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Full text of "TheCompleteMemoirsOfGeorgeSherston"

ten minutes we dodged and stumbled up a narrov
winding trench. The sun was shining; large neutra
clouds voyaged willingly with the wind; I felt in-
tensely alive and rather out of breath. Suddenly we
came into the main trench, and where it was widest
we met the Cameronians. I must have picked up a
bomb on the way, for I had one in my hand when I
started my conversation with young Captain Macnair.
Our encounter was more absurd than impressive.
Macnair and his exhausted men were obviously going
in the wrong direction, and I was an incautious new-
comer. Consequently I had the advantage of him
while he told me that the Germans were all round
them and they'd run out of bombs. Feeling myself to
be, for the moment, an epitome of Flintshire infalli-
bility, I assumed an air of jaunty unconcern; tossing
my bomb carelessly from left hand to right and back
again, I inquired, "But where are the Germans?"—
adding "I can't see any of them." This effrontery had
its effect (though for some reason I find it difficult
to describe this scene without disliking my own be-
haviour). The Cameronian officers looked around
them and recovered their composure. Resolved to
show them what intrepid reinforcements we were, I
assured Macnair that he needn't worry any more and
we'd soon put things straight. I then led my party
past his, halted them, and went up the trench with
Sergeant Baldock—an admirably impassive little man
who never ceased to behave like a perfectly trained
and confidential man-servant. After climbing over
some sort of barricade, we went about fifty yards with-
out meeting anyone. Observing a good many Mills
bombs lying about in little heaps, I sent Baldock back
to have them collected and carried further up the
trench. Then, with an accelerated heart beat, I went

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