company, and each
platoon, had its little scene of operations, and we knew nothing of who
might be a few hundred yards from us. As an infantry officer, I was,
during the advance, for the most time in the trenches. Then, after the
artillery had done its work, we leapt the parapets, and made our way
across the open, oft-times through a hailstorm of bullets, while
shrieking shells fell and exploded at our feet. Now we were held up by
barbed wire, which here and there had not been swept away by our
artillery, or again we stumbled into shell holes, where we lay panting
and bruised. But these are only small incidents in the advance.

I think it was toward the end of July when a section of my battalion
lay in the trenches not far from Montauban. We had been there, I
remember, a considerable time; how long, I can scarcely tell, for hours
and sometimes days passed without definite note being taken. Above our
heads aircraft sped through the heavens, mostly our own, but now and
then Germans! We saw little puffs of cloud forming themselves around
them, as shells exploded in the skies. Now and then one of the
machines would be hit, and I saw them swerve, as I have seen birds
swerve before they fall, at a shooting party. Behind us our guns were
booming, while a few hundred yards away in front of us, the German
trenches were being levelled. It was a fascinating, yet horrible
sight. More than once I saw machine-gun emplacements, with the
gunners, struck by the projectiles from our great howitzers, and hurled
many feet high.

Not that we had it all our own way, although our artillery was superior
to that of the enemy. If we had located their positions, so had they
located ours, and their shells fell thick and fast along our lines,
decimating our ranks.

How long we had waited, I don't know. We knew by the artillery
preparations that the command for advance must soon come, and we
crouched there, some quivering with excitement, others cracking jokes
and telling stories, and most of the men smoking cigarettes, until the
word of command should pass down the line. We knew what it meant. It
was true our barrage would make it comparatively safe; but we knew,
too, that many of the lads who were joking with each other, and telling
stories of what they did in pre-war days, would never see England
again, while many more, if they went back, would go back mutilated and
maimed for life. Still, it was all in the day's work. The Bo