ature of it. There is no doubt that the continued stream of machine
gun lead that swept the field superinduced this belief. I got as close
to the ground as a piece of paper on top of a table. I remember
regretting sincerely that the war had reached the stage of open movement
and one consequence of which was that there wasn't a shell hole anywhere
to crawl into.

This did not, however, eliminate the dangerous possibility of shelling.
With the fatalism that one acquires along the fronts, I was ready to
take my chances with the casual German shell that one might have
expected, but I devoted much thought to a consideration of the French
and American artillery some miles behind me. I considered the
possibility of word having been sent back that our advancing waves at
this point had been cut down by enemy machine gunners who were still in
position preventing all progress at this place. I knew that such
information, if sent back, would immediately be forwarded to our guns
and then a devastating concentration of shells would be directed toward
the location of the machine gun nests.

I knew that I was lying one hundred yards from one of those nests and I
knew that I was well within the fatal bursting radius of any shells our
gunners might direct against that German target. My fear was that myself
and other American wounded lying in that field would die by American
guns. That is what would have happened if that information had reached
our artillery and it is what should have happened.

The lives of the wounded in that field were as nothing compared with the
importance of wiping out that machine gun nest on our left which was
holding up the entire advance.

I wanted to see what time it was and my watch was attached to my left
wrist. In endeavouring to get a look at it, I found out that my left arm
was stiff and racked with pain. Hartzell, I knew, had a watch, but I did
not know where he was lying, so I called out.

He answered me from some distance away but I could not tell how far or
in what direction. I could see dimly but only at the expense of great
pain. When he answered I shouted back to him:

"Are you hit?"

"No, are you?" he asked.

"Yes, what time is it?" I said.

"Are you hit badly?" he asked in reply.

"No, I don't think so," I said. "I think I'm all right."

"Where are you hit?" he asked.

"In the head," I said; "I think something hit my eye."

"In the head, you damn fool," he shouted louder with just a