Then came another burst of shells; again I stopped
for a few minutes, made another hundred yards, and another bursting
storm of shells. I was walking the horse all this time, but I made up my
mind the time had come to make a dash for it. I jumped on his back, lay
flat as a pancake, and with a good stout stick I lammed that poor brute
as few horses ever were lammed, made a dash for the bridge and got
safely across.
About 100 yards over and down came a burst of concussion shells, flying
and blowing everything around to smithereens. I was now very close to
the square and could see it was being strafed for fair. My experience in
watching and timing shell fire now stood me in good stead. I was able
by the action of the shells to instantly determine whether the German
guns were jumping, rendering their aim uncertain, and, also, to know
when the next burst would come, where it would strike, and about how it
would operate,--whether gas, shrapnel, or what not. Men were clinging to
the walls, trying to take shelter, and it was clearly impossible to get
through with the horse.
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