We had almost reached our original line, when a chum of mine called to me by name. I went over to him, and found him lying on the ground: he had been hit and could not help himself, and he asked me to take him back to the dressing-station. I could not well refuse; so, dragging him and carrying as best I could, I made for the road, and there we nearly both got taken by the Germans, who were coming down that road in hundreds, and were only a few yards off. So I had to drag my man back into the wood, dropping into a ditch with him at the side of the road, where I was able to ascertain the extent of his wound. There was not much to show--only a small bullet-hole through his hip entering his stomach. In this ditch was a Zouave; and he gave me some black stuff that looked like coffee. Getting, a little later, into the wood, I was able to take him that way to the dressing-station. I heard a few weeks afterwards that he had died from his wound.

On arriving back, I found that the Regiment had again retired a little way behind the trenches we had before occupied; and I also found that I had lost another old and valued chum, the one who had originally enlisted with me and had up till that time been through the campaign unscathed. I am thankful to say he was not badly wounded, although he lost the use of his left hand. There were not many of us left; our ranks were more depleted than ever; not more than seventy or eighty all told remained--nevertheless, they were planning to retake the trenches. On reaching the communication trench unmolested, we started to file in, myself going second man. Of all the trenches I had been in that was quite the worst: we had to absolutely walk the whole of the way over dead bodies--our own men and Germans. It was eight o'clock at night, and of course dark, which made our task more unpleasant; but we reached the end of the communication trench safely, though we had not got more than three or four yards down the main trench to the right, where it ended in a _cul-de-sac_, before a German patrol of about twelve men came walking along the top of the trench. We waited until they were on top of us--then I let drive. I can hear the yell of the fellow I hit to this day, as he threw up his hands and dropped. The man next to me on my left also let go, and I thought he had blown the top of my head off!--he must have had the muzzle of his rifle quite close to my ear, as I was deaf for some time afterwards. He thought _I_ was hit!

With a Reservist in France — Part 33