Leaving four men and the telephonist with the guns that night, we went to Anges, half a mile from the gun position, to our billets; this was an old French chateau, and comfortable beyond expression.  As the foes of our anatomies had again attacked in mass formation, this time we were annoyed to a degree.  Procuring creolin, we rubbed it on our bodies pure; it should have been adulterated.  During the night the natural perspiration of our bodies caused the vermin grease to work through the pores, and excessive stinging and smarting was the outcome.  One fellow awoke with a grunt of impatience and then a snort of anger, as a sense of the stinging brought him to a realization of his discomfort; then another, and another, until the entire bunch was in a fine frenzy, fanning our bodies and running into the night air for relief.  My carcass was on fire and I wished to heaven I had left the lice alone; they could not at least have prevented my sleeping.  I determined for the future, as against this cure, I would keep the curse.  I felt as if I were suffering from a severe sunburn over every inch of my body.

[Illustration:  A First Line Hospital]

In the midst of our misery “Stand to!” was sounded, necessitating the dropping of all our skin troubles and skedaddling to get to the guns.  We ran across an open field that had been converted into a graveyard after the French drove the Germans over on to Vimy Ridge, but there was no thought of sacrilege in our minds as we raced pell-mell over the grave-filled land; there never is but one thought in our minds; we are, every man of us, souls with but a single thought when “Stand to!” sounds.  We reached the guns practically in the nude, and fastening the sights and scratching my hide at the same time kept me fairly busy.

We worked the guns for an hour; then “Ammunition up!” was the order for the rest of the night.  We were not allowed to return to our billets as another attack was expected.  At 5:30 the first snowstorm of the winter swept over the land.  The ground was fairly firm from the preceding frost, and in a short time the country was resting underneath a mantle of beautiful purity.  With the enthusiastic ardor of a lot of school boys, we grabbed up the beautiful element in our hands and an old time snowball fight took place.  Then the “Stand to!” of the morning was given.

Our objective this time was to cut channels through the wire about 15 to 20 feet wide, to permit the infantry to pass.  This work is effected by means of shrapnel shells that cut the wire into little strands, then high explosives are used to root out the remaining posts.  When we had accomplished our purpose and made everything ready for the charge, “Stand down!” was sounded.  The infantry took up the program and dashed over and through the gaps we had made.  They cleaned up the first line, then on to the second, smashing their guns, trench mortars and trenches, bombed the dugouts, destroyed their rations and sent back over 1800 prisoners.  What I call a fair morning’s work!