HUN HELPERS
On the sixth day after the first gas attack on the Canadians at Ypres,
we took up a new position in a hedge about three-quarters of a mile
north and a quarter of a mile east of Ypres, and about a thousand yards
from the German trenches. We galloped like mad over the shell-swept
road, taking just exactly an hour and a half to get the guns placed and
blazing. We had four guns when we pulled into this position, but were
latterly reinforced by two more from another battery, their sisters
having been smashed and the crews bayoneted, including their commanding
officers, and like friendless children they came to us looking for a
home and were gladly taken in, thus increasing our battery to six guns.
The hedge of the thickly growing thorn bushes ranged to the height of
four feet, making it incumbent upon us to continually assume a stooping
position when walking, involving a crick in the back for a good part of
the time while there, but the bush was as thick as could be and formed
an admirable shelter.
The beauty of these hedges in blossoming time is charming and the buds
were now coming out, their fragrance filling the air with sweet nectar.
To our right was a large farmhouse, of two stories and a gable roof, and
the nearest gun to the house was not over 30 feet off. The house was
occupied by a farmer, his wife and two young children, a boy and a girl.
The farmer's demeanor toward us was that of a systematic grouch and his
appearance did not belie his disposition--as surly and sulky looking as
a whipped criminal. He would stand in the doorway, watching us
continually, as if he feared we were going to steal his house from over
his head, and about the only thing he would say was to warn us not to
destroy the hedge. But our love for the shelter, to say nothing of our
love for the fragrant blossoms, made this injunction needless.
Over on the other side of the house, 40 feet to the right of it, was
another hedge behind which was a French battery of .75's. This battery
had been through the Marne and they were veterans of the finest order,
the very cream of the French artillery service, and their Captain was an
educated gentleman, speaking English as fluently as his native tongue.
They had come up from the Champagne district to reinforce the position
at Ypres and their battery also consisted of six guns, each gun capable
of 24 shells a minute.
In appearance these guns are the last in the world to give one the
impression of supreme efficiency; when we saw them coming down the road
we wondered what they could be and were amazed when informed that they
were the famous .75's that had made the work of the French guns ring
throughout the world; we couldn't at first bring ourselves to believe
that these were the famous guns until we saw them at work, because there
is nothing in the general aspect of the piece to make one think that
they are any better, if as good, as our old field pieces.
The secret of these magnificent guns lies in the buffer and in the
ability of the muzzle of the gun to cool off; after discharging 24
rounds they are just as ready to discharge another 24 as when they
started, while in the case of our pieces we have to let them cool, and
15 or 18 per minute is the limit of our effort, because any more would
cause them to jam from the heat. There is no gun on earth that can
compare with the .75's.
Our ammunition was supplied to us at this spot over a road running
between our wagon lines, half way between Flamingad and Breevland, about
a thousand yards away, but they had to go in a roundabout way, traveling
fully 800 yards out of the direct route on account of the ditches. It
was a physical impossibility for the horses to bring up sufficient
ammunition for the guns during the night, and they had to make the
perilous trip many times during the day, and with the German shells
pounding the road every foot of the way, their fire being guided by the
wireless directions from their planes, the number of horses that had
their lives smashed out on this road was something enormous. At one spot
is the famous Hell's Corner, so named because of the fierce fire that
continually rained upon it, and here I counted 40 dead horses, as fine
looking animals as ever were harnessed. Such is the toll of war.
On the day that we arrived, our attention was drawn to an Algerian who
seemed to be an inmate of the house. He could speak some English and
seemed to spend most of his time cleaning his revolver. On the first
afternoon I asked him why he was there and to what regiment he belonged.
"The Algerian-African troop."
"I understood they were in the trenches," I said. "Are you with the
infantry?"
"Yes," he replied, "I am."
"Are you wounded?"
"No."
"Then why are you not with your men?" I insisted.
"I was lost in the retreat," he answered.
"Why don't you go and look them up?"
"I did, but I can't find them."
Then he asked me if we were getting ammunition up.
"Oh, yes, lots of it," I said.
"When are you going to fire?"
"Oh, pretty soon," I said.
"What are you going to shoot at?" he asked.
I told him we were going to plug the German trenches and the buildings
around there, that we had orders to blow them up as they were filled
with machine guns. He grinned from ear to ear, saying, "Good! Good!
Shoot them all! Which ones you shoot first? I want to see them fall."
