ion lies one who came from sunny heathen climes to help
the Christian in his wars. His name is Jaighandthakur, a soldier of
the Bengal Mountain Battery.

It was while here that Bill complained of the scanty allowance of his
rations to an officer, when plum pudding was served at dinner.

"Me and Stoner 'as got 'ardly nuffink," Bill said.

"How much have you got?" asked the officer.

"You could 'ardly see it, it's so small," said Bill. "But now it's all
gone."

"Gone?"

"A fly flew away with my portion, and Stoner's 'as fallen through the
neck of 'is waterbottle," said Bill. The officer ordered both men (p. 239)
to be served out with a second portion.

We left the village in the morning and marched for the best part of
the day. We were going to hold a trench five kilometres north of
Souchez and the Hills of Lorette. The trenches to which we were going
had recently been held by the French but now that portion of the line
is British; our soldiers fight side by side with the French on the
Hills of Lorette at present.

The day was exceedingly hot, a day when men sweat and grumble as they
march, when they fall down like dead things on the roadside at every
halt and when they rise again they wonder how under Heaven they are
going to drag their limbs and burdens along for the next forty
minutes. We passed Les Brebes, like men in a dream, pursued a tortuous
path across a wide field, in the middle of which are several
shell-shattered huts and some acres of shell-scooped ground. The place
was once held by a French battery and a spy gave the position away to
the enemy. Early one morning the shells began to sweep in, carrying
the message of death from guns miles away. Never have I seen such a
memento of splendid gunnery, as that written large in shell-holes on
that field. The bomb-proof shelters are on a level with the (p. 240)
ground, the vicinity is pitted as if with smallpox, but two hundred
yards out on any side there is not a trace of a shell, every shot went
true to the mark. A man with a rifle two hundred yards away could not
be much more certain than the German gunners of a target as large. But
their work went for nothing: the battery had changed its position the
night previous to the attack. Had it remained there neither man nor
gun would have escaped.

The communication trench we found to be one of the widest we had ever
seen; a handbarrow could have been wheeled along the floor. At
several points the tr