“I believe that’s a German,” calling attention to it.  The fellows didn’t agree with me, they holding it was a British bird, and we all went on with our work.  I kept my eye on it, however, for some reason, and saw it finally go over the ridge and turn, and as it turned—­Kr-kr-kr-p! and a shell lit on the ridge 25 yards in our front; it was about an 8-incher and showered the dirt in all directions.  We scurried like rabbits into our pit, emerging in a few minutes when the dirt and dust had blown away.  Glancing up again I noticed the air bird turn again, and instantly another one came, this time landing near the gun pit, throwing a shower of mud and dirt on it, and causing considerable profanity for the extra work given us by Fritz.  Instant orders were given us to take cover as a strafing was in sight, and we shot out of the gun pit, jumped into the trench and ran along.  Two of the fellows were immediately ahead of me, Dinghy and Graham, and Graham’s footwork was so slow that I jumped up on the parapet of the trench to get past him, and over the top I skedaddled toward our 30-foot dugout, which had formerly been the home of the Germans; like most of their quarters it was large, roomy and comfortable.  To get to the dugout we had to go through a German gun pit which was then being used by us as a cookhouse.  Just before I reached my destination a shell had landed squarely in this gun pit, where a number of the men were lined up waiting for supper.  The effect of this shell was not only deadly in the extreme, but very peculiar in its action.  At the right hand side corner of the gun pit was the dugout for the left section, and the right section occupied the dugout on the left hand side corner.  The shell struck the edge of the right section dugout in which four men at the bottom were having a card game; the fuse tore its way down the steps, knocking large chunks of the steps off in its course, and down into the center of the card game, scattering the money in every direction and not injuring a single member of the party.  The back lash of the deadly visitor, however, ripped the life out of the men waiting for supper at the cookhouse and the side lash of its stroke caught the men in the right hand side dugout in which were two soldiers sitting on a box, munching biscuits.  One of them had the upper half of his head blown off, scattering the blood and brains over his chum, who escaped without a scratch.

I reached the gun pit about one minute after the explosion.  God in Heaven!  What a sight met my eyes!  The floor of the pit was strewn with the men in all directions, six of them dead and the balance fearfully wounded.  I dashed out for stretcher bearers and Fritz just then started increasing his fire; he had kept an eye on the men running through the trench to the gun pit.  He therefore knew that there must be a nest of us there.