I pointed out the ones my battery was going to demolish and his big
white teeth were exposed in another grin, as he nodded approvingly, and
walked off.
That same afternoon my gun leveled the buildings assigned to me for
demolishment and knowing beyond all shadow of a doubt that they were
filled with men and machine guns, I watched through the glasses to see
the gray-clad inmates popping out of the doors and windows. Judge of my
astonishment! Not a solitary soul left the building my gun had
destroyed. I watched each one of them in turn and in turn was awarded
nothing for my pains. From others, however, hundreds of men rushed and
as they scurried away our guns shrapneled them, dropping them by the
score.
A sort of a subconscious connection between my conversation with the
Algerian and the effect of my gun fire found lodging in the back of my
head, but it was not until later that it became a direct consciousness.
Another thing that set me thinking was what seemed to me to be an undue
familiarity between this Algerian trooper and our farmer; he had the
entree of the house, apparently could go and come as he pleased,
drinking coffee with the inmates, sleeping there nights and making
himself generally at home. I didn't think much of it at the time, but
later events made these trivialities very significant indeed.
The bombardment was now commencing to have its effect on me, and McLean
and I were both tired out; we were dead beat and looked around for a
quiet spot where we could rest. Billy McLean was my especial pal ever
since I had set foot in France.
"Here is what the doctor ordered," he said, as we went off down the
hedge a bit and came to a little opening in the bush into which we both
crawled. It requires no effort for a man who has been sustaining the
sound, shock and work of a bombardment, to fall asleep anywhere, any
time, and we were soon Murphyized, as Mac expressed it.
The rain now commenced falling heavily and in the midst of our slumbers,
an orderly happened along and woke me up. I gave Mac a shove and he too
woke up. We were drenched and made for the barn. We found the Old Man
there with a lantern and told him we were going up in the loft, but he
scowled and said we were not to go. "To hell with you!"--and up we went,
finding five or six of the boys there taking advantage of the lull to
snatch an hour's sleep. We quickly followed suit, getting hold of some
straw and grain bags for a bed, and resumed our interrupted slumbers.
In the midst of our dreams "S.O.S. Stand to!" was ordered, but we did
not hear. One of our fellows, as we later learned, came running up to
the farmhouse and asked the farmer if he had seen any of our men.
"No," he scowled, "there are none here."
When we had our sleep out we made for the guns. It did not take us long
to see that a pretty thorough strafing had been going on, yet so dead
beat to the utter exhaustion point were we, that we had failed to hear
them.
"Where the hell were you fellows?" asked one.
"Asleep up there in the barn," said I; "why didn't you call us?"
"I did, I asked that old blankety-blank and he told me he hadn't seen
any of you fellows around there."
"Well," said I, "he knew that Mac and I were up there, because we told
him we were going, although he didn't want to let us go."
Here the incident dropped and was forgotten for the time. That afternoon
Fritz attempted to come over our way and on a "Stand to" we jumped to
the guns and drove him back, sending across 200 expressions of our good
will in record time. Then we "stood down." Following this we went
through the usual routine of cleaning up our pet and making her ready
for the next visitation, and while working away, friend farmer came
along with one of his cows, a large white animal, leading it with a rope
and permitting her to graze. He walked along in front of my gun where it
stopped and grazed awhile; going in like manner in front of each of the
guns. Then he led the animal over to the other side of the house, where
it grazed in front of the French .75's.
In the meantime we were working hard, getting our pets in shape, and
someone asked who would volunteer for water. We were all dirty, thirsty,
greasy and tired, and I offered to go. I ambled over to the farmhouse,
stopping to speak to the Captain for a moment on the way, when I heard
a shell explode; it had demolished No. 2 gun.
"Stand to!" yelled the Captain; then to the farmer, "Take that damned
cow away." He hurried the cow off and put it in the barn, but he had no
sooner gone than Kr-kr-kr-p! Kr-kr-kr-p! and the Captain and I were
knocked off our feet. The water bottle was broken and I did not take
time to get another but made for the guns. They were hammering our
batteries thoroughly now and I was told to take shelter. I ran over to
the farmhouse and asked the farmer's wife for a cup of coffee,--to sell
me a cup, which she refused; in fact, her husband would not permit any
of us to enter the house again. Then a smothering fire smashed the
French battery, the destruction being so accurate and complete that it
was done while I was asking and being refused the coffee! Just leaving
the house, I met one of the French captains. "Did you notice anything
peculiar in the farmer's actions?" he asked me; "I mean, with his white
cow?"
