to crawl in the tunnel.
Grim had no weapon in sight. The two Sikhs who were to lead had
stripped themselves of everything that might make a noise, but
the others kept both boots and rifles, with bayonets fixed, for
it did not much matter what racket they made. In fact, the more
noise we, who followed, made, the better, since that would draw
attention from the Sikhs in front. All we had to do was to keep
our bodies below Grim's kite affair, out of the probable line
of fire.

Nevertheless, that dark hole was untempting. A dank smell came
out of it, like the breath of those old Egyptian tombs in which
the bones of horses, buried with their masters, lie all about on
shelves. You couldn't see into it more than a yard or two, for
the only light came through the doorway of the windowless room,
and the tunnel led into the womb of rock where, perhaps, no light
had been since Solomon's day.

But the leading Sikhs went in without hesitation and got down on
their bellies. They might have been swallowed whole for all that
I heard or saw of them from that minute. You could guess why the
Turks and Germans had not really craved to meet those fellows out
in No-man's-land.

Grim went in on all-fours like a weird animal, with my shirt
dancing on its frame above his back. Goodenough went next,
peering through that window-pane monocle like a deep-sea fish.
All the rest of the Sikhs went after him in Indian file, dragging
their rifle-butts along the tunnel floor and making noise enough
to remind you of the New York subway.

I went in at the tail end, trying at intervals to peer around a
khaki-covered Punjaub rump, alternately getting my head and
fingers bruised by heels I could not see and a rifle-butt that
only moved in jerks when you didn't expect it to. My nose was
bleeding at the end of ten yards.

But you couldn't keep your distance. Whenever the men in front
checked at some obstruction or paused to listen, all those behind
closed up; and by the time those behind had run their noses
against iron-shod heels the men in front were on their way again.
You couldn't see a thing until you rammed your head into it, and
then the sense of touch gave you a sort of sight suggestion, as
when you see things in a dream. As for sound, the tunnel acted
like a whispering gallery, mixing all the noises up together, so
that you could not guess whether a man had spoken, or a stone had
fallen, or a pistol had gone off, or all three.

O