one of the bunch to be
seen. Well, we crossed "No Man's Land" and came to where the German
trenches had been, but they were as level as our own. Finally we
struck a communication trench and the going was a little safer. The
trench was crowded with Germans, and they lined up in either side to
let us pass. But here I had another narrow escape; the Boche's hatred
of the British is such that they cannot resist giving vent to it when
they have one in their power, and as we passed one big brute made a
lunge at me with his bayonet. Fortunately, he missed his aim a little
and the bayonet passed through the loose front of my shirt, but I felt
the cold steel on my flesh--the guard said nothing to him. Another
thing I noticed on my way out was the treatment a wounded German
received from the comrade who was taking him out--the man was wounded
through the head and he was evidently dizzy from pain and weakness, for
he rolled from one side of the trench to the other like a drunken
man--instead of carrying him as our men would do, or, at least, putting
an arm round him to steady his steps, that brute walked behind, and
when the wounded man would stop, wanting to sit down and rest, I saw
the brute take that poor man by the collar, jerk him up, and land him a
couple of kicks. This of course sent the man running and sprawling
down the trench, and this is the way they made their way out.

[Illustration: General Ketchen]

Well, we went on till we came to a German strong point, and here we
found fifteen of our boys that had been captured earlier in the day;
when we came on the scene they were being photographed by the Germans.
The Germans allow their soldiers to carry cameras and almost every
soldier has one; we had at least a dozen levelled at us that day--they
were evidently taking pictures to send back to Germany--"Prisoners _we_
have captured" would no doubt be the title.

They kept us hanging around here for half an hour, still under our own
shell fire, and then we were marched back about three miles. Our first
stop was beside an old Belgian church, and here we were taken over by
an escort of Prussian Lancers, and for the first time I realized that I
was really a German prisoner. We were herded together like a flock of
sheep and driven ahead of our captors; we were made to go ten miles
before they allowed us to stop, but to add variety to our otherwise
tedious march, when our escort wanted a little fun they would put spurs