in stealing liquor is--using an Irishism--not to steal it.

The only men in the section that night who had a ration of the treasured
fluid were Dick Snow, Reynolds and myself, and in the midst of our
conviviality we prophesied that if Hambone survived this disaster, he
was immortal.

Toasting the health of the King, the army, the navy and our loved ones
at home, we retired in blissful consciousness of a good job well done.

Next morning, black looks and cursing threats in low voices greeted
Hambone on all sides, and his work that day was so fidgety, and he made
so many mistakes in getting the ranges on the sights, that the Major
performed the _coup d'état_ for which we were all anxiously waiting by
transmitting as quickly as he could to headquarters his recommendation
that he be retired, and Hambone, to our immense relief, was shipped back
to England.




CHAPTER X

BEES, HONEY AND HELL


On Tuesday, August 29, 1916, my battery pulled into Martinsaart, in the
Somme district, which lies three miles immediately west of Thiepval. The
Battle of the Somme had been raging since July 1. We took up our
position in a beautiful orchard, its trees laden down with apples, and