Two sections of our company left Soastre the next day and proceeded to Albert. In going down we ran into a very severe thunder-storm. The roads were filled with a heavy traffic, troops marching into Albert and to neighboring towns, all going into the Big Push. Immense quantities of supplies and ammunition were being sent down. Shells and ammunition were piled everywhere on rough wooden platforms by the side of the road. Most of the troops were bivouacked near the roads, and on this day were having a very rough time, especially where they were camped in the valleys. Many of them were up to their knees in water and their small bivouac or "pup" tents nearly submerged. The whole of the countryside around Albert was dotted with camps. Inside of a few hours of this rain the camps were simply quagmires. Roads were cut up badly as a result of the heavy traffic, and our progress was slow. For several miles before reaching Albert we could see the figure of the "Madonna Holding the Child" outstretched against the sky-line. This bronze statue is a notable landmark and could be discerned for miles around. It was situated on the top of the Albert church, and the church and tower had been shelled so badly that the figure had by this time almost reached a horizontal position. It was common belief among the French that as soon as the figure fell to the ground the war would be ended.

We found that our billet at Albert was to be in a corner house facing a crossroads from which four roads radiated. Albert was being badly shelled at the time, and our billet had met the same fate as many others. No windows were left in the house and very little plaster on the walls or ceilings. However, we were well used to billets of this description and promptly proceeded to make ourselves as comfortable as circumstances would allow.

The next day we started on our work in the trenches and in the evening I took in my party. We drove up in our trucks as far as the hill overlooking Ovilliers-la-Boisselle, and then walked the remainder of the way into the trenches which we had to consolidate. We had said good-by to underground mining for a while. Here our work consisted in consolidating the trenches as they were captured by the infantry. I think this night, incidentally my birthday, was the worst night that I have ever spent in the trenches. We had to march in single file, my party of seventy men, separated into small groups, along a road which at that time was being terribly shelled by the Huns. We were obliged to keep to the road on account of the fact that all the trenches captured since the 1st of July by our infantry had previously been flattened out by our own and the German artillery-fire, and only small depressions showed their original location. We marched for the last mile in pitch-darkness in mud up to our knees and passed through several barrages of enemy fire. The bombardment on both sides was terrific. The British guns were so numerous that in this La Boisselle valley they stood almost limber to limber. I had some four guides with me. These men had been up in the daytime and were to take our four parties to our new work here. Three of them lost themselves hopelessly in the dark, but fortunately one lad managed to find one of our dugout positions. The surface of the ground everywhere around was so pitted with shell-holes that it was impossible to find a piece of ground five feet square which did not have one or more shell-holes in it. The bodies of German and British soldiers were lying around us in thousands. The fitful glare from the star-lights and flashes from the guns showed these bodies and portions of bodies lying in every conceivable pitiful and grotesque position. Most of them were lying face down in the shell-holes and almost filled trenches, while others stretched on their backs stared up to the skies with glassy, unseeing eyes. Rifles, bombs, and all manner of small weapons and equipment, German and British, were scattered around on all hands. We had all seen plenty of the horrors of war before and were just fresh from the Vimy Ridge trenches, where bodies also were numerous, but here it was a veritable shambles. These men had all been killed within the last two or three days. Freeman, the reliable guide with me, warned us about stepping on the bodies in the dark. To my disgust, I stepped on a body right away, and in climbing over an earth mound, placed my hand on another. I thought I was pretty well inured to these horrible sights, but my revulsion was so strong that I vomited on the spot. Our men here were working in six-hour shifts. I remained in charge for two shifts, some twelve hours, and I can say truthfully that I was never more happy in my life than when I was relieved in the morning. It certainly was not a pleasant way of celebrating one's birthday. We wanted to bury some of the poor British lads whose bodies we found there, but this was impossible. We did bury a few bodies the next night after taking their identity tags and effects from their pockets. It is impossible for me to even half describe the scenes in these terrible battles known as the first Somme offensive.

We started work at once on some five dugouts. The entrances to three of them were destroyed the first night, some of our fellows being caught in them and buried at the time. Fortunately, we were able to shovel them out not much the worse for wear. A working-party of cavalry were assisting us here, and I shared my breakfast of hard-tack biscuit and cheese with the officer in charge. This officer, it appears, was the son of a very wealthy tobacco manufacturer in England and, as his brother officers afterward informed me, the heir to $65,000,000. No wildcat insurance company even would have insured his life for thirty cents during this time.

Our work was near Mouquet Farm and to the left of PoziÈres. A mile to our north was the famous Thiepval. The Australians were fighting all around here when we arrived, but about a week later were relieved by the Canadians. We had some two weeks of this work, going up for eight hours out of every twenty-four. At our back billet at Albert we did not get much rest. The Huns were shelling the town regularly with heavy shells as they retreated, and sleep was almost impossible by reason of the continual rumbling of traffic on the granite pavÉ road alongside our billet. It seemed to us that the whole British army must have driven past that house. There was no rest day or night on account of this noise. As my brother was with the Canadians, I looked forward eagerly to their arrival. However, this did not mean that I was likely to see him; as things happen at the front, your lifelong friend or your brother may be in the next sector to you and yet you will never know the fact or, even if you do, you would probably never get the chance to see him.

