There remained but one.  Our bird again got on top, but there was no fight left in Fritz; he scooted for a hundred yards in the direction of home, but was winged while running, part of his left wing dropping off.  The rest was easy; his machine became unmanageable, an explosive bullet smashed into his petrol tank and he dropped in flames.

The entire ceremony of sending the three German chickens to their eternal hen-coop did not take ten minutes.  As each bird fell to its death, the entire valley resounded with wild cheering; and when the last foe fell, the cheering wave of sound was followed by a tiger in the shape of a volley from every rifle—­in fact, everything that would shoot, except the big guns.

Our bird then executed his stunt of victory, looping the loop several times over Fritzie’s trenches, and the spirit of Fritz was amply exemplified by the thousand times ten thousand shots which were leveled at the air king to bring him down.  He bore a charmed life; although his plane was perforated with machine-gun bullets, none touched a vital spot.

But, suddenly, from out the clouds swooped a German swallow in a frenzied attack to retrieve the disgrace.  He had all the advantage of position, and a great fear filled my heart that our champion might not long enjoy the fruits of his victory.  However, when about 400 yards above our bird, our watchful boys at the Archee guns (the anti-aircraft guns, so nicknamed because of their peculiar explosive sound) opened on him, and with the third shot, off flopped his fish tail.  He dove in a wabble to the ground and, in his descent, his petrol tank was struck by one of our explosive bullets.  When it reached the ground in No Man’s Land, it was a mass of flames.

For seven days, every hour of the night and day, the mighty chorus of 1400 batteries rose and swelled unceasingly in a vast concourse of sound.

Promptly at ten minutes past five, on the morning of the seventh day, the word having passed from end to end of the lines, the men were up and over.  A mine that had been prepared in the Ridge by our engineers was exploded, the shock rocking every German trench in the valley, killing several thousand men and wounding twice as many more.  The first and second lines were taken without any trouble, and over we went into the third.  Some opposition was here met, but quickly overcome.  The program was repeated until the entire six lines of German trenches were in Canadian hands, and late in the afternoon we were masters of the Ridge.

The personal comfort to the men taking a stroll through the streets of Arras, after the Ridge was in our possession, had to be seen to be appreciated.  Heretofore such a thing as a pleasure walk or shopping tour was out of the question, as the sniping was continuous, and the only way now for Fritz to snipe the town was with his heavy naval pieces, six or seven miles off, and as these visitors are a hundred times scarcer than the callers from the short range boys, the peace and quiet of our fellows were correspondingly increased one hundred fold.