ceiling. I bowed my head and held my arm up to protect my face.
Something whizzed closely by, and a man dropped heavily with a groan in
front of me. He lay on his face with one arm doubled up underneath,
quite motionless. Two men went up to him and crossed their hands under
his chest to raise him. His blood was gushing out and forming a pool on
the floor. As we dashed out into the road I saw an artilleryman standing
alone on the cobbles and looking around in a scared fashion. There was
another deafening explosion and dense clouds of smoke issued from a
building forty or fifty yards away. Suddenly the artilleryman clutched
his face with his hand. The blood began to stream through his fingers
and down his wrist into his sleeve. He hurried away with staggering
steps.

We left the town behind us and waited near a barn in the open fields. We
were joined by the two men who had remained behind to help our wounded
fellow soldier.

"Is it serious?" we asked.

"Serious?--He's done for, poor chap! A big bit of shell caught him right
in the chest--it didn't half make a hole. We carried him away from the
billet and sat him up against a wall. We couldn't stop the blood from
flowing. He came to for a few seconds though, and moaned, 'O my poor
mother! O my poor mother!' enough to break your heart. And then he
seemed to lose consciousness again. The ambulance arrived and we laid
him on a stretcher. I expect he died before he got to the hospital."

"Anybody else hit?"

"Two of our fellows--one of them pretty seriously. They could both walk