"I told him I hadn't noticed anything peculiar, that I had noticed he
had taken his white cow out in front of our battery, grazing her there
just before the battery was shot up.
"Did the cow stop in front of your gun?"
"Yes, it stopped before each one of them."
"So it did at ours," he said.
"_Merci_ Monsieur, you will hear from this." And he left in a hurry. He
phoned the gendarmes in the city of Ypres and in less than half-an-hour
they came. They entered the farmhouse and searched it thoroughly.
Upstairs they found parts of a heliograph lamp and a complete telephone
apparatus; there was also in his stove a system that had been
inaugurated for forcing up a shower of sparks; this apparatus had been
found in the houses of a number of spies who had paid the penalty for
their work. Then they made a search of the cellar in which were found
hundreds of tins of beef and jam, all of which had come from our
rations, and then was explained the mysterious disappearance of our
grub. There was no trace to be found of our Algerian trooper; he had
made a hasty exit.
Friend farmer and his wife were arrested, taken away with the children
and placed in the coop, and there the traitorous couple got their
deserts--they were taken to the square and shot.
After they had gone we made ourselves at home in the building, and the
comforts that awaited us there made us feel almost glad that they had
turned out to be spies. Among the rations we found that they had taken
stuff that had been purloined from other units as far back as three
months before. After a thorough ransacking and a feed that filled us to
our heart's content, we made for the battery, being greeted with a fresh
outburst on our arrival, and under the fire we pulled our remaining guns
away to another hedge 200 yards off, and waited for the storm to settle.
While lying there the brains of one of our geniuses got to working and
his ideas were quickly resolved into action. We went down to the barn,
took a couple of wagons, taking off the wheels and the poles, and made
up three dummy guns and placed them in the spot we had left, and in a
few minutes' time we had the satisfaction of seeing Fritz spend three or
four hundred good shells on our dummy battery.
A consuming thirst was parching my mouth and I took a chance and ran
along the open to the house for a drink. Then it was that the
disadvantageous side of our good work with the dummy guns was
exemplified; just as I was stepping out of the door, a shell tore a hole
in one corner of the building, knocking it out as clean as if it had
been drilled.
The customary methods employed by the Germans to get information as to
our guns, our troops, our supplies around Ypres, was to send a disguised
soldier to the different farmhouses and threaten them with instant
demolition by their guns if they did not furnish the information sought
for, and thus did Fritz make good his promise to the farmer. By reason
of our dummy guns and the strafing they got, and the fact that our guns
still were firing, he believed that the farmer had given him a bunco
steer, and he lost no time in making good his word.
Remaining in the hedge for a few hours, we dug holes for the guns,
covered them with tarpaulins and grass on top, giving them the usual
scenic shelter. We did this work in the open but only one man at a time
exposed; it was as much as life was worth for more than one to be seen
working. That evening, in the midst of our meal at cookhouse,--"Stand
to!" and we raced for our pets. When the concert was well under way,
Munsey noticed a light three or four hundred yards off that was acting
somewhat peculiarly; it would flare up and down oddly and seemed to be
in a farmhouse straight at our rear, but not much attention was paid to
it at the time. Next morning Munsey and I were in the cookhouse, trying
to moisten a couple of hardtack biscuits with what juice we could
extract from a piece of bacon rind, when an airplane hummed overhead and
the attention of one of our anti-aircraft guns was immediately diverted
to the bird. The cookhouse had formerly been a French dressing station,
dismantled by the fire of those devils that know no law of God or man,
composed of three huts in a row made of half-inch board. While eating,
one of our own shells, a shrapnel, that had been sent up at a German
stork and did not explode, dropped squarely into the middle of the
cookhouse, frightened the cook out of his wits and hit the dixies,
scattering them around our feet. "Stand to!" and we made our way
carefully, keeping out of sight as much as possible from the watching
bird overhead.
When I got to the gun the shell fire was commencing to get dangerously
close. "By God, there must be somebody giving our battery away," said
Munsey. A number of our men had been wounded at this time and the
airplane still buzzing above, made it impossible for us to fire, and we
got a "Stand down!"
