gallant company upon their right had been battered almost out of
existence.

"We can do no more good by staying here any longer," said the Major.
"We have done our little bit. I think it is a case of 'Home, John!'
Tell off a party to bring in the C.O., Sergeant-Major."

Then he passed the order.

"Highlanders, retire to the trenches behind, by Companies, beginning
from the right."

"Whatever we may think of the Bosche as a gentleman," mused that
indomitable philosopher, Captain Wagstaffe, as he doubled stolidly
rearward behind his Company, "there is no denying his bravery as a
soldier or his skill in co-ordinating an attack. It's positively
uncanny, the way his artillery supports his infantry. (Hallo, that was
a near one!) This enfilade fire from the Fosse is most unpleasant. (I
fancy that one went through my kilt.) Steady there, on the left:
don't bunch, whatever you do! Thank heaven, there's the next line of
trenches, fully manned. And thank God, there's that boy Bobby tumbling
in unhurt!"

V

So ended our share in the Big Push. It was a very small episode,
spread over quite a short period, in one of the biggest and longest
battles in the history of the world. It would have been easy to select
a more showy episode, but hard to find a better illustration of the
character of the men who took part in it. The battle which began upon
that grey September morning has been raging, as I write, for nearly
three weeks. It still surges backwards and forwards over the same
stricken mile of ground; and the end is not yet. But the Hun is being
steadily beaten to earth. (Only yesterday, in one brief furious
counter-attack, he lost eight thousand killed.) When the final advance
comes, as come it must, and our victorious line sweeps forward, it
will pass over two narrow, ill-constructed, shell-torn trenches.
In and around those trenches will be found the earthly remains of
men--Jocks and Jimmies, and Sandies and Andies--clad in the uniform
of almost every Scottish regiment. That assemblage of mute, glorious
witnesses marks the point reached, during the first few hours of the
first day's fighting, by the Scottish Division of "K(1)." _Molliter
ossa cubent_.

There is little more to add to the record of those three days. For yet
another night we carried on--repelling counter-attacks, securing
the Hohenzollern, making sorties out of Big Willie, or manning the
original front line parapet against eventualities. As is inevitable i