I ducked to the right and ran diagonally to the Hun line of fire. Panting, I struck a deep bog. In I went before I realised it lay in my path. In a twinkling I was in a pretty mess. My feet sank deep in the slime and ooze. It took great effort to raise them. Well over my knees in mud, I felt trapped, but struggled on.
At last I trod on firmer bottom, and soon was racing away at much better speed.
Crash! Bang! I could see over my shoulder that the last two arrivals had burst over the muck through which I had just floundered, throwing spurts of liquid mud high in the air.
The Hun gunners were gradually increasing their range, though I was well out of sight of them.
My breath came in great sobs, but I dared not slacken.
Bang! Bang! Two fell behind me again, but not so near. That encouraged my flagging footsteps, and I jog-trotted on, until at last the Menin Road was before me. Reaching it, I laid down, utterly exhausted. The shells continued to burst nearer and nearer the road, and came in fours after the first half-dozen couples, twenty-four shrapnel having been fired in all.
Two British gunners, attached to a siege battery near by, hurried past me as I lay recuperating.
"Bad place to be, this," said one of them. "They shell this bit of road every day about this time. Those two holes were made yesterday"—pointing to two cavities not ten feet from me.
So I pulled myself to my feet and pushed on for "home," arriving safely enough, though completely tired out and literally plastered with mud.