From that point the trenches led south, passing to the west of Verlorenhoek, a town on the Ypres-Zonnebeke road. South again, and a little east, they crossed the Ypres-Roulers railway, skirted the western and the southern shores of the Bellewaarde Lake, took in the grounds of the ruined Hooge château and the eastern fringe of the woods that surrounded it, passed east of Hooge, and thus reached the famous Ypres-Menin road. On went the line, winding snakelike through the eastern edge of the Sanctuary Wood, south of the Menin Road. Here the Salient reached its furthermost eastern extremity. Then began a south-westerly trend, less than a mile in front of Zillebeke, reaching Zaartsteen before crossing the Ypres-Comines railway and later the Ypres-Comines canal. From the canal the trenches ran more west than south to St. Eloi, then still on to the westward, until they circled south, away from Ypres, in front of Vierstraat, Kemmel and Wolverghem successively. There they faced, then passed Messines, reached the Ploegsteert Wood, crossed the River Lys and bent round Armentières, on their way through the Auber and Neuve Chapelle area, to the Festubert and La Bassée fronts. Early morning on that eventful Sunday found me driving General de Lisle and Hardress Lloyd to Ypres, straight through the devastated old city, out of the Menin gate, over the Menin bridge and on up the Zonnebeke Road as far as Potijze. From the railway crossing at the western edge of Ypres, past the smashed cathedral of St. Martin, round the ruins of the Cloth Hall, through the Grande Place, and down the Rue de Menin, dead horses and men lined the way. Ypres, which I had seen shelled so heavily time after time without its semblance of a city being destroyed, was at last indescribably in ruins. The slender pinnacles at the ends of the Cloth Hall still stood, and the tower itself had not fallen, though it had been so riddled it seemed in imminent danger of collapse. The tall torn tower of St. Martin's, near by, was also standing. I found great difficulty in picking my way through the square, past shell-holes, piles of paving blocks, and heaps of dead horses. At one end of the Grande Place a howitzer shell had burst directly on an artillery limber, the horses and men being piled indiscriminately together, every one instantly killed. They lay in a heap on the broken stones of the square. Our previous brewery headquarters was levelled to the ground, and the house where we had slept when last in Ypres was smashed out of all recognition. Shells were falling in Ypres as we went through it. Across the Menin bridge the road, once a broad highway, had been narrowed to a mere path by pile on pile of shell-strewn bricks and stones. The houses were one by one completely disappearing, as though the space they occupied was required for other purposes, and the demolition of each one of them was a preconceived part of a plan of extinction of all signs of habitation.