unaware that I was sketching him. Later on I gave him a copy of the
sketch, and he enclosed it in his affectionate reply to his folk at
home.


"STAND TO."

The most anxious time a soldier can know is the time, be it long or
short, that follows the command to stand to. Many a time we had to stand
to the whole night--the entire battalion, from evening twilight till the
full dawn of day--as an attack was expected. Everyone was at his firing
position, with bayonet fixed and his rifle loaded--and in tip-top
working condition, the daily rifle inspection having taken place at
dusk. Sometimes our artillery would presently open fire for the enemy's
first line, perhaps for five or six minutes--it might be more, it might
be less. Then a wait of six or seven minutes, when the enemy returned
the fire, and we all got well down. It was as well to keep as hard up
against the parapet as possible, and to keep out of all dug-outs, for
into them the forward impetus of bursting shrapnel was likely to throw a
lot of splinters. Again silence, comrades and pals passing a few remarks
in anticipation of what everybody knew was coming. The officers with us
were one with us, and at their words, "Well, come on, lads," there was
never a laggard in getting "over the tops" (in our own phraseology). As
soon as we put our hands on the sandbags to clamber over the top of the
parapet a hailstorm of bullets pelted us. It is impossible--at all
events for me--to describe a charge. Speaking for myself, always my
brain seemed to snap. It was simply a rush in a mad line--or as much of
a line as could be kept--towards the enemy's barbed wire entanglements,
which our guns had blown to smithereens in preparation for the assault.
We scrambled on to their parapet, each getting at the first man he