He used often to pay me a visit at night in my dugout. I daresay this reader remembers, too, the white tom-cat, lamed in one foot by a stray bullet, who had his headquarters in No-man's-land. My left flank was bounded by the sunken road leading to Berles-au-Bois, which was in the hands of the English my right was marked by a sap running out from our lines, one that helped us many a time to make our presence felt by means of bombs and rifle-grenades. In that case he had opposite him at that time the 73rd Hanoverian Fusiliers, who wear as their distinctive badge a brassard with ' Gibraltar ' inscribed on it in gold, in memory of the defence of that fortress under General Elliot for this, besides Waterloo, has its place in the regiment's history.Īt the time I refer to I was a nineteen-year-old lieutenant in command of a platoon, and my part of the line was easily recognizable from the English side by a row of tall shell-stripped trees that rose from the ruins of Monchy. “IT is not impossible that among the English readers of this book there may be one who in 19 was in one of those trenches that were woven like a web among the ruins of Monchy-au-Bois.
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