across the field. There they stopped, mown down by
rifle and machine gun fire and they lie there still, little bundles of
wasting flesh in the midst of the poppies. When the star-shells went
up I could see a face near me, a young face clean-shaven and very pale
under a wealth of curly hair. It was the face of a mere boy, the eyes
were closed as if the youth were only asleep. It looked as if the
effacing finger of decay had forborne from working its will on the
helpless thing. His hand still gripped the rifle, and the long bayonet
on the standard shone when the light played upon it. It seemed as if
he fell quietly to the ground, dead. Others, I could see, had died a
death of agony; they lay there in distorted postures, some with faces
battered out of recognition, others with their hands full of grass and
clay as if they had torn up the earth in their mad, final frenzy. Not
a nice bed to lie in during a night out on listening patrol.[4]

[Footnote 4: The London Irish charged over this
ground later, and entered Loos on Saturday, 25th
September, 1915.]

The Engineers were now at work just behind us, I could see their dark
forms flitting amongst the posts, straightening the old ones, (p. 255)
driving in fresh supports and pulling the wires taut. They worked as
quietly as possible, but to our ears, tensely strained, the noise of
labour came like the rumble of artillery. The enemy must surely hear
the sound. Doubtless he did, but probably his own working parties were
busy just as ours were. In front when one of our star-shells went
across I fancied that I could see dark forms standing motionless by
the German trench. Perhaps my eyes played me false, the objects might
be tree-trunks trimmed down by shell fire....

The message came out from our trench and the Corporal passed it along
his party. "On the right a party of the --th London are working." This
was to prevent us mistaking them for Germans. All night long
operations are carried on between the lines, if daylight suddenly shot
out about one in the morning what a scene would unfold itself in No
Man's Land; listening patrols marching along, Engineers busy with the
wires, sanitary squads burying the dead and covering parties keeping
watch over all the workers.

"Halt! who goes there?"

The order loud and distinct came from the vicinity of the German (p. 256)
trench, then followed a mumbled reply and afterwar