"Blain is commanding," he said, as we threaded our way single file down a path through a wood. Blain, I knew, had been a very junior captain a month before when war broke out. The Adjutant proceeded to explain: "The Colonel and Ames were hit at Mons." (Ames was the senior major.) Johnson and Hewett (another major and a captain) had been hit on the Marne. "Clark and Sergeant Johnson--you remember Johnson?" I nodded, well remembering Clark's inimitable colour-sergeant--the pair had been inseparable and the officer greatly dependent on the man for the keeping of his company accounts, etc., in the days of peace--"were killed the day before yesterday. They are buried together by that farm." The Adjutant softened his voice from the tone of matter-of-fact recital as he pointed to a farm building through the trees. "Well, here we are," he said as we came to a little straw and earth shelter in the wood. "Here's some fresh blood, sir," he said, to a youthful looking captain sitting on a tree stump outside the shelter. This was Blain, who through the accidents of war was now left in command of the regiment. There were left, besides, one other captain and some half-dozen subalterns. Of these the scout officer and machine-gun officer were with Blain, the others out in command of their companies in the trenches. "Hullo!" said Blain, holding out his hand. "We are going to put you with Goyle's company." I grinned as unconcernedly as I could. So Goyle was one of the survivors, then. Goyle was the regimental fire-eater. He had been longing for this war for years and was more pleased than many others I knew when it actually happened. To be Goyle's subaltern on active service, I had always surmised, was to have guarantee of plenty of fighting. If ever a reluctant youth found himself holding out against overwhelming odds in an impossible position it would be one of Goyle's subalterns. "Goyle has had bad luck with his subalterns," said Blain. "He has lost four." "I hope he doesn't lose me," I said with some sincerity. Blain and the Adjutant laughed. "Well, we'll send you on up to him," said the former. "Let's see--I think he has got the forward trench to-day." "Yes, he has," said the Adjutant; then, turning to me, "You'll be near enough to them for your first day in the trenches--two hundred yards." I grinned again as genially as possible. "Have some breakfast before you go up," said the C.O., handing me a biscuit and a pot of jam and pointing to a pannikin of tea.