“While I was down there givin’ ’em a hand a doughboy that had been captured crawled into the dug-out with his tongue cut out. The Boches did that to scare us, and they drove him back into our lines with a bayonet. Hines, one of the gun crew, went crazy, he got so mad when he heard that, and tore out of the place for Seicheprey, where he got fightin’ hand to hand with the Germans. “I went back to the gun and was fixin’ to try and get Frank when Lieutenant Davis gave us orders to fire again, and said there was no use tryin’ to bring him in, as he was dead. “The ammunition was comin’ mighty slow and when a man came in with a shell I told him to make it snappy and get ’em comin’ faster. He said, ‘All right, Jimmy.’ I looked at him hard, and be damned if it wasn’t Father Farrell, our chaplain. Say, that was one brave little guy. He ain’t any bigger than a small kid, but he was luggin’ shells for a long time before he let anybody know it was him. “Course, every time one o’ the boys would get it he would run to him _toot sweet_ and do what he could—brought the wounded in and buried the dead right under the hardest kind of a fire. Father Farrell got nicked in the arm with a shell splinter on his way back to the rear the next day. So did I. On recommendation of our general the French gave him a _Craw de Guerre_. I never could say that thing right, but it’s a War Cross for pullin’ hero stuff. “I saw how hard the chaplain was workin’ and I knew my job on the crew wasn’t so heavy, so he took my place and I carted ammunition a while. Just when we thought that the thing was _fineed_ a Boche plane came swoopin’ down on us and opened up a machine-gun barrage. I’ll say that the Boches had pretty good guts, but no more than Carl Davis had, the ‘loot’ that was our C. O. Davis grabbed a rifle from one of the gang and ran right after that Boche, pepperin’ away at him like he was shootin’ at a flock of blackbirds. It was still darker than hell and all that we could see of the Boche plane was black outlines, just as if some big hawk was flappin’ its wings right over our heads. Gee! it was uncanny and sort of ghostlike. Davis was runnin’ up and down like a man in a relay race all by himself. He didn’t have nothin’ on except an undershirt, pants, and boots. We all laughed at him and that helped a lot to get our minds off our troubles. Finally the Boche whirred away and Lieutenant Davis put the old rifle up. Poor Davis, he was some fightin’ kid. They got him up at Château-Thierry. But that comes later.