This ability to wander around and creep about various parts of our position, led to my getting an idea, which nearly finished my life in the cottage, village, or even Belgium.  I suddenly got bitten with the sniping fever, and it occurred to me that, with my facilities for getting about, I could get into a certain mangled farm on our left and remain in the roof unseen in daylight.  From there I felt sure that, with the aid of a rifle, I could tickle up a Boche or two in their trenches hard by.  I was immensely taken with this idea.  So, one morning (like Robinson Crusoe again) I set off with my fowling-piece and ammunition, and crawled towards the farm.  I got there all right, and entering the dark and evil-smelling precincts, searched around for a suitable sniping post.  I saw a beam overhead in a corner from which, if I could get on to it, I felt sure I should obtain a view of the enemy trenches through a gap in the tiled roof.  I tied a bit of string to my rifle and then jumping for the beam, scrambled up on it and pulled the rifle up after me.  When my heart pulsations had come down to a reasonable figure I peered out through the hole in the tiles.  An excellent view!  The German parapet a hundred yards away!  Splendid!

Now I felt sure I should see a Boche moving about or something; or I might possibly spot one looking over the top.

I waited a long time on that beam, with my loaded rifle lying in front of me.  I was just getting fed up with the waiting, and about to go away, when I thought I saw a movement in the trench opposite.  Yes! it was.  I saw the handle of something like a broom or a water scoop moving above the sandbags.  Heart doing overtime again!  Most exciting!  I felt convinced I should see a Boche before long.  And then, at last, I saw one—­or rather I caught a glimpse of a hat appearing above the line of the parapet.  One of those small circular cloth hats of theirs with the two trouser buttons in front.

Up it came, and I saw it stand out nice and clear against the skyline.  I carefully raised my rifle, took a steady aim, and fired.  I looked:  disappearance of hat!  I ejected the empty cartridge case, and was just about to reload when, whizz, whistle, bang, crash! a shell came right at the farm, and exploded in the courtyard behind.  I stopped short on the beam.  Whizz, whistle, bang, crash!  Another, right into the old cowshed on my left.  Without waiting for any more I just slithered down off that beam, grabbed my rifle and dashing out across the yard back into the ditch beyond, started hastily scrambling along towards the end of one of our trenches.  As I went I heard four more shells crash into that farm.  It was at this moment that I coined the title of one of my sketches, “They’ve evidently seen me,” for which I afterwards drew the picture near Wulverghem.  I got back to our cottage, crawled into the hole in the floor, and thought things over.  They must have seen the flash of my rifle through the tiles, and, suspecting possible sniping from the farm, must have wired back to their artillery, “Snipingberg from farmenhausen hoch!” or words to that effect.