me. Just
before we went, I had one clear vision of Jimmy Wynter. He was well
ahead of his platoon, for he was over six foot and long-legged at that.
I could see his eyeglass swinging on the end of its black cord, and in
his hand he carried a pickaxe. Such ordinary weapons as revolvers,
rifles, and bayonets had no apparent attraction for him.

"What happened next I had no time to see, for our turn came to hop over
the parapet, and there wasn't much time to think of other people. Allan,
his servant, told me later all that occurred, for he was next to Jimmy
all the time. They got to the Hun trenches and lost a lot of men on the
wire. Away to the left the enemy had concealed a crowd of machine guns
in one of the slag heaps, and they played awful havoc among our chaps.
According to Allan, Jimmy chose a place where the wire had almost all
gone, took a huge leap over the few remaining strands, and was the first
of C Company to get into the trench.

"Somehow he didn't get touched--I'll bet Allan had something to do with
that; for he loved his master. With his pick he cracked the skull of the
first Boche who showed signs of fight, and, losing his hold of his
weapon, he seized the man's rifle as he fell. No wonder the poor
blighters fled, for Jimmy Wynter must have looked like Beelzebub as he
charged down on them. His hat had gone, and his hair stuck out from his
head like some modern Struwwelpeter. With the rifle swinging above his
head, he did as much to clear the trench as did the rest of the platoon
all put together.

"When we arrived on the scene the few who remained of A and C Companies
were well on their way to the second line of trenches. Here again Jimmy
Wynter behaved like a demon with his rifle and bayonet, and in five
minutes' time we were in complete possession of two lines of trenches
along a front of two hundred yards. I do not even mention the number of
Germans that Allan swore his master had disposed of, but the name of
Wynter will long be a by-word in the regiment. The funny part of it is
that, up to that time, he hadn't had a single scratch. However, Fate may
overlook a man for a short time, but he is generally remembered in the
end. So it was with poor old Jimmy.

"He was leading a party down a communicating trench, bombing the Huns
back yard by yard, when a hand grenade landed almost at his feet. He
jumped forward, in the hope that he would have time to throw it away
before it went off, but it was fused t