remembered that this was the day when, for the first time, the tank
was to be set in motion. Even the Old Bird was eager.

We hurry off to the tankdrome. One after another we slide in through
the little door and are swallowed up. The door is bolted behind the
last to enter. Officer and driver slip into their respective seats.
The steel shutters of the portholes click as they are opened. The
gunners take their positions. The driver opens the throttle a little
and tickles the carburetor, and the engine is started up. The driver
races the engine a moment, to warm her up. The officer reaches out a
hand and signals for first speed on each gear; the driver throws his
lever into first; he opens the throttle: the tank--our "Willie"--moves!

Supposing you were locked in a steel box, with neither portholes to
look through nor airholes to breathe from. Supposing you felt the
steel box begin to move, and, of course, were unable to see where you
were going. Can you imagine the sensation? Then you can guess the
feelings of the men in a tank,--excepting the officer and driver, who
can see ahead through their portholes,--when the monster gets under
way. There are times, of course, with the bullets flying thick and
fast, when all portholes, for officer, driver, and gunners, must be
closed. Then we plunge ahead, taking an occasional glimpse through the
special pin-point holes.

Thirty tons of steel rolls along with its human freight. Suddenly,
the driver rings a bell. He presses another button, and signals the
driver of the right-hand track into "neutral." This disconnects the
track from the engine. The tank swings around to the right. The
right-hand driver gets the signal "First speed," and we are off again,
at a right angle to our former direction.

Now we are headed for a gentle slope across the field, and as we
approach it, the tank digs her nose into the base of the hill. She
crawls up. The men in the rear tip back and enjoy it hugely. If the
hill is steep enough they may even find themselves lying flat on their
backs or standing on their heads! But no such luck. Presently they are
standing as nearly upright as it is ever possible to stand, and the
tank is balancing on the top of the slope. The driver is not expert as
yet, and we go over with an awful jolt and tumble forward. This is
rare fun!

But the instructor is not pleased. We must try it all over again. So
back again to attack the hill a second time. The top is reached