bombs. The men also sheltered there.

I let myself down with my camera and threaded by the numerous "plum
puddings" lying there: I fixed my camera up and awaited the order for
the men to commence firing.

"Are you ready?" came a voice from above.

"Right, sir," replied the sergeant. I began exposing my film.

"Fire!" the T.M. officer shouted down.

Fire they did, and the concussion nearly knocked me head over heels. I
was quite unprepared for such a backblast. Before they fired again, I
got a man to hold down the front leg of my tripod. The gun was
recharged; the order to fire was given, the lanyard was pulled, but no
explosion.

"Hullo, another----"

"Misfire," was the polite remark of the sergeant. "Those fuses are
giving us more trouble than enough."

Another detonator was put on, everything was ready again. Another tug
was given. Again no explosion.

Remembering the happenings of the morning in another pit, when a
premature burst occurred, I felt anything but comfortable. Sitting in
the middle of about one hundred trench mortar bombs, visions of the
whole show going up came to me.

Another detonator was put in. "Fire," came the order. Again it failed.

"Look here, sergeant," I said, "if that bally thing happens again I'm
off."

"The blessed thing has never been so bad before, sir. Let's have one
more try."

Still another detonator was put in. I began turning the handle of my
camera. This time it was successful.

"That's all I want," I said. "I'm off. Hand me up my camera. And with
due respect to your gun," I said to the T.M. officer, "you might cease
fire until I am about fifty yards away. I don't mind risking Brother
Fritz's 'strafe,' but I do object to the possibility of being scattered
to the four winds of heaven by our own shells." And with a laugh and
good wishes, I left him.

"I say," he called out, "come into my dug-out to-night, will you? It's
just in front of Fifth Avenue. I shall be there in about half an hour; I
have got to give Fritz a few more souvenirs to go on with. There is a
little more wire left over there, and the C.O. wants it all 'strafed'
away. Do come, won't you? So long. See you later. Keep your head down."

"Right-o!" I said, with a laugh. "Physician, heal thyself. A little
higher, and you might as well be sitting on the parapet." He turned
round sharply, then dropped on his knees.

"Strafe that bally parapet. I forgot all about it. Fire!" he yelled, and
I laughed at t