ase of Woodbines along with him.

My friend Patrick grabbed him by the leg and dragged him into a
shell-hole. Nothing but an inherent respect for his cloth restrained
Patrick from giving the Dicky Bird the spanking of his life. At 8 A.M.
the Hun countered heavily and hove the Antrims out. Patrick retreated in
good order, leading the Padre by an ear. The Antrims sat down, licked
their cuts, puffed some of the Woodbines, then went back and pitchforked
the Bosch in his tender spots. The Bosch collected fresh help and bobbed
up again. Business continued brisk all day, and when night fell the
Antrims were left masters of the position.

At 1 A.M. they were relieved by the Rutland Rifles, and a dog weary
battered remnant of the battalion crawled back to camp in a sunken road
a mile in the rear. One or two found bivouacs left by the Rutlands, but
the majority dropped where they halted. My friend Patrick found a
bivouac, wormed into it and went to sleep. The next thing he remembers
was the roof of his abode caving in with the weight of two men
struggling violently. Patrick extricated himself somehow and rolled out
into the grey dawn to find the sunken road filled with grey figures, in
among the bivouacs and shell holes, stabbing at the sleeping Antrims.
Here and there men were locked together, struggling tooth and claw; the
air was vibrant with a ghastly pandemonium of grunts and shrieks; the
sunken road ran like a slaughter-house gutter. There was only one thing
to do, and that was to get out, so Patrick did so, driving before him
what men he could collect.

A man staggered past him, blowing like a walrus. It was the Padre's
batman, and he had his master tucked under one arm, in his underclothes,
kicking feebly.

Patrick halted his men beyond the hill crest, and there the Colonel
joined him, trotting on his stockinged feet. Other officers arrived,
herding men. "They must have rushed the Ruts., Sir," Patrick panted;
"must be after those guns just behind us." "They'll get 'em too," said
the Colonel grimly. "We can't stop 'em," said the Senior Captain. "If we
counter at once we might give the Loamshires time to come up--they're in
support, Sir--but--but, if they attack us, they'll get those guns--run
right over us."

The Colonel nodded. "Man, I know, I know; but look at 'em"--he pointed
to the pathetic remnant of his battalion lying out behind the
crest--"they're dropping asleep where they lie--they're beat to a
finish--not