shells had burst, most of the Battery were huddled in this trench, chewing the half-done steaks which one of the cooks with admirable presence of mind had rescued.

As the bombardment of the valley became more intense, we moved up the trench towards the crest of the hill. From this eminence it was possible to over­ look the country in three directions. To the south about a kilometer back lay Samogneux, a completely leveled area of rubbish. Beyond this was the Verdun- Sedan road, and farther, the fringe of trees which marked the Meuse. To the north rose a battered hillside, cut by the road which led up to Haumont, a pile of debris only slightly more imposing than Samogneux. Squatting on this hillside like huge toads we could make out a dozen tanks, awaiting the "big jam" under their camouflage nets and branches. Beyond, just below C, below us and winding its shiny length out of sight in both directions lay the Samogneux-Crepion road; toward the south infested with dress- ing-stations, infantry kitchens, machine-gun echelons, light and heavy batteries in position; and toward the north with barbed-wire, gas, front line trenches,—and of course, mud. The whole outlook on this bleak, cold morning produced an impression of cheerlessness and desolation,—it was truly the "Valley of the Shadow of Death."

                The heavy shelling along the ravine lasted some forty minutes, killing several men and horses, but none of ours. As the rain of the night before had given place to a heavy mist, we felt at liberty to move about at will—with always an eye to the near­

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