They did not need the water; they had been swept into eternity by the dead shell, and I was the sole surviving man of the thirteen-squad that I had taken into the line the night before.

CHAPTER XV

SATAN’S SHELLS AND SCENTED GAS

Prior to an attack in the morning, we cleaned up the gun and ammunition, getting everything in shape and retiring at 11:30.  “Stand to!” was called at four o’clock, firing commenced at 4:30, and we worked our guns for two hours, during which time the boys went over, took three lines of trenches from Fritz and in a remarkably short time, hundreds of prisoners were turning into our lines without escort.

That night the prisoners were employed going up and down our lines carrying out wounded.  I shall never forget the contented look on the faces of these captives as they worked inside our lines; they did everything required of them with a willingness and cheerfulness that at first seemed to be amazing.  Most of them were young Bavarians and presented a very shabby appearance.

We then decreased our rate of fire, letting go one round every two minutes, giving us time to sit around and chat about the big surprise we had given Fritz and the success of our attack.  Before giving the word to fire I would first warn the men, so they could look out for their eardrums, besides getting out of the way; we never fire unknowingly to any of the men as the concussion works a severe hardship on the ears.  One of the boys was sitting on an ammunition box, leaning against the gun wheel, with his feet on a little fireplace that we had taken a chance on installing, thinking the fog was so thick Fritz would not notice the smoke.  As usual, our ammunition was stationed in our rear.  One fellow was squatting on the sand bags and leaning against the shells; I was sitting in seat three, between the gun wheel and the left side, while another was on seat four, also between the gun wheel and the gun on the right; another man was standing ready to put a shell in the muzzle.

“Fellows, are you ready?” I asked.

“All right.”

“Fire!”

The next instant I felt my feet giving way from under me.  The gun had blown off at the shield, the muzzle being blown to pieces, gas and fumes filled the air, the spokes were blown out of the wheels, splinters striking me on the feet and legs.  I started to the front of the gun and fell on top of Graham.

“What happened?” he asked.  “I don’t know,” I said.  There were several pieces of tube lying about that looked like parts of a German shell.  Graham yelled to know what had happened.  “A German shell hit the gun,” I said.  He was then seized with shell shock and became uncontrollable.  Park, who was leaning against the ammunition, was blown up, the shell having driven clean through his spine; the man loading the shell had a fragment driven clear through his stomach.  The man leaning against the gun wheel was beheaded as cleanly as any king’s executioner with his ax could do it, his head lying in the fireplace!  The cartridge had exploded but the shell did not.