As I was crawling on hands and knees to the base, bullets whizzed
around me and shrapnel fell within a few feet. I had my kilt pierced
on eight occasions. Everybody who has seen the holes in my kilt says
what a marvellous escape it was. I had escaped without any additional
scratch, even though I had my gun shattered to pieces in my hand: _A
Corporal of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders_.
“Not Me!”
Who was going to stop with the transport? Not me! I was sent for a
box of ammunition, and was carrying it on my shoulder when a shrapnel
splinter struck the box and knocked me down. All our fellows thought I
was dead, and one or two came running to me, but I got up all right and
went back to the trenches. I had a pop at ’em with a rifle. Ever seen a
shrapnel drop? _A Drummer Boy of the Cheshire Regiment_.