"Don't you bomb throwers think that you are wearing top hats out here.
'Cordin' to orders you've been taken up on the strength of this
section, and will have to do your bit with the pick and shovel, same
as the rest of us."

I put up a howl on my way to get my shovel, but the only thing that
resulted was a loss of good humor on my part.

We fell in at eight o'clock, outside of our billets, a sort of
masquerade party. I was disguised as a common laborer, had a pick and
shovel, and about one hundred empty sandbags. The rest, about two
hundred in all, were equipped likewise: picks, shovels, sandbags,
rifles, and ammunition.

The party moved out in column of fours, taking the road leading to the
trenches. Several times we had to string out in the ditch to let long
columns of limbers, artillery, and supplies get past.

The marching, under these conditions, was necessarily slow. Upon
arrival at the entrance to the communication trench, I looked at my
illuminated wrist-watch--it was eleven o'clock.

Before entering this trench, word was passed down the line, "no
talking or smoking, lead off in single file, covering party first."

This covering party consisted of thirty men, armed with rifles,
bayonets, bombs, and two Lewis machine guns. They were to protect us
and guard against a surprise attack, while digging in No Man's Land.