There was nothing more for them that we could do and they departed, the poor creature with an expression in her eyes that plainly said, she didn’t know where on earth she was going, and cared less.

This was only an individual instance of the tens of thousands of blasted and stricken homes and families, resulting from the rule or ruin policy of the German “man of God.”

Half an hour after they had departed a train of ammunition wagons came galloping up, the driver telling us that in passing Hell’s Corner they were given an exceptionally heavy dose by Fritz.  “His aim the nicht was damn puir, however,” said one of the Scotch drivers; “he never gave us a scratch; but I noticed on the road a woman wi’ a little bairn, a wee thing, hardly higher than your knee, and as we were racing by them, a shell exploded on the side of the road, right alongside o’ them, blawin’ the puir things to their doom.”

From the description furnished by the driver, I was convinced it was the poor woman and child for whom I had taken the risk of punishment, and I could not help thinking what a blessing it was that death had come to them in the way it did, so soon after her inextinguishable sorrow.

Another evidence testamentary of the industry of the German agents came to us that very night from the driver.  After the wagons were loaded up at the wagon lines, someone undid the locks of the wagons and on the way to the guns the shells dropped out from time to time, scattering over the cobble stones, causing them to lose more than half of their precious loads.

“Aye,” said the Scotch driver who had told us about the woman and her child, “and a French battery coming up behind us, the horse kicked one shell that we dropped, and I’m damned if it did na’ explode and blaw the puir beggars to the deil.  By the Lord!  They’re doing gude work!” Good work, indeed, Fritz, but your day is coming!

Next morning about ten o’clock we got a “Stand to!” as a bombardment had begun and Fritz had started coming over.  We stopped him, but no sooner had we ceased firing than Kr-kr-kr-p!  Kr-kr-kr-p!  Bang!  Bang! coming down so fast that we made off for shelter at the cookhouse.  While there, Munsey thought he would like to have a look at the situation generally in the surrounding country, through the medium of a hole in the side of the cookhouse up near the roof and he hopped on top of a box and looked out in the direction of Ypres.  The most notable object there was the town clock, and he had not been looking long before he noticed the hands moving this way and that; he watched closely and then called, “Come here, fellows, quick.  Come and watch the clock!” We all jumped to a point of vantage and watched, and in few minutes we were satisfied that the shell fire that was raining upon us was being directed by the hands of the clock.  We observed that when the long hand moved right, the rain of fire would increase; when it moved left, it