le I
was watching the enemy. The latter was pressing us awfully hard that
day, and when I observed our troops slowly giving ground, I went out
in person to see if the look on Phillip's face had something to do
with it. But I soon changed my mind. He was all along the line
encouraging his men to hold on, he helped to put new Lewis guns in
position. In short, he was everywhere without apparent thought of the
bullets flying all around him. He pulled back wounded men to be
carried back behind the lines. I know that his men would have held
every bit of ground, had the British who were holding the flanks not
fallen way back behind them.

"When the fateful bullet struck him, it knocked him down as if a ton
of brick had fallen on him. He said to me, 'My God, I got it. Captain,
don't bother with me, I am done for, just look after the boys'."

Let us here relate the story of his plucky fight for life after a Bolo
bullet tore through his breast.

Borne tenderly in the arms of his own men to a sleigh which was gently
drawn to Chanova and thence to Chekuevo, he rallied from his great loss
of blood. Apparently his chances for recovery were good. He sat up in
bed, ate with relish and exchanged greetings with his devoted "H"
company men who to a man would gladly have changed places with him--what
a fine comradeship there was between citizen-officer and citizen-soldier.
Contrary to expectations Phillips was soon moved from Chekuevo to Onega
for safety and for better care. But very soon after reaching Onega
hemmorhage began again. Then followed weeks of struggle for life.
Everything possible was done for him with the means at hand. Although
the hospital afforded no X-ray to discern the location of the fatal
arterial lesion through which his life was secretly spurting away, the
post mortem revealed the fact that the Bolshevik rifle bullet had
severed a tiny artery in his lung.

Care-worn American medical men wept in despair. Wireless messages
throbbed disheartening reports on his condition to anxious regimental
comrades on other fronts and at Archangel. At last the heroic struggle
ended. On the tenth of May Phillips bled to death of his wound.

The valiant company had done its best in the fall and winter fighting.
The company retired to Chekuevo and Onega, doing guard duty and patrols
during the spring. The only event of note was the midnight game of
baseball between the medics and doughboys. The medics coul