Some of the bravest and most daring of our men were those who carried the messages or dispatches; and many thrilling stories can be told of their adventures. One of the most exciting is that of four men of the Royal Irish Fusiliers.

A certain section of ground of about a quarter of a mile in width was swept by a fierce and continuous German fire. On either side of this open space were British troops, one section of which was in great danger of being surrounded by the enemy. The British officers on the other side saw the danger and wished to warn the company and instruct them to make a certain movement which would prevent disaster.

The buglers were ordered to give calls of warning, but these were either unheard in the din or were not properly understood. There was no way open but across that fire-swept space, and when other methods of sending warning had been tried and had failed, it was decided to send a dispatch carrier.

A call was made for volunteers for the dangerous task, and every single man in the company expressed his willingness to go. This was more than was wanted so coins were quickly produced, spun in the air, and by this boyish method the volunteers were thinned down to the number required. Then the men who had won the honour stepped forward.

The first in the line was given the message and made a desperate dash through the hail of bullets. He ran for a short distance, then tumbled over, and lay still. Two others advanced and commenced the race with death. One of them stopped to lift his wounded comrade, and the other ran on, only to fall in a few moments—dead.

A fourth man rushed out and raced across the zone of death. The bullets flew round him and his comrades watched him with tense anxiety as he seemed to dodge them until he came to a point at a short distance from the British trenches. Then he fell and lay still.

But the men in the trench had seen him and guessed that he had some message for them; otherwise he surely would not have set out on that desperate race with death. A number of them sprang forward as one man, eager to go to his help. They leapt “over the top” and commenced their own gallant race. In a few moments every man of the little party was wounded. But by this time the messenger was on his hands and knees crawling slowly and painfully towards the British cover.

Then a second rescue party came out, in spite of the bullets which seemed to fall thicker than ever, and in a short time they came up with him and were able to draw him into safety. The battalion was saved, for the required movement was instantly made which rendered the German efforts of no avail.

Dispatch carriers on motor bicycles had many great adventures during those stirring days, and many narrow escapes from death, while numbers of them made the last great sacrifice in the performance of their dangerous duty. One of these men was the means of saving a whole French regiment which was in close touch with a British force.

It was necessary to carry a warning to the French not to venture along a certain road where there was a German ambush. Signals were tried by men who paid for their daring in going out into the open by meeting their death from the bullets of German marksmen. The British were hidden in a wood, and when the signallers had failed to carry the necessary warning, a motor-cyclist sped out from the cover and raced at breathless speed along the road. He had not gone far before he was hit and tumbled over with his machine on top of him. A second messenger followed, but in a short time he too went down. A third man came out and began the race which he won after marvellous escapes. The message was safely delivered to the French officer, and the company of our Allies was saved.

The machine and clothes of the last messenger were riddled with bullets but he himself was quite unhurt!