Myself and companion, John Bass, correspondent of The Chicago
Daily News, were walking in our heavy furs between the glaring moon and
the German gunners, who will fire extravagantly at anything. Their guns
got to work along the road and a shell came screaming up and burst
perhaps twenty feet away, followed by three or four others.
Our attempt to take to the fields, where we would not be so conspicuous,
was thwarted by the Russian barbed wire and other preparations for the
enemy. There was nothing for it but to continue along the naked road
till we got out of range. Further on low trees began at the side of the
road. We hastened toward them, hoping to make them serve as cover, but
shell after shell arrived, each bursting close by. The trees were of no
use.
There was not another soul upon the road for over two miles. Each time
we heard a shell coming toward us we cowered with our arms covering neck
and face. After each shot we inquired of each other if either had been
hit. The shooting of the gunners with such a small and distant target
appeared to me superb.
At last a shell exploded overhead, smashing the branches and sending a
load of metal flying. I felt blows of flying earth and twigs on my back.
Bass asked, "Have they got you?"
"Are you all right?" I inquired.
"Think they have got me in the face," was the reply.
I had an electric pocket lamp, with which I made an examination.
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