of playing the game.

When the great yellow clouds came rolling toward us, orders were roared
to wet our handkerchiefs and stuff them in our mouths, and half choked
and blinded we held for a day and a half. The buttons on our uniforms
were tinged yellow and green from the gas, so virulent was the poison.

Cooks and everybody else had been ordered into the line, as the giving
way of the Algerians necessitated our lengthening out so as to take over
their ground. Scotty of Mons fame was in the trench bay a few yards away
from me, and when the cloud had passed by I saw him rolling on the
ground, apparently blinded, tears streaming from his eyes. I helped him
to his feet and when he got his voice back his courage returned and,
yelling, "Let the barbarians come," he seized his rifle, rushed to the
parapet and fired point blank every cartridge in his rifle in the
direction of Fritz.

At the end of the second day another wave of hell's atmosphere came
across, more deadly than any of the others, followed by a smothering
fire from the German batteries, and the Germans broke in upon us on
our right and left. Yard by yard we retreated, fighting as we went, and
they occupied some of our front trenches--for a time.

[Illustration: A Chlorine Gas Attack from the Trenches]

That night Scotty and I received orders to report to a French dressing
station for treatment. I half-dragged and half-walked him to the doctor;
I had a feeling that he ought to have been able to make the trip without
my help as I was certain he wasn't suffering any more than I was. After
we left the doctor and got outside the dressing station, Scotty swayed