whipped my boots and made quite a noise. Suddenly
a challenge rang out from a small railway bridge. "_Halt! Wer da!_"
(On these occasions it seems as if one's heart has been put to the
wrong use, it being really fashioned to be a pendulum for a
grandfather clock.) The next second an electric light was switched on,
but I had already fallen among the turnips, endeavouring to make a
noise like one (a turnip). Then ensued an interesting silence fraught
with many possibilities. Did the turnip's voice deceive the Hun? At
any rate the light was soon turned off, much to my relief; then
quietly I slipped away. After about an hour's walking across country I
came to what I supposed to be a stream, showing up in the moonlight,
with a few bushes growing along the side. Walking parallel to it for a
few yards and not seeing a bridge, I thought it might be quite
shallow, so tested it with a stick. Imagine my pleasant surprise when
I found that it was not water at all, but a narrow white concrete
path, evidently newly made. I noticed that nearly all roads running
parallel to the front had a very deep trench dug on the east (German)
side. Presumably, these were later used considerably when we were
engaged in shelling the roads. Soon I came to the Cambrai Canal, which
had to be crossed, and as it was the middle of November it gave me the
shivers even to look at the dark water. After walking some distance
down the tow-path, I encountered a Hun. Though not feeling at all bold
I said, "_G'nacht_," which I felt sounded feeble, though I knew it to
be the correct thing in some parts of Germany. To this he replied,
"_Abend_" (evening). (Quite a valuable lesson in the usual custom
among soldiers.)

Skirting a few houses and a timber yard I approached a large
well-built iron railway bridge spanning the canal. Climbing over some
barbed wire I cautiously mounted the embankment. Looking along the
bridge I saw there were two lines separated by some arched iron
girders. From recent experience I knew that this must be strongly
guarded, but reasoned that if I closely followed a train I should in
all probability find the line free for a few seconds. Presently a
freight train came rumbling along, and I rushed after it in a whirl of
air, in my haste almost being knocked down by the end carriages. As
the bridge was rather long and the train going fast, in a very short
time I was being left stranded. When I was nearing the other side I
stopped an instant to