CHAPTER V

MUD, RATS, AND SHELLS

I must have slept for two or three hours, not the refreshing kind that
results from clean sheets and soft pillows, but the sleep that comes
from cold, wet, and sheer exhaustion.

Suddenly, the earth seemed to shake and a thunderclap burst in my
ears. I opened my eyes,--I was splashed all over with sticky mud,
and men were picking themselves up from the bottom of the trench. The
parapet on my left had toppled into the trench, completely blocking it
with a wall of tossed-up earth. The man on my left lay still. I rubbed
the mud from my face, and an awful sight met my gaze--his head was
smashed to a pulp, and his steel helmet was full of brains and blood.
A German "Minnie" (trench mortar) had exploded in the next traverse.
Men were digging into the soft mass of mud in a frenzy of haste.
Stretcher-bearers came up the trench on the double. After a few
minutes of digging, three still, muddy forms on stretchers were
carried down the communication trench to the rear. Soon they would be
resting "somewhere in France," with a little wooden cross over their
heads. They had done their bit for King and Country, had died without
firing a shot, but their services were appreciated, nevertheless.

Later on, I found out their names. They belonged to our draft.

I was dazed and motionless. Suddenly a shovel was pushed into my