e
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