heir
work, repaired the engine trouble, said "ta-ta" to Fritz and waddled
back home.

No returning hero from the scene of his glory ever received such a
greeting as did the crews of the mighty monsters when they stepped out
of the sheltering internals of their huge bowels. Clad in pants and
boots, littered with grease, dirt and oil, scarred with bruises incurred
as they were thrown from side to side of their armored shelter by the
swaying of the thing, when they stepped from the door to the ground, the
shouts and roaring cheers of ten thousand times ten thousand men
thrilled them with such a thrill, that they felt fully repaid for
everything that they had done that day.

The Tommies grabbed them in their arms, hugged them, slapped them on the
backs and chests until the wind was fairly knocked out of them, and if
we had been Frenchmen instead of Britishers, our mouths would have been
covered with black grease from kisses imprinted on their cheeks.

All night long, long lines of men in gray were passing through our
sector, in some places as many as 50 of them being escorted by one
soldier; German Red Cross men were carrying out our wounded, eagerly
volunteering for this work in the thought that they would find favor by
so doing.

After taking Pozieres and driving over the ridge and on down into the
Courcelette Valley, we took up a position about 500 yards from the
German front lines. Here occurred another of those remarkable escapes
from the Grim Reaper's toll that won for me throughout the unit the
pseudonym, "Horseshoe Grant."

Eighteen loads of ammunition were being hauled to the guns and when
being unloaded, enemy fire opened up on the position, several horses
were hit, the doors of the wagons were flung open and the horses,
stricken with fright, galloped madly about, the shells being strewn over
the ground all the way to the bridge several hundred yards off,--a
bridge that was a vitally important structure to us, because over it
every pound of supplies and ammunition had to cross in order to get to
us. I have often thought what a disaster it would have meant to us had
Fritz ever got to this passageway. The drivers finally managed to close
the wagon doors and get most of them back over the bridge, but the shell
fire had then become so heavy that "Take cover!" was ordered.

The Hun kept up the bombardment for some time and the O.C. thought it
better to let the ammunition lie where it was until daylight, when he