"Come on over," Munsey proposed, "and we'll see what's in that building
where I saw the light." We found a family of civilians living there and
they were at once very solicitous about giving us coffee. "Never mind
the coffee," said Munsey; "we have come to examine the house." The old
man seemed quite willing to have us do so and pointed the way upstairs,
starting himself to go out the door. Munsey grabbed him by the
arm,--"Come along and show us the way." He indicated that we could find
the way ourselves, but my mate was insistent and he forced the old man
along and upstairs we went.
At first nothing resulted from our thorough search, but Munsey's eye
lighted on an Algerian serge lying in the corner of the room, and almost
at the same time I noticed some bricks in the chimney that seemed to be
loose. An old table in the middle of the room I pulled over to the
chimney, tugged at some of the brick that I had noticed, and the whole
thing caved in, part of a heliograph outfit falling out. The old fellow
made a dart for the door, but was peremptorily intercepted. "Damn you,
stay where you are!" I pulled out the rest of the stuff; there was a
complete heliograph apparatus, and a little red cap, such as the
Algerians wear, satisfying us both that the man doing the work used the
uniform of an Algerian.
On leaving the room, carrying the stuff with us and going down stairs,
we saw a box against the wall and I heard a funny noise from it as if it
contained something alive. I pulled it out and found it full of pigeons.
"Who owns these?" I asked.
"An Algerian soldier left them there," he answered.
We then examined the cellar and entire basement, but found nothing
further. We took the old fellow over to the gendarme who immediately
took charge of him, and returned to the battery where we imparted the
news of our find. It was the consensus of opinion that the spy was the
farmer himself, and that the Algerian uniform was a blind. We were
chatting away, discussing the matter, when the shells commenced flying
as thick as peas in a pod; so swift and smashing was the fusillade that
for awhile I thought hell's gate had opened wide. In less than no time
one of our guns was knocked out and, getting a "Stand to!" we replied as
fast as our legs and arms and heads would work.
The excellent quality of the work that Fritz did here made the fellows
unanimous that his information came from the farmer. Presently the duel
cooled down and we resumed our chat.
About a hundred yards off from the farmhouse where we had found the
heliograph and Algerian uniform, was a windmill of the kind commonly
seen in the farmhouses of the country, with large wings, and it happened
that while firing, one of the boys, Boxer, noticed that the mill was
going around in an irregular fashion,--going first one way and then
another, and then stopping, and he called our attention to it and we all
noticed it, and almost simultaneously with our observation of the mill,
four shells came over, knocking another of our guns into uselessness and
wiping out the crew, and after we got "Stand down!" and had cleaned up,
Boxer suggested that we go over and see what was in the windmill.
Together we went, going first to the house, and found the children
crying with fright; some of them tried to tell us something, but we
couldn't make out what they were saying. We crossed over to the windmill
and a phenomenon indeed met our eyes,--the wheel was turning in the
opposite direction from that in which the wind was blowing. We started
up the steps and--Ping! Ping! and Boxer fell with an oath and a bullet
in his leg. I assisted him to the farmhouse and then scooted over and
communicated with the O.C. I also informed a French battery that had
been terrifically shelled.
In the meantime a stretcher had been sent for, and Boxer was brought
back to the dressing station, where he had his wound dressed, which
luckily turned out to be slight.
That night I was filled full of the spirit of adventure and I wanted to
visit the windmill again. I got a pal to go with me and endeavored to
make it, but the flares were steadily burning and the snipers were so
busy we had to lie low. Again I went to the French battery and told the
officer commanding of my suspicions about the windmill. A smile of
intelligence and gratefulness lighted up his fine face. "Monsieur, we
shall see what we shall see," and he ordered a shell into the heart of
the structure, bringing it down in splinters. Then we made for the ruins
and found the body of a man dressed in an Algerian uniform; I looked him
over carefully; he was the artist I had met in the farmhouse at our
former station.
There remained still the case of the old man in whose house we had
discovered the heliograph and the pigeons. And the gendarmes were again
sent for and the Belgian farmer was haled before the officer. With white
face and streaming eyes he told the French Captain of the gendarmes that
this man had come to him and told him that if he didn't permit him to go
into his home, he would instantly signal for the shells and he and his
family and buildings would be blown to eternity. The old man was
permitted to go, as the French officer was satisfied he was sincere, but
that he was utterly powerless to prevent the spy carrying out his plans.
