north and a quarter of a mile east of Ypres, and about a thousand yards
from the German trenches. We galloped like mad over the shell-swept
road, taking just exactly an hour and a half to get the guns placed and
blazing. We had four guns when we pulled into this position, but were
latterly reinforced by two more from another battery, their sisters
having been smashed and the crews bayoneted, including their commanding
officers, and like friendless children they came to us looking for a
home and were gladly taken in, thus increasing our battery to six guns.

The hedge of the thickly growing thorn bushes ranged to the height of
four feet, making it incumbent upon us to continually assume a stooping
position when walking, involving a crick in the back for a good part of
the time while there, but the bush was as thick as could be and formed
an admirable shelter.

The beauty of these hedges in blossoming time is charming and the buds
were now coming out, their fragrance filling the air with sweet nectar.
To our right was a large farmhouse, of two stories and a gable roof, and
the nearest gun to the house was not over 30 feet off. The house was
occupied by a farmer, his wife and two young children, a boy and a girl.

The farmer's demeanor toward us was that of a systematic grouch and his
appearance did not belie his disposition--as surly and sulky looking as
a whipped criminal. He would stand in the doorway, watching us
continually, as if he feared we were going to steal his house from over
his head, and about the only thing he would say was to warn us not to
destroy the hedge. But our love for the shelter, to say nothing of our
love for the fragrant blossoms, made this injunction needless.

Over on the other side of the house, 40 feet to the right of it, was