rds of fields to cross before the
main gun positions are reached.

More often fire came from three quarters left, and because our ridge
died away there was a low spot over which they could come pretty
dangerously. The road thirty yards behind us was a nightmare to me.
I saw all the tragedies of war enacted there. A wagon, or a bunch of
horses, or a stray man, or a couple of men, would get there just in time
for a shell. One would see the absolute knock-out, and the obviously
lightly wounded crawling off on hands and knees; or worse yet, at night,
one would hear the tragedy--"that horse scream"--or the man's moan. All
our own wagons had to come there (one every half hour in smart action),
be emptied, and the ammunition carried over by hand. Do you wonder that
the road got on our nerves? On this road, too, was the house where we
took our meals. It was hit several times, windows all blown in by nearby
shells, but one end remained for us.

Seventeen days of Hades! At the end of the first day if anyone had told
us we had to spend seventeen days there, we would have folded our hands
and said it could not be done. On the fifteenth day we got orders to
go out, but that was countermanded in two hours. To the last we could
scarcely believe we were actually to get out. The real audacity of the
position was its safety; the Germans knew to a foot where we were. I
think I told you of some of the "you must stick it out" messages we got
from our [French] General,--they put it up to us. It is a wonder to me
that we slept when, and how, we did. If we had not slept and eaten as
well as possible we could not have lasted. And while we were doing
this, the London office of a Canadian newspaper cabled home "Canadian
Artillery in reserve." Such is fame!

Thursday, May 27th, 1915.

Day cloudy and chilly. We wore our greatcoats most of the afternoon,
and looked for bits of sunlight to get warm. About two o'clock the heavy
guns gave us a regular "black-smithing". Every time we fired we drew a
perfect hornet's nest about our heads. While attending to a casualty,
a shell broke through both sides of the trench, front and back, about
twelve feet away. The zigzag of the trench was between it and us, and we
escaped. From my bunk the moon looks down at me, and the wind whistles
along the trench like a corridor. As the trenches run in all directions
they catch the wind however it blows, so one is always sure of a good
draught. We have not had our