In conversation with us later, the farmer told us that the Algerian had
brought pigeons with him; that he had written notes, put them in the
little cup fastened to the bird's foot and sent some of them off, the
others remaining in the box when the Algerian went upstairs. "I could
hear the bricks falling, but he called to us not to come upstairs," went
on the old man. "Shortly afterwards a man dressed in the uniform of a
British soldier came, and he too went upstairs; he was carrying a bag.
When he came in he asked if I wanted coffee and I answered 'No.' When he
came in the Algerian called down to send him up, and he too went up.
Presently the British soldier left and a few minutes afterwards your
battery started firing. Then out ran the Algerian, saying he was going
to the windmill and warned all of us on pain of losing our lives, not to
come near the mill. That is the last I saw of him, Messieurs, until this
evening when I see his dead body.
"I am heart and soul with you, Messieurs; I know what you are doing for
us and for Belgium; but you can see that I had no chance whatever to
communicate with you; my life would have been the price, and what would
have become of my family? If there had been anything I could have done,
Messieurs, I would most gladly have done it, but I couldn't do
anything, and the spy would have accomplished his purpose just the same
had I made an attempt."
It was now about 6:30 and on our way back to the gun pit we met a woman
who seemed to be in the depths of despair, accompanied by a little girl.
The woman was weeping bitterly. Our nerves were on edge and we were
suspicious of everybody; trickery, deceit, traitor-work seemed to be in
the very air itself, and we made a resolve that we would shoot anybody,
man, woman or child, whom we saw loitering around our guns who had no
business there; that very day the O.C. had sworn that he would ask no
questions, but would shoot on sight. The woman's story was pitiful in
the extreme.
"Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do! My home is gone! My husband is
gone! My children are gone! And for what?"--wringing her hands and
gesticulating wildly. "For what, Messieurs? For being quiet,
inoffensive, loyal people!"
In my clumsy fashion I succeeded in somewhat calming the poor creature,
and she proceeded a little more coherently.
"Well, Messieurs, a man in Algerian uniform came to our house this
morning. He asked permission of my husband, who was a loyal Belgian, to
use our house--for what? To do spy work. My husband ran for a gun and
warned him off. He said, 'You had better think it over; if you don't let
me use your house you have not another day to live!' In spite of this,
my husband presented the gun at him and he made off, but as he was
leaving he called back, 'Do not on any account leave the house today,
any of you, or you will be killed.'
"We watched him and saw him go towards the hedge, and two or three men
with bags met him, and they made off in the direction of your battery.
Then, then--_Mon Dieu!_ How can I tell it!--a shell came and destroyed
our home, killing my dear husband and my two babies."
And again the poor woman burst into a paroxysm of weeping and sank to
the ground in an utterly exhausted condition, moaning aloud in the
despair of her misery. Her little daughter was screaming in terror at
the plight of her mother, and we all set about to comfort them as best
we could, but ah! God! how comfortless our words.
The thought that perhaps the child would be quieted if she had
something to eat suggested itself to me, but I had nothing except my
iron rations, and our orders are very stern that under no circumstances
must these be consumed except at the time designated, namely, when our
supply wagons are destroyed and cannot reach us, and the order is issued
from headquarters that we may use them. These rations are 16 ounces of
bully beef, two hardtack biscuits, some tea and sugar in small wax
envelopes. Each man must carry his own iron rations at all times and the
penalty for eating them without orders is 28 to 90 days, first field
punishment; therefore, I was taking a chance, but I hadn't the heart to
resist the pitiful wail of that kiddie, and I felt that the risk I took
was amply repaid by the cessation of her childish grief. The mother also
had had nothing to eat all day, and she partook of some of the
nourishment and was the better for it.
There was nothing more for them that we could do and they departed, the
poor creature with an expression in her eyes that plainly said, she
didn't know where on earth she was going, and cared less.
This was only an individual instance of the tens of thousands of blasted
and stricken homes and families, resulting from the rule or ruin policy
of the German "man of God."
Half an hour after they had departed a train of ammunition wagons came
galloping up, the driver telling us that in passing Hell's Corner they
were given an exceptionally heavy dose by Fritz. "His aim the nicht was
damn puir, however," said one of the Scotch drivers; "he never gave us a
scratch; but I noticed on the road a woman wi' a little bairn, a wee
thing, hardly higher than your knee, and as we were racing by them, a
shell exploded on the side of the road, right alongside o' them, blawin'
the puir things to their doom."
