aid, ye brainless
twisters!"

"I've more brains than you have," said one of the accusers who,
stripped to the waist, was washing himself.

"'Ave yer? so 'ave I," was the answer of the boy who lost the loaf, as
he raised a mess tin of tea from the brazier.

"Leave down that mess-tin for a minute and I'll show yer who has (p. 102)
the most brains," said the man who was washing, sweeping the soapsuds
from his eyes and bouncing into an aggressive attitude, with clenched
fists before him, in true fighting manner.

"Leave down my mess-tin then!" was the answer. "Catch me! I've lost
things that way before, I'ave."

Spud Higgles came off victor through his apt sarcasm. The sarcastic
remark tickled the listeners, and they laughed the aggressive soldier
into silence.

A number of men were asleep, the dug-outs were crowded, and a few lay
on the banquette, their legs stretched out on the sandbag platforms,
their arms hanging loosely over the side, and their heads shrouded in
Balaclava helmets. At every loop-hole a sentry stood in silent watch,
his eyes rivetted on the sandbags ahead. Now and again a shot was
fired, and sometimes, a soldier enthusiastic in a novel position,
fired several rounds rapid across Noman's land into the enemy's
lines, but much to the man's discomfiture no reply came from the other
side.

"Firin' at beastly sandbags!" one of the men said to me, "Blimey, (p. 103)
that's no game. Yer 'ere and the sandbags is there, you never see
anything, and you've to fire at nothin'. They call this war. Strike me
ginger if it's like the pictures in _The Daily ----_; them papers is
great liars!"

"Do you want to kill men?" I asked.

"What am I here for?" was the rejoinder, "If I don't kill them they'll
kill me."

No trench is straight at any place; the straight line is done away
with in the makeup of a trench. The traverse, jutting out in a sharp
angle to the rear, gives way in turn to the fire position, curving
towards the enemy, and there is never more than twelve yards liable to
be covered by enfilade fire. The traverse is the home of spare
ammunition, of ball cartridge, bombs, and hand-grenades. These are
stored in depots dug into the wall of the trench. There are two things
which find a place anywhere and everywhere, the biscuit and the bully
beef. Tins of both are heaped in the trenches; sometimes they are used
for building dug-outs and filling revetements. Bully beef and biscuits
are seldom eaten; goo