starting. The crossroads were reached, but the traffic was so congested
we could not pass for a while.

Shells were raining down when we finally started, one of them blowing
the body off one of our wagons, leaving the limber, but no further
damage beyond the driver, Luther, breaking his leg. A gunner took his
place and Luther was laid in the gutter until such time as he could be
picked up. We galloped past the Empire battery, got to the Belgian
Garden at last, taking cover under a clump of trees until the firing had
cooled somewhat, and then we took the chance--it was one in ten--to get
by. Starting on a dead gallop, shells commenced to chase us all the way
up the road. Keeping as well under cover of the hedge as we could, we
crossed the railroad bridge, and as we neared the entrance to Ypres
square the fire again cooled down; but on getting into the square 25
shells, exploding one after the other as quickly as so many seconds,
followed by thunderclaps of brain-splitting noise, ripped up the paving
stones, flinging them in all directions, and taking chunks out of the
eight wagons and wheels. Trotting sharply through the square, we got to
Rampart Bridge, which they were showering with shells to prevent our
engineers repairing it; it was badly smashed and we had to go a long way
around by Ypres Rampart.

Here we left the road and took a chance of getting across the open
country, picking our way in the fields among the shell holes, eventually
getting in back of the Garden, where we strung our wagons in the rear
until the order "Ammunition up!" was given, and out from the dugouts
rushed the men to unload the precious cargo. Here the captain and
lieutenant were wounded, but they refused to go to hospital, saying
their wounds were too slight; and, indeed, I can honestly say that
every man that night who was wounded and could manage to hold out, did