With a murderous shriek and horrible splitting roar a German shell burst on the roadway about fifty yards away.
"That is Fritz's way of making love, sir," he said, with a chuckle; which remark admirably reflects the marvellous morale of our men.
"Have they been shelling the avenues much?" I asked, referring to the various communication trenches leading to the front line.
"Yes, sir. Nos. 1, 2 and 3 are being severely crumped. I would suggest No. 5, sir; it's as clear as any of them. I should advise you to get along this lane as fast as possible. I have been here some time, so I know Fritz's little ways."
He saluted, and like a mole disappeared into his dug-out as I moved away.
I told my man to keep about ten yards behind me, so that in the event of a shell bursting near by one or the other of us would have a chance of clearing.
"Now," I said, "let it go at a double. Come on," and with head well forward I raced up the road.
Altogether, with my camera, I was carrying about seventy pounds in weight, so you can guess it was no easy matter. There was about another 150 yards to go, when I heard the ominous shriek of a German shell.
"Down in the ditch," I yelled. "Lie flat," and suiting the action to the word, I flung myself down in the mud and water near a fallen tree. Crash came the shell, and it exploded with a deafening roar more on the side of the road than the previous one, and near enough to shower mud and water all over me as I lay there.
"Now then," I yelled to my man, "double-up before they range the next one," and jumping up we raced away. Not before I had got well clear, and near the old railway station, did I stay and rest. While there several shells crashed in and around the road we had just left. I was glad I was safely through.