rattle a hundred yards or so away down the line. Then came a sudden
commotion and a kind of low, growling shout. That is the best way I
can describe it. We stood up, and below we saw men going over the
top.

"What the dickens can this be?" stuttered the corporal. "There's
been no barrage. There's no orders for a charge. What is it? What
is it?"

Well, there they were, going over, as many as two hundred of
them--growling. The corporal and I climbed out of the trench at the
rear, over the parados, and ran across lots down to a point
opposite where the Canadians had gone over, and watched.

They swept across No Man's Land and into the Boche trench. There
was the deuce of a ruckus over there for maybe two minutes, and
then back they came--carrying something. Strangely enough there had
been no machine-gun fire turned on them as they crossed, nor was
there as they returned. They had cleaned that German trench! And
they brought back the body of a man--nailed to a rude crucifix. The
thing was more like a T than a cross. It was made of planks,
perhaps two by five, and the man was spiked on by his hands and
feet. Across the abdomen he was riddled with bullets and again with
another row a little higher up near his chest. The man was the
sergeant I had talked to earlier in the night. What had happened
was this. He had, no doubt, been taken by a German patrol. Probably
he had refused to answer questions. Perhaps he had insulted an
officer. They had crucified him and held him up above the parapet.
With the first light his own comrades had naturally opened on the
thing with the Lewises, not knowing what it was. When it got