s actually happening than did
people in England and America.) Most of these reports sprang, full grown,
from the fertile brains of officers' servants. Scraps of information
which they gathered while in attendance at the officers' mess dugout
were pieced together, and much new material of their own invention
added. The striving was for piquancy rather than plausibility. A wild
tale was always better than a dull one; furthermore the "batmen" were
our only sources of official information, and could always command a
hearing. When one of them came down the trench with that mysterious
"I-could-a-tale-unfold" air, he was certain to be halted by willingly
gullible comrades.

"Wot's up, Jerry? Anything new?"

"Nor 'arf! Now, keep this under yer 'ats, you blokes! My gov'nor was
a-talkin' to Major Bradley this mornin' w'ile I was a-mykin' 'is tea, an'
'_e_ says--"

Then followed the thrilling narrative, a disclosure of official secrets
while groups of war-worn Tommies listened with eager interest. "Spreading
the News" was a tragi-comedy enacted daily in the trenches.

But we were not entirely in the dark. The signs which preceded an
engagement were unmistakable, and toward the middle of October there was
general agreement that an important action was about to take place.
British aircraft had been patrolling our front ceaselessly for hours.
Several battalions (including our own which had just gone into reserve at
Vermelles) were placed on bomb-carrying fatigue. As we went up to the
firing-line with our first load, we found all of the support trenches
filled to overflowing with troops in fighting order.

We reached the first line as the preliminary bombardment started. Scores
of batteries were concentrating their fire on the enemy's trenches
directly opposite us. It is useless to attempt to depict what lay before
us as we looked over the parapet. The trenches were hidden from view in a
cloud of smoke and flame and dirt. The earth was like a muddy sea dashed
high in spray against hidden rocks.

The men who were to lead the attack were standing rifle in hand, waiting
for the sudden cessation of fire which would be the signal for them to
mount the parapet. Bombers and bayonet-men alternated in series of two.
The bombers wore their mediaeval-looking shrapnel-proof helmets and heavy
canvas grenade coats with twelve pockets sagging with bombs. Their rifles
were slung on their backs to give them free use of their hands.

Every one