The Cordova daily times., 1918-04-03
CHAPTER V.
Mud, Rats and ShelIs.

"bbT mats anu SVCItBs
 must have slept for two or three hours, not the refreshing kind that re- suits from clean sheets and soft pill lows, but the sleep that comes from cold, wet and sheer exhaustion.
 Suddenly, the earth seemed to shake and thunderclap burst in my ears. I opened my eyes-I was splashed all over with sticky mud, and men were picking themselves up from the bottom of the trench. The parapet on my left had toppled into the trench, completely blocking 1t with wall of tossed-up earth. The man on my left lay still. I rubbed the mud from my face, and an awful sight met my gaze-his head was smashed to a pulp, and his steel helmet was full of brains and blood. A German "Minnie' (trench mortar) had exploded in the next traverse. Men were digging into the soft mass of mud In frenzy of haste. StretCher-bear- CTS came up the trench on the double. After few minutes of digging, three still. muddy forms on stretchers were carried down the communication trench to the rear. Soon they would be resting somewhere in France" with little wooden cross over their heads They had done their bit for king and country had died without firing a shot but their services were appreciated nevertheless.
 Later on, I found out their names, They belonged to our draft. ' denly shovel was pushed into my hands, and q rough but kindly voice said:
 Here, my lad, lend a hand clearing the trench, but keep your head down. and look out for sniperS. One of the i Fritz's is a daisy, and he'll get you if ! you're not careful"
 i Lying on my belly on the bottom of ] the trench, I filled sandbags with the i sticky mud, they were dragged to my l rear by the other men, and the work of | rebuilding the parapet was on. The l harder l worked, the better I felt. Al l though the weather was cold, I was soaked with sweat
 i Occasionally a bullet would crack 1 overhead, and machine gun would |. kick up the mud on the bashed-in para l pet. At each crack I would duck and shield my face with my arm. One of 1 the older men noticed this action of mine, and whispered:
 Don't duck at the crack of bull let, Yank; the danger has passed-you never hear the one that wings you Always remember that If you are going to get it, you'll get it, so never worry"
 This made a great impression on me at the time, and from then on, adopt ed his motto, If you're going to get 1t. you'll get It."
 It helped me wonderfully. I used 1t so often afterwards that some of my mates dubbed me, If you're going to get it, yod'll get It."
 After an hours hard work, all my nervousness left me, and I was laugh, ing and joking with the rest.
 At one o'clock. dinner came up in the form of dixie of hot stew.
 l looked for my canteen. It had fallen off the fire step, and was half buried in the mud. The man on my left noticed this, and told the corporal, dishing out the rationS, to put my share in his mess tin. Then he whis- pered to me, Always take care of your mess tin, mate"
 had learned another maxim of the trenches.
 That stew tasted fine. I was as hungry as bear. We had seconds !" or another helping, because three of the men had 'gOne West" killed by the explosion of the German trench mortar, and we ate their share, but still l was hungry, so I filled in with bully beef and biscuits. Then I drained my water bottle. Later on I learned another maxim of the front line, "Go sparingly with your water" The bully beef made me thirsty, and by tea time l was dying for a drink, but my pride would not allow me to ask my mates for water. I was fast learning the ethics of the trenches.
 That night was put on guard with an older man. We stood on the fire step with our hands over the top, peer 1 ing out into No Mans Land It was nervous work for me, but the other fel- low seemed to take 1t as part of the nights routine.
 Then something shot past my face. My heart stopped beating, and ducked my bead below the parapet. A soft