n, you are extremely likely to lose your sense of
direction. This is what happened to Private Nigg. He and his infernal
machines lay uneasily in their appointed shell-hole for some ten
minutes, surrounded by Verey lights which shot suddenly into the sky
with a disconcerting _plop_, described a graceful parabola, burst into
dazzling flame, and fluttered sizzling down. One or two of these fell
quite near Nigg's party, and continued to burn upon the ground, but
the raiders sank closer into their shell-holes, and no alarm resulted.
Once or twice a machine-gun had a scolding fit, and bullets whispered
overhead. But, on the whole, the night was quiet.

Then suddenly, with a shattering roar, the feint-artillery bombardment
broke forth. Simultaneously word was passed along the raiding line to
stand by. Next moment Angus M'Lachlan and his followers rose to their
feet in the black darkness, scrambled out of their nests, and dashed
forward to the accomplishment of their mission.

When Nigg, who had paused a moment to collect his bombs, sprang out of
his shell-hole, not a colleague was in sight. At least, Nigg could
see no one. However, want of courage was not one of his failings. He
bounded blindly forward by himself.

Try as he would he could not overtake the raiding party. However, this
mattered little, for suddenly a parapet loomed before him. In
this same parapet, low down, Nigg beheld a black and gaping
aperture--plainly a loophole of some kind.

Without a moment's hesitation, Nigg hurled a Mills grenade straight
through the loophole, and then with one wild screech of "Come away,
boys!" took a flying leap over the parapet--and landed in his own
trench, in the arms of Corporal Mucklewame.

As already noted, it is difficult, when lying curled up in a circular
shell-hole in the dark, to maintain a true sense of direction.

So the first-fruits of the raid was Captain Ayling, of the _Emma
Gees_. He had stationed himself in a concrete emplacement in the front
line, the better to "observe" the fire of his guns when it should
be required. Unfortunately this was the destination selected by the
misguided Niggs for his first (and as it proved, last) bomb. The
raiders came safely back in due course, but by that time Ayling,
liberally (but by a miracle not dangerously) ballasted with assorted
scrap-iron, was on his way to the First Aid Post.

II

At the present moment we are right back at rest once more, and are
being treated