Inside of half an hour after our tanks reached the lines of Fritz, the
prisoners in gray commenced to stream toward our lines; for a distance
of seven miles the road was jammed with captured Huns. Some of them
passing by our battery spoke to me in English, as good as, if not
better, than my own, and asked me what in hell was the meaning of waging
war in such fashion; they referred to the tank as Landfuerchtenichts. I
told them that was nothing to what was in store for them. "Why," I said,
"I've got reserved seats on one of them for Berlin."
"You'll never get that far," he retorted.
* * * * *
The action on the Somme was well under way when one morning at daybreak,
making my way to the cookhouse, I was greeted, "Hello, Grant, hoos awa'
wi' ye, laddie? Ma sontes, but you're lookin' fine! An' damned if he
isn't a Sergeant!" It was Scotty, reinstated in our unit in his former
capacity of cook, and he had brought with him his nerve, his twinkle,
his bow legs and all. I must confess I was glad to see him, and when we
had a few minutes together he told me, with all the gusto imaginable, of
his exploits in London.
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