you
know him, Sir? Second-Lieutenant J. J. C. de V. Williamson was his full
war paint. Ah, it's a pity you don't. Quite a kid he was, but he could
tell you off as free and flowing as a blooming General, and never repeat
himself for ten minutes. He stirred things up considerable--specially
the enemy. Sniping was his game; two hours regular every morning, with a
Sergeant to spot for him and a Corporal to bring him drinks at intervals
of ten minutes to keep him cool. He kept count of the Huns he had outed
by notches on the post of his dug-out. Every time he rang the bell he'd
cut up a notch, and before he'd been with us a month you could have used
that post as a four-foot saw.

"Naturally the Huns were riled. You see, we was a salient and they was a
salient, and there wasn't more than a hundred yards between us. We could
hear them eating quite plainly, when they had anything to eat, and when
they hadn't they smoked cigars which smelt worse than all the gas they
ever squirted. One day the Sub. strolls up for his morning practice and
sees a huge sign above the enemy trench: 'Don't shoot. We are Saxons.'
They had relieved the Prussians and they was moving about above their
trenches as free as a Band of Hope Saturday excursion.

"'Until anyone proves the contrary,' says our Sub., 'I maintain that
Saxons is Germans.' Moreover, says he, 'war is war,' and he had to cut
up three more notches on his post afore he could make them understand
that his attitude was hostile. When they did grasp it they began to
strafe us, and they kep' it up hard all day. When night come our Sub.
decided he'd had enough. 'Boys,' he says to us, 'one hour before the
crimson sun shoots forth his flaming rays from out of the glowing East
them Germans is going to be shifted from that trench. We ain't a-going
to make a frontal attack,' he says, 'because some of us might have the
misfortune to tear our tunics on the enemy entanglements, and housewives
is scarce. We are going to crawl along that hollow on the flank and
enfilade the blighters.'

"So we puts a final polish on our bainets and waits. Bimeby we starts
out, Sergeant leading the way. We wriggled through the mud like Wapping
eels at low tide for the best part of an hour, and at last we got to
their trench and halted to listen. There wasn't a sound to be heard;
nobody snoring, nobody babbling of beer in his sleep; only absolute
silence. Sergeant was lying next to me and I distinctly heard his heart