They were told that I had come to sing for them, and so, with no further preliminaries, I began my concert.  I started with my favorite opening song, as usual—­“Roamin’ in the Gloamin’,” and then went on with the other old favorites.  I told a lot of stories, too, and then I came to “The Laddies Who Fought and Won.”  None of the men had heard it, but there were officers there who had seen “Three Cheers” during the winter when they had had a short leave to run over to London.

I got through the first verse all right, and was just swinging into the first chorus when, without the least warning, hell popped open in that trench.  A missile came in that some officer at once hailed as a whizz bang.  It is called that, for that is just exactly the sound it makes.  It is like a giant firecracker, and it would be amusing if one did not know it was deadly.  These missiles are not fired by the big guns behind the lines, but by the small trench cannon—­worked, as a rule, by compressed air.  The range is very short, but they are capable of great execution at that range.

Was I frightened?  I must have been!  I know I felt a good deal as I have done when I have been seasick.  And I began to think at once of all sorts of places where I would rather have been than in that trench!  I was standing on a slight elevation at the back, or parados, of the trench, so that I was raised a bit above my audience, and I had a fine view of that deadly thing, wandering about, spitting fire and metal parts.  It traveled so that the men could dodge it, but it was throwing oft slugs that you could neither see nor dodge, and it was a poor place to be!

And the one whizz bang was not enough to suit Fritz.  It was followed immediately by a lot more, that came popping in and making themselves as unpleasant as you could imagine.  I watched the men about me, and they seemed to be unconcerned, and to be thinking much more of me and my singing than of the whizz bangs.  So, no matter how I felt, there was nothing for me to do but to keep on with my song.  I decided that I must really be safe enough, no matter how I felt.  But I had certain misgivings on the subject.  Still, I managed to go on with my song, and I think I was calm enough to look at—­though, if I was, my appearance wholly belied my true inward feelings.

I struggled through to the end of the chorus—­and I think I sang pretty badly, although I don’t know.  But I was pretty sure the end of the world had come for me, and that these laddies were taking things as calmly as they were simply because they were used to it, and it was all in the day’s work for them.  The Germans were fairly sluicing that trench by now.  The whizz bangs were popping over us like giant fire-crackers, going off one and two and three at a time.  And the trench was full of flying slugs and chunks of dirt, striking against our faces and hurtling all about us.

There I was.  I had a good “house.”  I wanted to please my audience.  Was it no a trying situation?  I thought Fritz might have had manners enough to wait until I had finished my concert, at least!  But the Hun has no manners, as all the world knows.