If by wounds he is unfitted for further service, he is discharged,
given a pension, or committed to a Soldiers' Home for the rest of his
life,--and still the expense piles up. When you realize that all the
ambulances, trains, and ships, not to mention the man-power, used in
transporting a wounded man, could be used for supplies, ammunition,
and reinforcements for the troops at the front, it will not appear
strange that from a strictly military standpoint, a dead man is
sometimes better than a live one (if wounded).

Not long after the first digging party, our General decided, after a
careful tour of inspection of the communication trenches, upon "an
ideal spot," as he termed it, for a machine-gun emplacement. Took his
map, made a dot on it, and as he was wont, wrote "dig here," and the
next night we dug.

There were twenty in the party, myself included. Armed with picks,
shovels, and empty sandbags we arrived at the "ideal spot" and started
digging. The moon was very bright, but we did not care as we were well
out of sight of the German lines.

We had gotten about three feet down, when the fellow next to me, after
a mighty stroke with his pick, let go of the handle, and pinched his
nose with his thumb and forefinger, at the same time letting out the
explosion, "Gott strafe me pink, I'm bloody well gassed, not 'alf I
ain't." I quickly turned in his direction with an inquiring look, at
the same instant reaching for my gas bag. I soon found out what was
ailing him. One whiff was enough and I lost no time in also pinching
my nose. The stench was awful. The rest of the digging party dropped
their picks and shovels and beat it for the weather side of that
solitary pick. The officer came over and inquired why the work had