The
charm of the courtyard, with the flower-beds and floral designs, died
away; we were now pleased to keep indoors and allow the chairs outside
to stand idle. All day long the enemy shelled us, most of the shells
dropped outside and played havoc with the church; but the figure (p. 160)
on the crucifix still remained, a symbol of something great and
tragical, overlooking the area of destruction and death. Now and again
a shell dropped on the flower-beds and scattered splinters and showers
of earth against buildings and dug-outs. In the evening an orderly
came to the Keep.
"I want two volunteers," he said.
"For what?" I asked him.
"I don't know," was the answer, "they've got to report immediately to
Headquarters."
Stoner and I volunteered. The Headquarters, a large dug-out roofed
with many sandbags piled high over heavy wooden beams, was situated on
the fringe of the communication trench five hundred yards away from
the Keep. We took up our post in an adjacent dug-out and waited for
orders. Over our roof the German shells whizzed incessantly and tore
up the brick path. Suddenly we heard a crash, an ear-splitting
explosion from the fire line.
"What's that?" asked Stoner. "Will it be a mine blown up?"
"Perhaps it is," I ventured. "I wish they'd stop the shelling, suppose
one of these shells hit our dug-out."
"It would be all U.P. with us," said Stoner, trying to roll a (p. 161)
cigarette and failing hopelessly.
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