For three miles, right over 'Hill 60,' I had the ride of my life. Shells
were bursting in every direction, but my good horse struggled on gamely.
By this time he had come to know the import of the shrieking whistle
which betokens the approach of a shell, but he displayed no more concern
than a momentary quiver as it burst. As for me I could only place myself
in God's hands, and well remember how, as each shell approached, I
repeated that comforting word from Isaiah xxvi. 3, 'Thou wilt keep him
in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee, because he trusteth in
thee.' Over and over again I repeated 'because he trusteth in thee.' And
then bang! bang! and once more the danger was past.
The road was crowded with terrified people, literally fleeing for their
lives, and as I got out of the range of fire, I tried to comfort them in
the best way I could.
Reaching Ypres I delivered my message, and then sank down and fell into
a deep sleep for four hours. I suppose it was a kind of reaction from
the nervous strain.
I found Ypres crammed with wounded men, and worked hard there for the
next day or two.
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