At the expiration of the time allotted we were turned out and finished
our dressing on the grass.

When all of the company had bathed it was a case of march back to
billets. That march was the most uncongenial one imagined, just
cussing and blinding all the way. We were covered with white dust and
felt greasy from sweat. The woolen underwear issued was itching like
the mischief.

After eating our dinner of stew, which had been kept for us,--it was
now four o'clock,--we went into the creek and had another bath.

If "Holy Joe" could have heard our remarks about the Divisional Baths
and army red tape, he would have fainted at our wickedness. But Tommy
is only human after all.

I just mentioned "Holy Joe" or the Chaplain in an irreverent sort of
way but no offense was meant, as there were some very brave men among
them.

There are so many instances of heroic deeds performed under fire in
rescuing the wounded that it would take several books to chronicle
them, but I have to mention one instance performed by a Chaplain,
Captain Hall by name, in the Brigade on our left, because it
particularly appealed to me.

A chaplain is not a fighting man; he is recognized as a non-combatant
and carries no arms. In a charge or trench raid the soldier gets a
feeling of confidence from contact with his rifle, revolver, or bomb