After a brief rest, our battalion went into the front line, at the above mentioned place. As we were nearing the front lines we could hear the big guns and shells bursting overhead; also the whistling of bullets. Of course, I naturally started ducking my head, and I have been ducking ever since. In the week of the 12th of October, our battalion was in the front line, in the P. E. O. trenches at Kemmel, and on that day "Fritzie" sprung a mine in No Man's Land which formed a big crater. On the morning of the 13th we got orders that we were to take that crater. The time set for going "Over the Top" was 2 A.M. and every man was ready and eager to show what he was made of. To the minute a blast of the whistle came, and we were over. "Fritzie" saw us and he also came over. Then a hand-to-hand fight started. I came in contact with a big Hun, and of course we went to it. Before many seconds had passed, I got his bayonet over the bridge of the nose, but it did not knock me out, and a short time after I got him; my first Hun. My, but I was a proud boy. I put my hand to my face and it became covered with blood--so I started back to the trench to get my wound dressed. On arriving at my battalion dressing station the doctor started operations. He put four stitches in my nose and then I was sent back to a field hospital for further treatment. While at the hospital I heard that our battalion had taken the crater and covered itself with glory, but our losses were heavy. It was during that fight that my regiment made itself famous. After two weeks in the hospital, I was sent back to my regiment which was in a rest camp. I carried back with me two lovely black eyes from the effect of the wound. Once more we moved into the trenches, under a heavy downpour of rain. The winter had just set in. It was cold and damp under foot, and the water reached up to our knees. During our stay in the line at that time, I recall an incident which happened. I was sitting in a dugout, having a bite to eat with some of my pals, and enjoying the meal quite well. Something had to spoil our lunch, of course. A shell came over and burst on top of the dugout and buried us for about four or five hours. We were in darkness--then we were dug out, and were none the worse from our little experience. MY SERVICE IN FLANDERS Part 2 BY SERGT. A. GIBB