cauldron was the barrier of shell fire which the German artillery was
throwing in front of them.

It seemed no living thing could face it. Our fire had lengthened at
about 4 o'clock. The German barrage began almost immediately after.
Minute after minute passed without a sign of any troops of ours. Our
spirits fell. "It is one of these fearful attacks on small objectives,"
one thought, "where the enemy knows exactly where you must come out, and
is able to converge an impenetrable artillery fire on that one small
point. If you attack on a wide front, your artillery is bound to leave
some of the enemy's machine-guns unharmed. And when you have to mop up
the small points that are left, and attack on a small front, he gets
you with his artillery--you get it one way or the other." One took it
for granted that the head of this attack had been turned.

Suddenly, out of the mist, came the sound of a few rifle shots. Then
bursts of a machine-gun. It could only be the Germans firing on
advancing British infantry.

And presently they came out, running just beyond the shoulder of that
hill. We could only see their heads at first, tucked down into it as a
man bends when he hurries into a hailstorm. Presently the track on which
they were advancing--I don't know whether it was originally a road or a
trench, but it is a sort of chalky sandhill now[2]--brought them for a
moment rather to our side of the hill into partial shelter. Each section
that reached the place crouched down there for a moment. Spurts of
shrapnel lashed past them whirling the white dust. Black rolling clouds
sprang into existence on the earth beside them. Every minute one
expected to see one of them obliterate the whole party. But, at the end
of a minute or so, someone would pick himself up and run on--and the