The Escape of a Princess Pat

wards Takes

ed-Trench Nerves-

the foot at St. Eloi in February and had come up in a draft fresh fro

stupid from shell fire, too dazed to talk. I saw one man wandering in half circles, talking to

my comrade Woods to bother with other men less

August days of mobilisation at Ottawa and had rubbed mess tins together under the star

r at St. Eloi. And now it was my turn. Th

nded who still could walk, but find him I could not. It appears that a new and heavy moustache had helped to hide him from me. I

nghe, where the Zeppelins had bombed us in

s, the better to avoid the heavy barrage fire which made all movement of troops difficult beyond words. We reached the r

ch seemed to weigh a ton and all other things; we moved in a mass, as sheep do. When slung rif

r pushing on to that rest each aching bone and muscle, each tight-stretched and shell-dazed nerve fairly sc

keen eyes in distant trees and steeples would have marked us down-and what good then the agony of this all-nig

FOR TRANSPORTATION TO

E, BELGIUM. ON TOP OF WAGON IN FOREGROUND IS

er than force the passage of the barrage fire, merely for a rest, we should rest here where no rest was to be had. Und

pport trench which bordered the track and into which we flung ourselves, to

d ourselves and so found or dug queer coffin-shaped shelv

that any one spoke

wled back into the water which, as usual, was already forming in the hollows that our hips made where we lay. Until noon there was little heard but the thick breathing of weary men. Occasionall

lacement of one of our own batteries inevitably drew to the entire vici