others follow to the rear, one to each side. And then two more, and
two more, so that they form a V, like a flock of geese. Now if you
follow up the lead man when he retreats, you are baited into a trap
and find yourself surrounded, smothered by superior numbers, and
taken prisoner. Then back to the Boche trench, where exceedingly
unpleasant things are apt to happen.

It is, in fact, most unwholesome for a British patrol to be
captured. I recall a case in point which I witnessed and which is
far enough in the past so that it can be told. It occurred, not at
Vimy Ridge, but further down the line, nearer the Somme.

I was out one night with another man, prowling in the dark, when I
encountered a Canadian sergeant who was alone. There was a Canadian
battalion holding the next trench to us, and another farther down.
He was from the farther one. We lay in the mud and compared notes.
Once, when a light floated down near us, I saw his face, and he was
a man I knew, though not by name.

After a while we separated, and he went back, as he was
considerably off his patrol. An hour or so later the mist began to
get gray, and it was evident that dawn was near. I was a couple of
hundred yards down from our battalion, and my man and I made for
the trenches opposite where we were. As we climbed into a sap head,
I was greeted by a Canadian corporal. He invited me to a tin of
"char", and I sent my man up the line to our own position.

We sat on the fire step drinking, and I told the corporal about
meeting the sergeant out in front. While we were at the "char" it
kept getting lighter, and presently a pair of Lewises started to