“The boys was all full o’ fun at that. Most of ’em had got hold of high hats, derbies, colored parasols, and a lot of other fool things in Château-Thierry, and the next mornin’ they was drivin’ along wearin’ silk hats, carryin’ green umbrellas and Lord knows what else. I had a high hat on myself. The Frenchmen thought we was nuts sure enough, goin’ to war rigged up like that. But we told ’em ‘_Say la guerre._’ O. D., the guys in this man’s army ain’t lettin’ no _guerre_ get their nannies. I guess most of ’em was brought up just to get in this _guerre_ and wallop the Heinies. “’Bout twelve bells we started firin’. Just in time to let dinner get cold. Hadn’t put over eight rounds before the old coal barges—that’s the big shells that Fritz throws at us—began sailin’ right in. Third shell struck a shallow dug-out ’bout twenty feet from where our piece was. There was four boys tryin’ to _cushay_ in that dug-out. They was all in a row, accordin’ to the way I heard it. First one nearest us got smashed up ’round the lungs. Olsmo, second lad, got killed outright. He was mashed to pulp in places. Ripped the stomach out of Papan, next to him, and tore Pap’s knees clean out of socket. The fourth guy, Thayer, sleepin’ jam up to Pap, didn’t get a scratch—not a thing. Course he got all bloody from the others. But that wasn’t nothin’. “When we dug ’em out we found Silvia, the first lad, dyin’. He _fineed toot sweet_. Just a gasp or so ended him. Olsmo, of course, was stone cold—gashed into tit-bits from head to foot. O. D., he was twisted inside out and then all ground up like hash. Them shells can sure ruin a man. Poor Pap, he got it worse than all. ’Cause it didn’t kill him. His legs dangled from threads of flesh. You couldn’t see his face on account of the blood that spurted from his chest—covered his face with red. Pap was in some agony, boy, but he had guts. Looked like his pain gave him strength. But guess it was the madness that made him act strong and not the hurtin’. He went insane for a few minutes—then he would quiet down. “‘Olsmo,’ he shouted, grittin’ his teeth so till it gave me cold shivers. Then he shook cold Olsmo with his blood-drippin’ hand. ‘Snap into it,’ yelled Pap. ‘Christ Almighty, man, we can’t stay here. It’s killin’ me. Move! Get that horse out of my way. Cannoneers on the wheels.’ He raved until he got so weak he just couldn’t whisper. The way Pap stared at us out of them sunken eyes of his was enough to scare a man to death. But when your pals are dyin’, sufferin’, cussin’, prayin’, beggin’ for water and cigarettes, a man ain’t got no business to be scared, O. D. That’s what kept lots of us goin’, I suppose. Pap wanted cigarettes. Had to smoke, he said. Course we gave ’em to him. But as fast as he got one in his mouth he’d throw it away and holler for another.