"

"They're their own bloomin' tombstones, anyway," said Bill, cropping
up from somewhere.

"I feel sorry for the poor beggars," I said.

"They'll feel sorry for themselves, the beggars," said Bill.

"There, what's that?"

It crept up like a long white arm from behind the German lines, and
felt nervously at the clouds as if with a hand. Moving slowly from
North to South it touched all the sky, seeking for something. Suddenly
it flashed upon us, almost dazzling our eyes. In a flash Bill was upon
the banquette.

"Nark the doin's, nark it," he cried and fired his rifle. The (p. 091)
report died away in a hundred echoes as he slipped the empty cartridge
from its breech.

"That's one for them," he muttered.

"What did you fire at?" I asked.

"The blasted searchlight," he replied, rubbing his little potato of a
nose. "That's one for 'em, another shot nearer the end of the war!"

"Did you hit it?" asked our corporal.

"I must 'ave 'it it, I fired straight at it."

"Splendid, splendid," said the corporal. "Its only about three miles
away though."

"Oh, blimey!..."

Sentries were posted for the night, one hour on and two off for each
man until dawn. I was sentry for the first hour. I had to keep a sharp
look out if an enemy's working party showed itself when the rockets
went up. I was to fire at it and kill as many men as possible. One
thinks of things on sentry-go.

"How can I reconcile myself to this," I asked, shifting my rifle to
get nearer the parapet. "Who are those men behind the line of sandbags
that I should want to kill them, to disembowel them with my sword,
blow their faces to pieces at three hundred yards, bomb them into (p. 092)
eternity at a word of command. Who am I that I should do it; what have
they done to me to incur my wrath? I am not angry with them; I know
little of the race; they are utter strangers to me; what am I to
think, why should I think?

"Bill," I called to the Cockney, who came by whistling, "what are you
doing?"

"I'm havin' a bit of rooty (food) 'fore goin' to kip (sleep)."

"Hungry?

"'Ungry as an 'awk," he answered. "Give me a shake when your turn's
up; I'm sentry after you."

There was a pause.

"Bill!"

"Pat?"

"Do you believe in God?"

"Well, I do and I don't," was the answer.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't 'old with the Christian business," he replied, "but I believe
in God."

"Do you think that God can allow men to go killing one another lik