ng us with his tempestuous might! Brooding menace seemed
in the air. A sudden burst of fire from four 5.9's on to the
cross-roads I had just passed whipped my nerves into still greater
tension.

I strode on, bending my mind to the task in hand.

* * * * *

At 4.40 A.M. I lifted my head to listen to the sound of the opening
barrage--a ceaseless crackle and rumble up in front. I had not taken
off my clothes, and quickly I ascended the dug-out steps. Five hundred
yards away a 60-pdr. battery belched forth noise and flame; two 8-inch
hows. on the far side of the road numbed the hearing and made the earth
tremble. A pleasant enough morning: the sun just climbing above the
shell-shattered, leaf-bare woods in front; the moon dying palely on the
other horizon; even a school of fast-wheeling birds in the middle
distance. Ten minutes, a quarter of an hour, half an hour. Still no
enemy shells in this support area. Could it be that the attack had
really surprised the Boche?

I turned into the adjutant's dug-out and found him lying down,
telephone to ear. "Enemy reply barrage only slight," he was repeating.

"Any news?" I asked.

"Some of the tanks missed their way," he answered. "A Battery have had
a gun knocked out and four men hit. No communication with any of the
other batteries."

By seven o'clock we were breakfasting, and Major Veasey announced his
intention of going forward to seek information. A grey clinging mist
had enveloped the countryside. "Something like March 21st," said the
major as he and I set out. "We said it helped the Boche then. I hope we
don't have to use it as an excuse for any failure to-day. Difficult for
observers," he added thoughtfully.

At the dressing station in the sunken road we learned that one battery
of our companion Field Artillery Brigade had suffered severely from
gas. All the officers had been sent down, and a large proportion of the
gunners. The sickly-sweet smell hung faintly over most of the ground in
the neighbourhood of our batteries as well. A and C were now firing
fifty rounds an hour. "The major's asleep in that dug-out," volunteered
Beale of A, pointing to a hole in a bank that allowed at least two feet
of air space above Major Bullivant's recumbent form. The major was
unshaven; his fair hair was tousled. He had turned up the collar of his
British warm. Beale also looked unkempt, but he said he had had three
hours' sleep before the barrage star