As far as I can make out the artilery send an oficer up to live with the infantry an keep the doboy majors mind off the war. He plays stud poker with him an explains that those shells were Fritzes and not ours that busted all over his prize company the other day. They dont believe each other cause nether of them thinks the other fello knows what hes talkin about so they get along pretty good.
The artilery oficer has two runners with him in case he wants a clean shirt or something from the battery. Me an Joe Mink just lie around and wait for something to happen. Nothin ever happens tho so we just lie around an wait.
Were livin right up in the trenches now, Mable. Right down in them would be more like it. This idear of comin into the war last certinly has advantages. Every time I look at all these trenches an holes I feel sorry for the poor fello what had to dig them. Whoever laid em out didnt seem to have much idear of where he wanted to go. Most of them wander around awhile an come back to where they started. All of them are as crooked as a plummers assistant. If anyone asks you where a place is around here your safe in sayin right around the corner.
"WERE LIVIN RIGHT UP IN THE TRENCHES NOW"
Everywhere you step theres a foot of mud an water. If there wasnt so many corners you could get around better in a canoo. They got sidewalks in most of the trenches they call duck boards. A duck board is a lot of little slats nailed across a couple of wooden rails. The way there laid it looks as tho somebody had walked along the top of the trench an dropped the seckshuns in. Some is upside down, some lap over each other, some is leanin agenst the sides of the trench an in the deep places some isnt there at all. Joe Mink says it keeps a fello on his toes.
Every four or five feet they leave out half a dozen slats. If you dont break your neck in one of these places they get the corners banked the wrong way so youll slide off an get drownd. If they miss you on the straitaway theyll get you on the turns.
The Lootenant sleeps with a couple of doboy oficers in a sekshun of engine boiler set in the side of the trench. I sleep down in a place that looks like an old mine. About the only way you could get a shell into the thing would be to lower it down with a rope. Its the best billet Ive struck up here tho. Theres no windos for fresh air feends to be monkeyin with all the time, an of course there aint no light to shine in your face when your tryin to sleep. The only trouble is theres seven fellos sleepin there an only five bunks so we got to take turns sleepin. The floor is to muddy.
That is to say, Mable, seven fellos an two hundred rats. I never used to take much stock in those rat stories but I certinly take off my hat to them now. Thats about all you can take off unless you want to get eaten. These fellos will eat anything from the hobnails out of your shoes to a bag of Bull. They make a goat look like a dispeptik. You dont notice them while the candles are lit an your movin around. As soon as you blow out the light an lie still, tho, you can hear them comin out all over to have dinner off your equipment.