The next morning my section commander suggested that I ride up with him to inspect our work in the front line. It was taken for granted that I could ride an English motorcycle, and although I was familiar enough with our American varieties, I surely had my troubles with this one. The slipperiness of the metalled and paved roads in this part of Flanders increased my uneasiness. I broke down several times on a very unhealthy road, shelled with annoying regularity by the Boches, much to the disgust of Captain P., who, however, good-naturedly helped me out on each occasion. We all had our troubles in riding motorcycles on the roads in Flanders and France, especially on the pavé or granite-block paving which is so common. When it's wet, and that means most of the time, about the only way to prevent skidding is to open your throttle for all it's worth and travel as fast as you can. One morning, during my first week, I had some six, more or less, painful falls within a mile in riding up. After the last one, I was so mad that I flung the remains of the machine into the ditch on the side of the road and proceeded to walk the rest of the way up. In a short time, though, we got the hang of the machine and could ride anywhere day or night. As a matter of fact, we never lingered on the roads going in and out of the trenches. Most of the metalled or flint roads of Flanders had a ditch on either side, into which we took occasional headers. One had to ride carefully and fast. A motorcycle with the throttle wide open helps to drown the noise of enemy shells bursting in one's vicinity.

Many wild rides I remember, especially at night when, of course, no lights could be used within three or four miles of the front line; and candor compels me to confess that occasionally we would take an extra "whiskey and soda"—the standard British drink—at the mess before leaving in order to give us a little extra Dutch courage. It was always effective; we didn't care much what shell-holes we hit, or how many mud-baths we obtained. To resume, after much trouble Captain P. and I arrived at the advanced material billet, which is always situated within a few hundred yards of the entrance to the communication-trenches, and, leaving our machines here, we started up the trench.

This sector of the trenches, opposite Fromelles, at that time would have been described by veterans in trench fighting as a quiet sector, but I cannot say that it appeared particularly quiet to me that day.

My first impressions under fire were quite complex, but I distinctly recall the fact that I was more scared by the firing of our own artillery than by the comparatively few shells of the enemy which burst in our vicinity. So many things were happening around me in which I was so intensely interested that my curiosity got somewhat the better of my fears, and only when bullets whistled very close, or shells burst fairly near, was I much worried. My second day in the trenches was quite different. I had started to come out alone a few minutes before "stand to," or "stand to arms," as it is officially termed, that is, just before dusk; and as I was making for the communication-trench to go out I was nearly scared out of my wits by a "strafe" which started as a preliminary to a raid which occurred a few minutes later. This raid was not on my immediate front, but about a quarter of a mile farther south, opposite Laventie, and was staged by the Irish Guards. The abrupt change from more or less intermittent fire between the trenches to a violent and constant bombardment from every machine-gun, trench-mortar, rifle-grenade, and other weapon in the trenches, joined at the same time by the howitzers and guns from one to three miles back of the lines, combined to make me feel as though "hell had broken loose," and I made for the nearest dugout with as much assumption of dignity and speed as any near-soldier could effectively combine. It was only then that I fully realized that there was a war on.

I have been in numerous bombardments of this nature preceding night raids since that time, and they are always peculiarly violent, but I never recall any occasion on which I was more badly scared. It was rather curious, too, because nearly all the fire was from our own trenches at first, and the German retaliation did not come until some time after; but all our trench-mortars and other shells from the back just skimmed our parapets so closely that they certainly "put the wind up" me in more senses than one. One's first raid, anyhow, is calculated to be more exciting than a pink tea-party. "Put the wind up" is a term which requires some explanation. The Tommies use it on every occasion when a man shows fear; they say he is "windy" or "has the wind up," until now it is an essential part of the trench language.

Enemy rifle and machine-gun fire was very heavy and we had our share of casualties in this way. One of our advanced billets, Two Tree Farm, was an unhealthy spot. The Boche had several rifles trained on the entrance to this old ruin and the bullets whistled by about shoulder-high regularly through the night across this spot. It was not a favorite place for nightly gossip. We had built a wooden track from near here right up to the front line and would each night tram up our timber and supplies on this light track. We had plenty of grief when our trolleys would slip off the rails and into a foot or two of mud alongside. At one of these times I was going up with supplies and the enemy were getting us taped nicely with their machine-gun fire. Several attached infantrymen were working with us. One lad who was working particularly hard came around to the back to give us an extra hand in getting the car on the track again, and dropped quietly into the mud without a sound with a bullet through his head. We used to figure on two or three casualties a night on this tram. On going in or out we had to walk from Two Tree Farm over a stretch of level ground about a quarter of a mile before we entered V.C. Avenue, the communication-trench. This was not a pleasant walk on account of the absence of cover and the rain of machine-gun and rifle fire which swept this area.

CHAPTER III
UNDERGROUND

The trenches in Flanders consist, in the front line at least, of sand-bag breastworks, and are not regular trenches at all. The country is so flat that it would be impossible to drain properly a series of trenches cut in the original soil. As a result of the lack of drainage, the consequent difficulties and hardships can be well understood. Each night the enemy would tear big holes in our breastworks in the front line, and we would have to duck and run past them on the following day, and at night repair them again, under their machine-gun fire. The fact that their snipers and machine-gunners had the gap well taped in the daytime didn't add to our pleasure in repairing them at night.

The trenches on our company front here, which included underground galleries emanating from about 16 different shafts, or mine-heads, on about a half-mile front, averaged from 70 to 120 yards distance from the enemy. As the water-level was about 25 feet, the underground tunnels were shallow, mostly about 20 feet in depth. Many of our mines would be entirely flooded out, and it was only by constant and energetic work on the hand-pumps that we kept the water down in the existing galleries. It was a common thing for us to have to wade in rubber hip-boots through tunnels with over a foot of water in them. We worked in these mines twenty-four hours of the day, Sundays and holidays—in fact, no one knew when a Sunday came around, every day being the same in the trenches. Every officer and non-commissioned officer knows the date, however, as numerous and elaborate progress and other reports were furnished to the staff daily. The "padres," or chaplains, sometimes reminded us of the fact that Sundays do occur when we were out in billets back of the line. We worked usually three shifts of eight hours each, and all of our timber and tools, the latter of the most primitive kind, rendered necessary under the unusual circumstances, were brought up at night by company trucks to our advanced billets, which were situated about a mile behind the front line, and close to the entrance of communication-trenches.

The enemy had started his underground mining operations several months before they were discovered by the British and had caused many casualties in the ranks of the infantry; in fact this was the case everywhere on the western front, both in the British and French lines. The Hun has a text-book rule which enjoins him to start underground operations from any trenches which are not farther than 100 metres from the enemy, and in many cases where the distance exceeded this, or where he wished to specially defend any observation-posts, machine-gun posts, or strong points of tactical advantage, he would commence mining from trenches still farther distant.