the hill behind us an as far as you could see ether way it was just
one big flash. Then the shells began racin over, squealin an whisselin
an rumblin along like they was racin each other to see who was goin
to get first crack at the Fritzes.

Every one of them seemed to have its own speshul whissel tied onto it.
Some of them rumbled along like a fast train hittin a down grade. Some
would just sing an hum to themselves sort of quiet an happy while
others would go yellin an screamin across like the fire department on
an exhibishun run. There was one bunch that squealed like a trolly
goin round a turn on dry rails. You sort of felt as if someone ought
to grease it.

Besides all these noises over our heads there was the poundin an
hammerin behind us from the guns themselves. The big fellos just boom
boomed away like a bunch of base drums. Up nearer tho it was like a
mountin of giant fire crackers goin off together. Then thered be a let
up for a second like a fello thats awful mad but runs out of words.
After that theyd go at it agen harder than ever.

The best part of it was that most of them was our own shells. The
Fritzes didnt seem to get into the spirit of the thing at all. Every
few minutes theyd sail over a big one right near the tunnel where we
came out. That was about as safe a place as he could have put em cause
there wasnt anybody there.

At first the noise an everything gave a fello something to think
about. After a while tho you got used to it just like you do to
Niagra Falls or a steam radiator. Then there wasnt anything to do but
get cold an ask about the time. A couple of doboys got tellin each