throwing
bombs at close quarters could wipe us off the map, or, at any rate,
could do enough damage by shock action of this kind to prevent our
attack starting.

I dared not give any order to fire for fear of hitting the men of C
Company. The situation was desperate. I had no time to spare, for zero
hour was close at hand. The same thoughts were running through
Farman's mind.

"Shall I have a go at them?" he said.

"Yes; form up your platoon, and stick them with the bayonet; then join
the attack as a fourth wave."

I watched Farman and his platoon with bayonets fixed, creeping on all
fours towards the German bombers. That was the last I saw of them, as
it was within 10 minutes of zero hour, and we were not yet in battle
formation.

I heard afterwards that they did the job well. But to part with the
platoon and my only remaining officer at this critical moment was a
great loss to me; for I could not count upon them in the attack for
which I had now only three platoons left--about sixty men.

Half my strength had gone, and the real attack had not yet begun. I
sent for the remaining platoon commanders and explained the
situation:

"No. 6 Platoon will now become the first wave. Form up and extend
along the edge of the wood and await my signal to advance into the
open. No. 7 Platoon, form up immediately in rear; and No. 8 Platoon,
assemble in the trench close up. Bombing section of No. 6 will proceed
along the trench parallel with the advance, bombing it out as they go
along."

The men formed up. The minutes seemed to be like hours. We were facing
the inside of the square trench, which was a mass of shell-holes, and
as though anticipating our intention, shells were bursting and bullets
whistling on all sides.

How peaceful England must be at this moment; how pretty the villages!
And how wicked this hell seemed in front of us! And these were the men
of England--nice chaps, only Territorials.

One used to meet them in the city every day. Some were awful nuts. See
them at lunch; watch them pouring out of Liverpool Street Station
between 9 and 10 o'clock in the morning, with newspaper and
walking-stick; see them in the banks, bending over ledgers. You could
hardly believe it; but these were the same men.

They were not very trim just now; their hands are grimy as they clutch
at their rifles, undaunted by the terrors they have already passed
through and the sight of their fallen comrades left groaning in the
woo