ched in silence. Nothing could be heard but the muffled
footsteps over the soft ground, and occasional jingling of a spade or
pick against the butt of a rifle.

Distance became exaggerated, and fifty paces seemed like five hundred,
until I began to get a horrible fear that my compass had misled me,
and that countless German eyes were watching me leading my men into
the midst of their guns. Where were we going? When would we get back,
and how many of us? Call it funk or what you like, but whatever it is,
it's a devilishly creepy feeling; and when at last I found myself
close to the edge of the wood, I felt as if I were arriving home.

But the real job had not yet begun. I signalled the halt to the
leading file, and passed the word to turn to the right and extend two
paces to the right and lie down. I next ordered a sentry group,
consisting of one section to be sent out by each platoon to occupy
shell-holes fifty yards in front as a protection against surprise.

The platoon on the left was to bend its flank to face the edge of the
wood, and get in touch with C Company in the wood; while the platoon
on the right secured connection with A Company. One Lewis-gun section
took up position on the left flank at the corner of the wood, whilst
the other Lewis gun protected my right.

These precautions against surprise being completed, I ordered the men
to dig for all they were worth; rifles with bayonets fixed, and
magazines charged to be placed within arm's reach at the back of the
trench, the earth to be thrown in front until the parapet became
bullet-proof.

I spotted one man leaning on his shovel, and looking vacantly into the
darkness.

"Dig, man! Don't stand looking about you," I whispered hoarsely.

"The ground's hard, sir; it's all chalk here."

"Don't be a fool! Dig! I tell you we may be discovered any minute. If
we get shelled you'll be glad enough of a hole to lie in."

Passing along the line, I overheard two men talking in an undertone:

"How do you like it, Timmy?"

"Fed to the teeth. It's all very well for the skipper to say: 'Dig
like hell!'--Seems quiet enough here."

"Heard about Bill? Went balmy just after we started. He began by
laughing and crying; he was as mad as a hatter. He nearly put the wind
up us in the rear. The skipper sent him back with a couple of
stretcher-bearers."

"Poor old Bill, hard luck. Thought he couldn't stand much. Got any
water?"

"Not a drop; I'm as dry as a brick."