Four Feet Down We are in a trench made by ourselves (patented), four feet down, and covered with sticks and straw, and are quite comfortable for a while, until we move again. We get plenty to eat, as there is any amount of vegetables growing around us, but bread is like gold, so we have to content ourselves with biscuits: _Bandsman Ryan, Royal Irish Fusiliers_. Its Billet My best chum was lying by my side, and we were firing shot after shot. Soon after dusk, when the firing was not so brisk, my chum asked me for a drink of water, and I had none. I asked, “Why, what’s the matter?” He replied, “I think I am dying.” I bound him up, but a quarter of an hour later he had gone: _Private Pemberton_. Taking a German