he said.

"Yes, only just, by the appearance of things."

"I saw it drop near by where we left you and felt quite certain it had
done you in. Feel all right?"

"Yes," I said, "with the exception of a thick head. I will get my camera
stuff down here. Lend me your torch, will you?"

I took it out and found my way back to the shelter.

Fritz was now jumping over shrapnel, so, believe me, I did not hang
about on my journey. Our guns continued their thundering and fire was
literally pouring from their mouths. I got down in the trench, as close
as possible, sat on my camera-case and so passed the remainder of the
night, thinking--well, many things.

Towards dawn the firing gradually died down until, comparing it with the
night, it was quite peaceful. I got out of my trench and sat up on the
parapet. My head was still throbbing from the concussion of the night,
and having no sleep made me feel in rather a rotten state.

"How's the head, old chap?" asked an officer I knew who came up to me at
that moment.

"Better," I replied, "but needs improvement."

"We are just making some tea; come and join us."

"Jove, rather! It may stop this jumping."

A slight mist was hanging over the shell-pocked ground, it was gradually
rising, as I had seen it on previous occasions, and the horrible stench
from the putrifying dead seemed to rise with it. As far as the eye could
see in every direction the ground had been churned up by the fearful
shell-fire. The shell-holes met each other like the holes in a sponge.
Not a blade of grass or green stuff existed; the place which once marked
a wood was now a space with a twisted, tangled mass of barbed wire and,
here and there, short wooden stumps, slashed, split, and torn into
shreds--the remains of once beautiful trees.

The village of Guillemont literally does not exist, in fact, it is _an
absolute impossibility to tell where the fields ended and the village
began_. It is one of the most awful specimens of the devastating track
of war that exists on the Western Front. The village had been turned by
the Bosche into a veritable fortress; trenches and strong points,
bristling with machine-guns, commanded every point which gave vantage to
the enemy. But, after much bloody fighting, our troops stormed and
captured the place and the German losses must have been appalling. Many
had been buried, but the work of consolidating the ground won and
pressing on the attack does not permit our men thor