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 men in the trench crouched listening for the whining to come near to them, and as it did, the Subaltern ceased looking for his pipe and listened with them. Along the trench came shouts from those digging out the buried men. A Corporal had got on top and was digging there unmindful of the shrapnel.

I don’t know if I have given the impression that the Subaltern was a fearless young gentleman; but if so, it was not my intention. He was very afraid and most unwilling to die, and he showed it, if the men had only noticed, by his nervous movement of relief after each close burst. A somewhat vigorous self-control, combined with a very real pleasure in being so close to death and yet alive, enabled him to delude the privates; but inside he was quaking.

At last the barrage moved on to the other side of the wood and he rose up, suddenly remembering that he had not seen his Captain since it began. He hardly dared get out, so numb was his will, when he saw the Captain leap down into the trench.

“I was in the burrow,” the big man explained, rather breathlessly, “so I stayed there. There’s one chap killed, and one wounded just outside it, and a lot more farther along. I wonder where the stretcher-bearers are.”

The Subaltern felt that he ought to get out, but somehow he couldn’t. What if the barrage started again and caught