will find the
quartermaster in charge, in all likelihood. To him they tell their platoon
number--Number Sixteen Platoon, Section Four, perhaps--and the
quartermaster will hand them the rations. One man will get half a dozen
parcels, maybe more. His comrade never offers to relieve him of any--to the
comrade there is designated a higher duty. The quartermaster takes up with
care and hands with tenderness to the second man a jar, or possibly a jug.

On going back to the trenches a thoughtless sentry may halt the ration
party. I have seen it done. I have heard the conversation. I dare not write
it. There goes one of the boys, both arms hugging a miscellaneous
assortment of packages. He slips and struggles and swears and falls, then
picks himself up and gathers together the scattered bundles. But what of
the other? A jug held tightly in both hands, he chooses his steps as would
a dainty Coryphee. He dare not trip. He dare not fall. He MUST not spill
one drop. Jugs are hard to replace in France; in fact, it is much easier to
get a jug in Nebraska than in France.

The boys finally reach the trench in safety, and next morning the rations
are issued at "stand-to." "Stand-to" is the name given to the sunrise hour,
and again that hour at night when every man stands to the parapet in full
equipment and with fixed bayonet. After morning stand-to bayonets are
unfixed, for if the sunlight should glint upon the polished steel our
position might be disclosed to some sniper.

To my mind stand-to is more or less a relic of the early days of the war,
when these two hours were those most favored by the Germans for attack, and
so it has become a custom to be in readiness.

A day's rations in the trenches consists of quite a variety of commodities.
First thing in the winter morning we have that controversial blind, rum. We
get a "tot" which is about equal to a tablespoonful. It is not compulsory,
and no man need take it unless he wishes. This is not the time or place to
discuss the temperance question, but our commanders and the army surgeons
believe that rum as a medicine, as a stimulant, is necessary to the health
of the soldier, therefore the rum is issued.

We take this ration as a prescription. We gulp it down when half frozen,
and nearly paralyzed after standing a night in mud and blood and ice, often
to the waistline, rarely below the ankle, and it revives us as tea, cocoa
or coffee could never do. We are not made drunkards by our r