shell that hit
us must have been head on and a direct hit. There was a terrific
crash, and the old girl shook all over,--seemed to pause a little
even. But no harm was done. After that we breathed easier. We
hadn't been quite sure that the Boche shells wouldn't do us in.

"By the time we got to the Boche trenches, we knew he hadn't
anything that could hurt us. We just sat and raked him and laughed
and wished it was over, so we could get the air."

I had already seen the effect of the tanks on the Germans. The
batch of prisoners who had been turned over to me seemed dazed. One
who spoke English said in a quavering voice:

"Gott in Himmel, Kamarad, how could one endure? These things are
not human. They are not fair."

That "fair" thing made a hit with me after going against tear gas
and hearing about liquid fire and such things.

The great number of the prisoners we took at High Wood were very
scared looking at first and very surly. They apparently expected to
be badly treated and perhaps tortured. They were tractable enough
for the most part. But they needed watching, and they got it from
me, as I had heard much of the treachery of the Boche prisoners.

On the way to the rear with my bunch, I ran into a little episode
which showed the foolishness of trusting a German,--particularly an
officer.

I was herding my lot along when we came up with about twelve in
charge of a young fellow from a Leicester regiment. He was a
private, and as most of his non-commissioned officers had been put
out of action, he was acting corporal. We were walking together
behind the prisoners, swapping notes on the fight, when one of his
stopped, and no amount of coaxing would induce him to go any
farther. He was an officer, of what rank I don't know, but judging
from his age probably a lieutenant.

Finally Crane--that was the Leicester chap--went up to the officer,
threatened him with his bayonet, and let him know that he was due
for the cold steel if he didn't get up and hike.

Whereupon Mr. Fritz pulled an automatic from under his coat--he
evidently had not been carefully searched--and aimed it at Crane.
Crane dove at him and grabbed his wrist, but was too late. The gun
went off and tore away Crane's right cheek. He didn't go down,
however, and before I could get in without danger to Crane, he
polished off the officer on the spot.

The prisoners looked almost pleased. I suppose they knew the
officer too well. I bandaged Crane and