mind off the whole beastly business: this great big dirty job which white
people must do.

I was sitting one afternoon by the side of the canal bank about two
hundred yards in front of my chateau having tea with the officers of the
East Yorks when suddenly the chateau-smashing started again. To go back
was dangerous and useless. My men were under cover, resting, so that they
would be ready for the night work. The shelling was intermittent. One
shell went over and presently I heard _crack_,--_crack_,--_boom_, _crack_,
_crack_,--_crack_; my heart was in my boots and I was unable to move.

The colonel listened for a few seconds, then said: "Keene, do you know
what that is?" I lied: "No, sir." I thought it was the explosion of my
machine-gun bullets in their web belts and I dreaded to go up to see my
section. I had worked with them and tried hard to be a good officer and
the feeling that I should probably only find their mangled remains
sickened me. The colonel said: "That's the 'Archie' in Bedford House. I
think the last 'crump' got it. You two"--indicating myself and another
officer--"go up and see if we can do anything. See if they want a working
party and let me know."

We started to run. On the way up I looked into the cellars to see the men
whom I, the minute previously, had mourned for, and found two asleep,
three hunting through their shirts, and the rest breaking the army orders
by "shooting craps." From Bedford House a long trail of smoke was rising
and the explosions became louder. We suddenly discovered the "Archie" in
flames. It was in the courtyard and for camouflage had been covered with
branches. It was mounted on an armored Pierce-Arrow truck. The "crump" had
hit it, and gasoline, paint, branches, and hubs were supplying the fuel
which was cooking out the ammunition, the _crack_, _crack_, being the
report of single shells, whereas one loud _boom_ signified the explosion
of an entire box. These shells were going off in all directions and it
became dangerous to stay too near.

The flames on the car were of pretty colors. It is surprising the amount
of inflammable material there is on a car. The late owner of the car, a
lieutenant in the Royal Marine Artillery, was cursing in a low, but
emphatic, marine manner, and several other officers from nearby batteries
were attracted by the noise and the pyrotechnic display. I spoke to the
lieutenant and sympathized with him, and he retorted: "Gott strafe
Germany.