This will account for the
lamentable accident that occurred at this time.
The Sergeant, unthinkingly, after "Stand to!" was sounded, went on in
his earnest endeavor to camouflage the battery with the snow. Now it so
happened that at the identical time that the Sergeant was so engaged, a
kiltie battalion was making its way to the trenches on a foot path,
running diagonally across the front of the guns. In obedience to the
command to fire, the crew speeded to their respective guns, jammed back
the levers and the missiles started on their journey of destruction. The
shell from our gun in front of which the Sergeant was working killed him
before he knew what had happened and, as luck or the devil would have
it, the shell was a premature; it exploded at the point of the muzzle
and its 365 shrapnel pellets, each traveling at the rate of 2200 feet
per second muzzle velocity, and which when exploded assume the shape of
a gigantic fan, shot death and destruction into the kiltie battalion in
front. Sixty of the kilties paid with their lives the price of this
premature shell, including the Sergeant.
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