was asked to show us the way. As we followed I noticed the white puff of a
shell, far ahead, over the flat, ditch-lined fields; a captive balloon was
making observations about half a mile in front, and an aeroplane passed
over our heads. "Ah, not a Boche," said Captain ---- regretfully, "but we
brought a Boche down here yesterday, just over this village--a splendid
fight."

Meanwhile, the artillery fire was quickening. We reached a ruined village
from which all normal inhabitants had been long since cleared away. The
shattered church was there, and I noticed a large crucifix quite intact
still hanging on its chancel wall. A little farther and the boyish
artillery-officer, our leader, who had been by this time joined by a
comrade, turned and beckoned to the General. Presently we were creeping
through seas of mud down into the gun emplacement, so carefully concealed
that no aeroplane overhead could guess it.

There it was--how many of its fellows I had seen in the Midland and
northern workshops!--its muzzle just showing in the dark, and nine or ten
high-explosive shells lying on the bench in front of the breech. One is
put in. We stand back a little, and a sergeant tells me to put my fingers
in my ears and look straight at the gun. Then comes the shock--not so
violent as I had expected--and the cartridge-case drops out. The shell has
sped on its way to the German trenches--with what result to human flesh
and blood? But I remember thinking very little of that--till afterwards.
At the time, the excitement of the shot and of watching that little group
of men in the darkness held all one's nerves gripped.

In a few more minutes we were scrambling out again through the deep, muddy
trench leading to the dugout, promising to come back to tea with the
officers, in their billet, when our walk was done.