nder whether we'll have much bayonet-fightin' or not?" remarked
the Jersey boy, looking at each of us in turn and addressing no one in
particular.

"We'll get some now and again to keep us warm!" said the corporal. (p. 048)
"It'll be 'ot when it comes along."

"'Ot's not the word," said Bill; "I never was much drawn to soldierin'
'fore the war started, but when it came along I felt I'd like to 'ave
a 'and in the gime. There, that candle's goin' out!"

"Bunk!" roared the corporal, putting his pipe in his pocket and
seizing a blanket, the first to hand. Almost immediately he was under
the straw with the blanket wrapped round him. We were not backward in
following, and all were in bed when the flame which followed the wax
so greedily died for lack of sustenance.

To-morrow night we should be in the trenches.

CHAPTER V (p. 049)

FIRST BLOOD

The nations like Kilkenny cats,
Full of hate that never dies out,
Tied tail to tail, hung o'er a rope,
Still strive to tear each other's eyes out.

The company came to a halt in the village; we marched for three miles,
and the morning being a hot one we were glad to fall out and lie down
on the pavement, packs well up under our shoulders and our legs
stretched out at full length over the kerbstone into the gutter. The
sweat stood out in beads on the men's foreheads and trickled down
their cheeks on to their tunics. The white dust of the roadway settled
on boots, trousers, and putties, and rested in fine layers on
haversack folds and cartridge pouches. Rifles and bayonets, spotless
in the morning's inspection, had lost all their polished lustre and
were gritty to the touch. We carried a heavy load, two hundred rounds
of ball cartridge, a loaded rifle with five rounds in magazine, a pack
stocked with overcoat, spare underclothing, and other field (p. 050)
necessaries, a haversack containing twenty-four hours rations, and
sword and entrenching tool per man. We were equipped for battle and
were on our way towards the firing line.

A low-set man with massive shoulders, bull-neck and heavy jowl had
just come out of an _estaminet_, a mess-tin of beer in his hand, and
knife and fork stuck in his putties.

"Going up to the slaughter line, mateys?" he enquired, an amused smile
hovering about his eyes, which took us all in with one penetrating
glance.

"Yes," I replied. "Have you been long out here?"