When we disentangled
ourselves, got to our feet and gathered our scattered wits, we found the
men who had remained below tremendously excited. Their hair was on end;
their eyes were like saucers. "Who's killed, fellows," they yelled, "who's
killed?"
Of course no one was hurt. Our own battery was just dropping a few over the
Boches, but it was our first experience under fire. Behind the building a
battery of our six-inch howitzers was concealed. When they "go off" they
make a fearful racket; very likely any other bunch of fellows, not knowing
the guns were there, would do as we did. I don't know. At all events, we
stayed very quietly where we were thereafter.
Later in the evening we found out the true and inner meaning of the excited
order not to go outdoors or on the roof. It was a simple device to keep us
from exploring the boulevards of the city. We might have been tempted to do
that, for we had seen none of the charming French girls as yet, and they
are--_tres charmante_.
About six o'clock that evening we got the customary--the eternal--bully
beef and biscuits. At seven we were ordered to advance to the front line
trenches.
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