I just happened to find myself near Jimmie. He was
white as chalk and his knees seemed sagging. It was
apparent that it was only by the greatest effort he
was able to keep going. But all the time I noticed he
was throwing his bombs with the greatest precision
and with deadly effect

M few minutes later I chanced to look toward
Jimmie again, and I saw him fall. I knew he had
been hit and hurried over to him. Three machine-gun
bullets had caught him before he went down and there
was just a breath or two of life in him when I reached
his side.
"Please, Corporal, tell mother I did my duty," he
whispered and was dead. I took his identification



COWARDS 147

disk, his watch and some other trinkets to send home
to his folks. Jimmie had died doing his duty when
every second his heart was pounding the germ of fear
through his system. Jimmie Keene was a better man
that ever Pat McCoy was, and he was honest in his
life, too.
Only once during my service I knew of men being
charged and tried for cowardice, and they were men
from my own company. This was on the Somme.
We were in a trench which came to a dead-end.
