the net and planned to get the messages first. Creeping to the edge
of the grass, I peeped out. I was opposite the bottle trap. I could
dimly make out the forms of two men standing on the nearer end of
the plank bridge. They were, I should judge, about ten yards away,
and they hadn't heard me. I got out a Mills, pulled the pin, and
pitched it. The bomb exploded, perhaps five feet this side of the
men. One dropped, and the other ran.

After a short wait I ran over to the German. I searched him for
papers, found none, and rolled him into the river.

After a few days in the Quarries we were moved to what was known as
the Warren, so called because the works resembled a rabbit warren.
This was on the lower side and to the left end of Vimy Ridge, and
was extra dangerous. It did seem as though each place was worse
than the last. The Warren was a regular network of trenches,
burrows, and funk holes, and we needed them all.

The position was downhill from the Huns, and they kept sending over
and down a continuous stream of "pip-squeaks", "whiz-bangs", and
"minnies." The "pip-squeak" is a shell that starts with a silly
"pip", goes on with a sillier "squeeeeee", and goes off with a
man's-size bang.

The "whiz-bang" starts with a rough whirr like a flushing cock
partridge, and goes off on contact with a tremendous bang. It is
not as dangerous as it sounds, but bad enough.

The "minnie" is about the size of a two-gallon kerosene can, and
comes somersaulting over in a high arc and is concentrated death