When I came to
within 50 yards of it I saw it was clearly impossible to cross on
account of the heavy shell clusters that were raining down.
I waited for a lull in the storm, then slipped on the animal's back, dug
my heels in its ribs and rushed for it. I was spattered with mud from
head to foot from the exploding shells, but not a single splinter
reached me.
As I left the bridge of the canal a hole was blown into it, and a
working party, that was kept there all the time for the especial purpose
of keeping it in repair, crawled out of their hiding places to engage in
their perilous task. It was vitally necessary to keep this bridge intact
to facilitate the supplies crossing and recrossing every minute of the
night.
The friendly cover of a hedge sheltered me for another hundred yards,
and here followed a row of buildings that I hugged until I came to a
narrow-gauge trench railroad. Clinging to the walls around were
hundreds of wounded men waiting for a conveyance. There was an open
stretch from this point and the fliers found me again; their machine-gun
fire was directed at once fairly into the middle of the road before me
and behind me; their range message was again flashed to their heavies
and cobblestones were uprooted and flying everywhere; but the good Lord
was with me and I pulled through it.
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