"Thank you, sir."
This over, I ventured to address the adjutant, who I thought was a little gentler natured than the Old Man.
"Sir, did the Fifth go over tonight?"
"No, they have a damned ticklish job, though, digging out in front."
"May I go to them, sir?"
"Why?"
"You understand, sir, they'll accuse me of funking."
"You go straight away and sleep, or I'll have you crimed for insolence."
Oh, the relief! I slowly trudged back and slept the coma of utter exhaustion. The afternoon following things became desperate, and it was our lot to be sent up to help reinforce our depleted lines.
A curious incident that often gives me food for thought took place just before we ventured out on our desperate attempt to reach the line in broad daylight. In the corner of two battered walls, birds had built a nest, and two or three young ones were occupying it. To keep from view of the airmen we took shelter behind these walls. I, as usual, was full of forebodings about the journey we were so soon to make. Judge of my wonderment when one of the boys called me to look at the way the parent birds were feeding their young. Apparently oblivious of war or anything else, with exclamations of delight, he studied the birds as no naturalist ever did. The sight sent my thoughts flying back to a little English home in Derby.