blance to that sagacious bird, the
ostrich; and because of that resemblance, I have remarked on this
question of disposing sandbags in terms of pain and grief. The easiest
thing to do with a sandbag in a trench, if you don't want it, is to
chuck it out. Human nature being what it is, the distance chucked is
reduced to a minimum--in other words, it is placed on the edge of the
parapet. More follow--and they are placed beside it on the edge of the
parapet; which causes the inside edge of the parapet to increase in
height, but not in thickness. In other words, after a while the top
two or three layers of bags, though looking perfectly safe from the
inside, are not bullet proof. Which Tommy knows--but . . . well, I
have mentioned the ostrich.

Now this state of affairs existed in one or two places behind Outpost
craters. There were spots where the top of the parapet was not of
sufficient thickness to keep out a rifle bullet. And it was just by
one of these spots that the Company Commander, going round one night,
suddenly stumbled on something that lay sprawling at the bottom of the
trench--an unmistakable something. It lay half on the fire step and
half off, midway between two saps, and the head sagged back helplessly.
He switched on his torch, and having looked at the huddled form, cursed
softly under his breath. For it was his senior subaltern, and a bullet
had entered his head from behind just above the neck. It had come out
at his forehead, and we will not specify further.

"Stretcher bearers at once." He went back to the group he had just
left. "Mr. Dixon has been shot through the parapet, farther up."

"Killed, sir?" The N.C.O. in charge was in Dixon's platoon.

"Yes." The Company Officer was laconic. "Brains blown out. It's that
damned parapet--one sandbag thick. What the hell's the use of my
speaking?"

He had had a trying day, and his tone may be excused. "You sit here
and you do nothing. The whole company are a set of cursed lazy
loafers."

Seeing that the men were getting an average of six hours' sleep the
remark was hardly fair, but, as I said, the day had been a trying one
and this had been the last straw. He strode back again to the dead
subaltern, muttering angrily.

"Poor old man," he whispered gently, lifting the legs on to the fire
step and bending over the still form. "Poor old man; you've solved the
Big Mystery by now, anyway." The light of his torch fell on the dead
man's