ammunition for the guns during the night, and they had to make the
perilous trip many times during the day, and with the German shells
pounding the road every foot of the way, their fire being guided by the
wireless directions from their planes, the number of horses that had
their lives smashed out on this road was something enormous. At one spot
is the famous Hell's Corner, so named because of the fierce fire that
continually rained upon it, and here I counted 40 dead horses, as fine
looking animals as ever were harnessed. Such is the toll of war.

On the day that we arrived, our attention was drawn to an Algerian who
seemed to be an inmate of the house. He could speak some English and
seemed to spend most of his time cleaning his revolver. On the first
afternoon I asked him why he was there and to what regiment he belonged.

"The Algerian-African troop."

"I understood they were in the trenches," I said. "Are you with the
infantry?"

"Yes," he replied, "I am."

"Are you wounded?"

"No."

"Then why are you not with your men?" I insisted.

"I was lost in the retreat," he answered.

"Why don't you go and look them up?"