At the end of the second day another wave of hell's atmosphere came
across, more deadly than any of the others, followed by a smothering
fire from the German batteries, and the Germans broke in upon us on
our right and left. Yard by yard we retreated, fighting as we went, and
they occupied some of our front trenches--for a time.
[Illustration: A Chlorine Gas Attack from the Trenches]
That night Scotty and I received orders to report to a French dressing
station for treatment. I half-dragged and half-walked him to the doctor;
I had a feeling that he ought to have been able to make the trip without
my help as I was certain he wasn't suffering any more than I was. After
we left the doctor and got outside the dressing station, Scotty swayed
from side to side, groaning like a man who had lost his last hope on
earth, and the doctor told him to get away as quickly as he could as he
was playing the devil with the nerves of the men who were lying around
there half-dead from the poison fumes. He staggered over and sat down
beside me on the side of the road, still wringing his hands.
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