own, jumped on the wagon and caught up with the others.  The speed with which he did the trick almost made me gasp with astonishment; in all my life I never saw work of the kind handled so smoothly and swiftly.  A dash of the picturesque was added to the scene by the Algerian ration-bearers winding their way in and out of the wagons, carrying trays of hot food on their heads and shoulders.  It was nothing short of marvelous, the skillful manner in which they carried their precious burden of food, for never did they have a spill unless killed or wounded.

One of the funniest sights a man can see was the way my chums of the ammunition wagons defied the explicit and peremptory order, “No smoking on the road at or around Ypres.”  There is something in the rise and fall of the lighted cigarette when being smoked that attracts the attention at long distances and many a man has had to pay the penalty, which was most severe,—­28 days field punishment, which means 28 days without pay and breaking your back at fatigue duty around the camp, the cookhouse and the wagon lines, in addition to four hours extra drill each day.  The temptation to smoke is so compelling that the punishment does not deter most men and they take the chance.  By taking the collar of their coat and tucking it around their faces, lighting the match under their coat next to their ribs, burying their faces in their coat, they get a light without much danger of detection.  In puffing it a man will hold the fag in his closed fist to his mouth, take the inhale, and, if there should happen to be a provo or other suspicious guardian of the rules in sight, down into his stomach would go the smoke.  I don’t know why it is but it has always seemed to me that the more stringent the rules are against the forbidden luxury, the more chances men will take to get their smoke.

We made the run to Ypres Square in an hour and a half.  As soon as we entered I noticed a woman clinging tightly to a little girl and hugging the wall of the Nunshouse, a building standing immediately opposite the town hall in the square.  The square itself was a large open place in the city about 350 feet long by 150 wide.  I jumped off my horse, gave it to the driver and went over.  In broken English I learned they wanted to cross, but on account of the fire continually bursting the woman would not, so I picked up the child and carried her across to a cellar about five doors out of the square.  A chunk had been blown out of the building and there was no difficulty in getting into the cellar, and as soon as I got to this place the child murmured, “Bon! bon!” and indicated she would go in there.  I set her down and she turned her pretty little face to me for a kiss.  She then caught my arm as I was about to go and slipping off a tiny locket from her little neck, handed it to me, indicating that she wanted me to keep it.  I have it to this day and I prize it tenderly.  It has a small picture of the patron saint of France, Joan of Arc.