suddenly ceased, holding our noses, we simply pointed in the direction
of the smelt. He went over to the pick, immediately clapped his hand
over his nose, made an "about turn" and came back. Just then our
Captain came along and investigated, but after about a minute said we
had better carry on with the digging, that he did not see why we
should have stopped as the odor was very faint, but if necessary he
would allow us to use our gas helmets while digging. He would stay and
see the thing through, but he had to report back at Brigade
Headquarters immediately. We wished that we were Captains and also had
a date at Brigade Headquarters. With our gas helmets on we again
attacked that hole and uncovered the decomposed body of a German; the
pick was sticking in his chest. One of the men fainted. I was that
one. Upon this our Lieutenant halted proceedings and sent word back to
headquarters and word came back that after we filled in the hole we
could knock off for the night. This was welcome tidings to us, because--

Next day the General changed the dot on his map and another
emplacement was completed the following night.

The odor from a dug-up, decomposed human body has an effect which is
hard to describe. It first produces a nauseating feeling, which,
especially after eating, causes vomiting. This relieves you
temporarily, but soon a weakening sensation follows, which leaves you
limp as a dish-rag. Your spirits are at their lowest ebb and you feel
a sort of hopeless helplessness and a mad desire to escape it all, to
get to the open fields and the perfume of the flowers in Blighty.
There is a sharp, prickling sensation in the nostrils, which reminds
one of breathing coal gas through a radiator in the floor, and you
want to sneeze, but cannot. This was the effect on me, surmounted by a
vague horror of the awfulness of the thing and an ever-recurring