were in complete darkness, with eight
tossing, plunging horses that kicked and reared at every crash of the
guns nearby or burst of the shells overhead.

We hung on while the air battle went on above. One horse went down on
his knees and in his frantic struggles to regain his feet, almost kicked
the feet from under the animal beside him.

At times, thunderous detonations told us that aerial bombs were doing
their work near at hand. We supposed correctly that we were near some
town not far behind the lines, and that the German was paying it a night
visit with some of his heaviest visiting cards.

I opened one side door just a crack and looked out. The darkness above
blossomed with blinding blotches of fire that flashed on and off. It
seemed as though the sky were a canopy of black velvet perforated with
hundreds of holes behind which dazzling lights passed back and forth,
flashing momentary gleams of brilliance through the punctures. Again,
this vision would pass as a luminous dripping mass would poise itself on
high and cast a steady white glare that revealed clusters of grey smoke
puffs of exploded shrapnel.

We had to close the door because the flashes added to the terror of the
horses, but the aerial activity passed almost as suddenly as it had come
and left our train untouched. As the raiding planes went down the wind,
followed always by the poppings of the anti-aircraft guns, the sound of
the conflict grew distant. We got control over the horses although they
still trembled with fright.

There came another rap at the door and I hurriedly accepted the
captain's invitation to accompany him forward to a first-class coach
where I spent the remainder of the night stretched out on the cushions.
As our train resumed its way into the darkness, I dreamed of racing
before a stampede of wild horses.

CHAPTER VII

INTO THE LINE--THE FIRST AMERICAN SHOT IN THE WAR

A damp, chill, morning mist made the dawn even greyer as our battery
train slid into a loading platform almost under the walls of a large
manufacturing plant engaged in producing war materials.

In spite of the fact that the section chiefs reported that not a man had
been injured, and not so much as a leg broken in the crowded horse cars,
every man in the battery now declared the absence of any doubt but the
air raid had been directly aimed at Battery A.

"There might be a spy in this here very outfit," said 'Texas' Tinsdale,
the battery alarmist