"Suddenly, one fellow, getting out in front of the bunch, like a cheer leader, counted, 'One, Two, Three.' Then up went a mighty chorus of 'Hey, Alex, where's your gas helmet, where's your old gas bag.' They kept this up until it got Alex's goat. I went out into the pitcher's box and warned him to put it on, but, still pig-headed, he refused to do so. He was in an awful temper.
"A Sergeant of the Military Police was watching the game, and hearing the cries of the rooters he walked out on the diamond and asked Alex where his helmet was. By this time Alex had completely lost his temper, and answered with a sneer: 'Where do you think it is? I sent it home for a souvenir.' The Sergeant explained to him that it was against Army orders to be without gas helmet, and that he had better put it on. Alex would not listen to him, and answered: 'Well, if it's against orders, get them rescinded.' The Sergeant immediately put him under arrest and marched him off the diamond. Our hopes were dashed; I could see the game going West. We had no other good pitcher to go in.
"Upon seeing Alex's arrest, the Canadian rooters kept up their gleeful shouting. We were sure up against it. Here was the situation. It was the last half of the fourth inning, and two were out. If, by luck, we managed to get the third Canadian out, it would be an easy matter for them to retire us during our half of the next inning, because our weakest batting order was up. Then, the Canadians would get busy and the slaughter would commence. I was in despair. Alex must have realized that the game was hopeless unless it could be finished in this inning, because as he passed me he whispered, 'Watch out for gas; I'll make them hunt for their gas helmets. It'll be a long time before that bunch of maple leaves forget this game. Now, get wise. Delay the game as much as possible while getting a dub ready to pitch in my place. Then watch for happenings. Get me? Are you wise?'
"I didn't 'get him,' nor was I 'wise,' but I answered in the affirmative. I followed his instructions, while out of the corner of my eye I watched him on his way to the company billet. He called to a man named Stein, a member of our company, who thought no more of losing a franc than he did of having his right arm shot off. Stein went over to Alex, who whispered to him and then handed him something. What struck me as strange was the fact that Stein, who had fifteen francs on the game, instead of coming back to watch the game, disappeared behind the billet, while Alex was marched off to 'clink.' The rooters were getting impatient, so I put a big Welshman in to pitch. I told the umpire, a Battalion Sergeant-Major, that, according to rules, a pitcher being put in 'cold' was allowed four balls over the plate to warm up. The umpire agreed to this. I whispered to the Welshman, 'Get out in that box, and take your time, delaying the game as much as possible between each pitch. Now, you are allowed four balls over the plate,—remember, over the plate, in which to warm up. Slam 'em into me, but if you put four of them over our goose is cooked, so watch out.'
"The Welshman was mystified, but followed my instructions to the letter. He threw four balls which nearly broke my back to get. Then the umpire held up his hand and called 'Continue the game.' I immediately went over to him and explained that these four balls had not gone over the plate! He fell for this and agreed with me. After that rube of a pitcher had thrown about fifteen or sixteen balls—several I let pass me, chasing them to the billet to delay the game—the umpire got impatient and the Canadian rooters were yelling like mad to 'Play ball.' I still insisted that none of the balls had gone over the plate, and the umpire was in a quandary. The Canadian team captain was kicking like a steer and offered to write home and send the umpire a million books of rules. Then one of our men passed in the rear of me and whispered, 'Alex says to go on with the game.' Wondering at this information, I started in.
"The pitching of that Welshman was awful. He hit the first two men up and walked the third. I was in despair, bases full and none out. Some of the Canadian rooters were jumping up and down throwing their hats in the air, and one fellow, looking squarely at me, commenced whistling 'The Star Spangled Banner.' This was the last straw." (Near every rest billet hangs a gas-gong. This is a triangular piece of steel or an empty shell-case. Beside this gong hangs an iron striker. Upon the sound of the alarm, by striking on the gong with the striker, every man is supposed to put on his gas helmet and repair immediately to his proper station. These gongs are to warn soldiers that German poison gas is coming over.)
"While I was signaling to my rube pitcher, and beseeching him to put just one over, the clanging of the gas-gong rang out. I dropped my glove, got off my chest protector, and madly adjusted my gas helmet, the rooters and players doing the same. Then I got wise. I remembered Alex's instructions: 'Watch out for gas. I'll make 'em hunt for their gas helmets.' The nerve and daring of it took my breath away. The Canadians had a mile to go to get to their stations, and believe me, it is no fun double-timing for a mile while a gas helmet is choking you with its chemical fumes.
"Well, those Canadians beat it, and so did we, but the game was saved and all bets were off. I nearly smothered with laughter in my gas helmet. To the rest, not being 'in the know,' it was a genuine alarm. Shortly after the stampede it was discovered that the alarm was false, and a rigid investigation took place. But the Canadians had left and our money was safe. It certainly would have gone hard with the culprit had he been caught. As it was our Battalion got two weeks' extra fatigue on working and digging parties.
"Afterwards, I was let into the secret. Alex had given Stein ten francs to sound the gas alarm, which, with his fifteen francs bet on the game, Stein did not have it in his heart to refuse. Many a time Alex, Stein and myself had a quiet little laugh when we pictured the Canadians stampeding for their billets.
"Then, orders were received to take over a new sector of the line, and baseball was forgotten. Baseballs gave way to hand grenades.