At Albert we were some twenty-eight kilometres from the beautiful city of Amiens. All troops, officers included, have a weakness for this city, and whenever it was possible to get a few hours away from the line, they would try and reach it somehow, on horseback, by truck, or any means of conveyance. We were fortunate in having motorcycles, and, when time permitted, would ride down from Albert to Corbie, get on the tow-path of the river Somme there, and ride into Amiens. The horrors of war were soon forgotten, and we would get a good meal at the CafÉ Godabert or at some other place, and soon feel at peace with the world. An American bar we patronized would furnish us with champagne cocktails and other so-called American drinks, and, if time allowed, we would see a cinema.

In riding back along the tow-path, we would see the Red Cross barges, full of badly wounded men, being slowly towed down. Numerous French and British troops were camped by the river. In summer it was very pleasant there for the troops at rest. This is the country where several of our own divisions are now fighting, brigaded with the British and French troops. We were riding back on motorcycles from Amiens one day along the tow-path when Captain B. rode right into the river and stuck in about four feet of mud and water. It was amusing to watch his struggles from the bank, but when he insisted on our helping him out with his machine, not quite so funny. We put it on the rack and in a few minutes had it going again. They furnished us motorcycles that would stand anything. We had many thrilling rides on these up to the trenches, being shelled consistently. I was lucky enough to get my leave whilst here—seven days in England. I never enjoyed a leave more. The officer who relieved me was wounded in the leg the same night, and now, though still crippled, has rejoined my old company in the trenches. Within twenty-four hours of leaving these terrible scenes of wholesale slaughter I found myself in a theatre in London. Naturally enough, life seemed to be going on much as usual, and I proceeded, as every one else does, to have the very best time possible in the short and infrequent leaves. Not many hours were wasted on sleep during our furloughs from the front. We figured we had plenty of time to catch up on sleep when we got back to the front, but the luxury of being able to take off all your clothes, have a real bath, and then sleep between linen sheets again is never really appreciated until you've lived for months in a dirty, muddy trench.

One of my brother officers was an Irishman who lived in Dublin, where he invariably spent his short furloughs. He went back once when the Sinn Feiners were busy with their revolution in Ireland. On his return he complained that it was more exciting dodging the machine-gun and rifle fire around the streets of Dublin than it was in the front line, but, being a cheery soul, he appeared to have enjoyed to the utmost their little private war in Ireland.

On my way back to France I was held up for three days at Folkestone on account of loose mines in the channel, thick fog, and enemy submarines. Stopping over at Boulogne in waiting for the Third Army train to go up to the line again, I went to the movies at the Kursaal. Curiously enough I saw a film there entitled "L'Invasion des Etats-Unis." I had seen this picture in New York on my way over in October, 1915. The French audience greeted it with much enthusiasm and plainly showed their warm feelings toward our country.

I met H., a brother officer at Boulogne. While travelling together to Amiens we discovered the fact that we had less than forty francs left between us. Economy is not a strong point with men on furlough from the trenches, and I know that most of us managed to spend all of our pay and usually overdraw a month in advance by the last day. H. and I figured that we could get by, but dropping into the CafÉ Godabert in Amiens in a lordly way to luncheon we found to our dismay that our bill was over thirty francs exclusive of wine, which we had carefully refrained from ordering. With our bad French we had ordered "À la carte" instead of the regular meal, and we were obliged to content ourselves with a small packet of malted milk until breakfast the next morning. That luncheon, however, was good.

On my return to Albert I found that my section were now constructing Russian saps and dugouts in the trenches opposite Thiepval, and we were there when the capture of this enormously strong fortress was effected at the end of September, 1916. The underground defenses of the Germans at Thiepval were very elaborate. Many of their machine-guns would be run up on elevators as occasion demanded from the dugouts below. Thiepval had withstood the most terrific hammering and pounding since July 1, of that year.

The tanks were first introduced in the fighting near us in the battle of the Somme, and were very successful.

In going up to Thiepval we drove every day through Aveluy Woods. These woods were shelled with persistent regularity and intensity by the enemy. One day as we were driving up, some shells burst among an infantry party marching just ahead of us on the road. Among the resulting casualties one of their officers was lying in the road with one leg blown off, while his orderly lay headless a few feet from him. A Tommy called attention to the head of the orderly in a tree near by. We had five casualties ourselves on this particular trip. One of them, not wounded very badly, danced with delight. "Good-by, sir, any message for Blighty," was his last call as we sent him back to the nearest aid-post. None of us enjoyed this daily ride through Aveluy Woods.