hed him up.

The officer told Hunter and myself to cut all wires, which, after some
search, we found had been laid at the bottom of the walls and cunningly
concealed by the grass. Then we took our prisoner back to our lines. An
hour later our howitzers had demolished the factory. Up to this time, the
boche artillery had been planting one shell after another on our
positions, no matter how often we shifted. After the factory was destroyed
we made one more move and no shells found us.

We dug ourselves into the ground, and the almost continual rain made mud
holes out of the trenches. Our force was not large enough in those days to
allow of the elaborate system of supports and reserves that exists to-day.
The men in the firing trenches had to stay there, and there was no going
back into bomb-proofs for a rest. At night we lay down all in our muddy
clothes with a waterproof sheet beneath us and our greatcoats around us.
The sheet didn't do much good, because after lying in it for a while, it
got pressed down into the mud and slime, which came all over the edges.
Every one had a cold, and many of the men suffered from rheumatism, but no
complaints were heard. It is only when things are going smoothly and
"fags" are lacking that the British Tommy kicks.

Owing to the lack of supplies, the issues of cigarettes were so few and
far between that the dry tea that was sent up as part rations was used to
make "fags." Tommies would roll the tea in paper in the form of cigarettes
and smoke it. As much as five francs would be offered for one "Woodbine"
when our supplies were exhausted. A "fag" was a most precious thing, and
guarded jealously. A fellow would get into a corner, take a couple of
puffs, "nip" it, then hide it away in a safe place on his person for fear
of thieves in the night! In one instance, I watched a scene that would
have brought forth laughter as well as pity from a civilian. One Tommy
was observed in a corner finishing a half-inch butt, holding it by a pin
which was stuck through it. Three others immediately pounced upon him and
his treasure. After a short argument they formed a truce in the following
manner: each man in rotation was to take one puff. A cockney with a Walrus
moustache was last on the line, and with great sadness on his face and a
sob in his voice said: "Bli' me! w'ere the 'ell do _I_ come in?"

Out in front of our trenches the mud was full of the bodies of the
dead--mostly Germans, but a few of ou