From the description furnished by the driver, I was convinced it was the
poor woman and child for whom I had taken the risk of punishment, and I
could not help thinking what a blessing it was that death had come to
them in the way it did, so soon after her inextinguishable sorrow.
Another evidence testamentary of the industry of the German agents came
to us that very night from the driver. After the wagons were loaded up
at the wagon lines, someone undid the locks of the wagons and on the way
to the guns the shells dropped out from time to time, scattering over
the cobble stones, causing them to lose more than half of their precious
loads.
"Aye," said the Scotch driver who had told us about the woman and her
child, "and a French battery coming up behind us, the horse kicked one
shell that we dropped, and I'm damned if it did na' explode and blaw the
puir beggars to the deil. By the Lord! They're doing gude work!" Good
work, indeed, Fritz, but your day is coming!
Next morning about ten o'clock we got a "Stand to!" as a bombardment had
begun and Fritz had started coming over. We stopped him, but no sooner
had we ceased firing than Kr-kr-kr-p! Kr-kr-kr-p! Bang! Bang! coming
down so fast that we made off for shelter at the cookhouse. While there,
Munsey thought he would like to have a look at the situation generally
in the surrounding country, through the medium of a hole in the side of
the cookhouse up near the roof and he hopped on top of a box and looked
out in the direction of Ypres. The most notable object there was the
town clock, and he had not been looking long before he noticed the hands
moving this way and that; he watched closely and then called, "Come
here, fellows, quick. Come and watch the clock!" We all jumped to a
point of vantage and watched, and in few minutes we were satisfied that
the shell fire that was raining upon us was being directed by the hands
of the clock. We observed that when the long hand moved right, the rain
of fire would increase; when it moved left, it decreased; each jump of
the hand five minutes meant 25 yards increase or decrease, as the case
might be. Every time the small hand moved one minute right, it meant
three yards right; two minutes, six yards, and so on; and the same if it
veered to the left. And when both hands turned at once to 12:00 o'clock
we deduced from their fire that some object was registered and when that
was done the large hand would go all the way around and the fire would
increase to a regular hurricane; if it went half way round, it would
decrease. The small hand going all the way round, the fire ceased.
We watched intently for some time, keeping our eyes glued on the
movement of the hands in conjunction with the fire, and then the matter
was phoned to headquarters. A result of their combination guns and
clockwork was the destruction of one of our pieces and two of the
French battery. Another battery observer had noticed the clockwork at
the same time that we were watching it, and the gendarmes were notified;
they made a trip to the top of the tower in double quick time, finding
there a man in a British uniform and one in French uniform; the man with
the British uniform wore a French cap and he in the French had a British
cap. They were taken and confined in the basement of a ruined building
and a guard set.
That night I was sent to the trench headquarters to do guard duty and
next day, about 11:00 o'clock in the morning, I was standing in the
doorway of the farmhouse where the pump had blown in on Scotty, and I
was accosted by two men who were walking rapidly. They asked me where a
certain Algerian Regiment was lying and I directed them, after giving
them a drink of water and a biscuit. They also asked me what those
headquarters were, and a number of other questions. However, no
suspicion of there being anything wrong entered my mind, as they spoke
perfect English. They left and had just turned the corner to cross a
pontoon bridge over Yser Canal, going toward the front-line trenches,
when three French guards came running like mad. They asked me some
questions excitedly, but it was some time before I could make out what
they wanted.
Finally I got it through my head and told them and they raced off. The
men who had accosted me were the two prisoners who had been taken in the
clock tower at Ypres, as I heard subsequently, but they did not get away
with their nervy trick; they were taken and paid the price.
That same night a bunch of the 48th Highlanders, of Toronto, were on our
right, and dug in in the bank, but there was considerable water in the
bottom of their holes, while ours, compared to theirs, were beautifully
dry. The Kilties came along, searching for blankets and whatever they
could get, and we spared them whatever we could. Then one of them
spotted a farmhouse, the occupants of which had been shelled out because
they would not comply with the orders of a German agent, and had lost
their home in consequence. They went in and helped themselves to straw
and came out loaded down with armfuls of it. I decided to follow suit
and went over, just reaching the barn, when Kr-kr-kr-p!--the first shell
that came going right amongst them, setting the barn on fire and
wounding several of the 48th. Their presence had been made known by a
secret service agent, as it is one chance in a hundred thousand for a
shell to hit so desirable a target at the first shot. The aim was
excellent and the work accomplished by the shell was splendid--from a
German point of view.