a
picnic than for a battle.

"Pass it down to Sergeant H---- that Sergeant S----l wishes him the
top o' the mornin'," said my sergeant. But Sergeant H----, who was in
charge of the company's Lewis-guns, and had been stationed in the next
fire-trench, was at present groping his way to safety with a lump of
shrapnel in his back.

An occasional shell sang one way or the other. Otherwise all was
quiet. We passed down the remains of the rum. Sergeant S----l pressed
me to take some out of a mess-tin lid. I drank a very little--the
first and last "tot" I took during the battle. It warmed me up. Some
time after this I looked at my watch and found it was a minute or two
before 6.25 A.M. I turned to the corporal, saying--

"They'll just about start now."

The words were not out of my mouth before the noise, which had
increased a trifle during the last twenty minutes, suddenly swelled
into a gigantic roar. Our guns had started. The din was so deafening
that one could not hear the crash of German shells exploding in our
own lines.

Sergeant S----l was standing straight up in the trench and looking
over to see the effects of our shells. It was a brave thing to do, but
absolutely reckless. I pulled him down by the tail of his tunic. He
got up time and again, swearing that he would "take on the whole
b----German army." He gave us pleasing information of the effects of
our bombardment, but as I did not want him to lose his life
prematurely, I saw to it that we kept him down in the trench till the
time came for a display of bravery, in which he was not lacking.

We had been told that the final bombardment that day would be the most
intense one since the beginning of the war. The attack was to encircle
what was almost generally considered the strongest German "fortress"
on the Western Front, the stronghold of Gommecourt Wood. There was
need of it, therefore.

Just over the trenches, almost raising the hair on one's head (we were
helmeted, I must say, but that was the feeling), swished the smaller
shells from the French .75 and English 18-pounder batteries. They gave
one the sensation of being under a swiftly rushing stream. The larger
shells kept up a continuous shrieking overhead, falling on the enemy's
trenches with the roar of a cataract, while every now and then a noise
as of thunder sounded above all when our trench-mortar shells fell
amongst the German wire, blowing it to bits, making holes like mine
craters, and throwing