"When are you going to 'blow' ----?"

"I am not sure of the date, but 'd.i.n.kie' is going to 'p.o.o.p' in a few days. He's got two tons under Bosche. It will be a ---- fine show; right under his trenches. Ought to snip a hundred or so."

"Well," said another, "I was down in C shaft, and could hear Bosche working very hard, as if he had got all the world to himself."

At that moment a tunnelling-sergeant came in, and reported that the Bosche was much nearer. The listener could distinctly hear talking through the 'phone.

An officer immediately got up and went out with the sergeant, one of the speakers meanwhile suggesting that Brother Bosche was certainly going to visit realms of higher kultur than he had hitherto known.

Then came a close scrutinising of maps, showing shafts in the making and mines ready for "blowing"; of sharp orders to the tunnelling-sergeants and fatigue parties to bring charges from the magazine. The whole thing was fascinating in the extreme. A new branch of His Majesty's Service, and one of the most dangerous. To be on duty in a listening-post thirty feet underground--in a narrow tunnel, scarcely daring to breathe, listening to German miners making a counter-mine, and gradually picking their way nearer and nearer, until at last you can hear their conversation--would try the nerves of the strongest of men.

I went out, and made my way towards the well-known Quarries. Noting several interesting scenes of our Scottish battalions at work, I filmed them. A most pathetic touch was added to the scene, for a neat little graveyard occupied the right-hand corner, and about one hundred small crosses were there.

I was not allowed to remain very long. The Bosche sent over several aerial torpedoes, which exploded with terrific force and split up the ground as if a 12-inch H.E. sh.e.l.l had been at work. Naturally every one rushed to obtain as much cover as possible. I crossed to the other side of the Quarry, and entered a small tunnel, which led into a winding maze of narrow communication trenches.

[Ill.u.s.tration: IN THE MAIN STREET OF CONTALMAISON THE DAY OF ITS CAPTURE]

[Ill.u.s.tration: LAUNCHING A SMOKE BARRAGE AT THE BATTLE OF ST. ELOI]

"Be careful, sir," called a sentry. "Bosche is only thirty yards away, and they are plugging this corner pretty thoroughly; they're fairly whizzing through the sandbags, as if they warn't there, sir. They caught my Captain this morning, clean through the head. I was a-talking to him, sir, at the time; the finest gentleman that ever lived; and the swine killed him. I'll get six of them for him, sir." The look in his eyes and the tone of his voice told me he was in earnest. I pa.s.sed on, keeping as low as possible.

The crater, when I reached it, proved to be one of an enormous size. It must have been quite 150 feet across. The place had been converted into a miniature fort. I noticed how spongy the ground was. When walking it seemed as if one was treading upon rubber. I casually enquired of an officer the cause of it. "Dead bodies," said he; "the ground here is literally choked with them; we dare not touch it with a spade; the condition is awful. There are thousands of them for yards down, and when a sh.e.l.l tears away any section of our parapets the sight is too ghastly for words."

At that moment a man yelled out "cover," and, looking up, I saw several Bosche rifle grenades falling. Shouting to my orderly to take cover with the camera, he disappeared into what I thought was a dug-out but which I afterwards discovered was an incline shaft to a mine. He made a running dive, and slid down about four yards before he pulled himself up.

Luckily he went first, the camera b.u.t.ting up against him. He told us afterwards he thought he was really going to the lower regions.

I dived under a sandbag emplacement, when the grenades went off with a splitting crash, and after allowing a few seconds for the pieces to drop, looked out. A tragic sight met my gaze. The officer with whom I had been speaking a few moments before had, unfortunately, been too late in taking cover. One of the grenades had struck him on the head, and killed him on the spot. Within a few moments some Red Cross men reverently covered the body with a mackintosh sheet and bore it away.

One more cross would be added to the little graveyard in the Quarry.

Shortly after I met an officer of the Mining Section. He was just going down into the gallery to listen to Bosche working a counter-mine. Did I care to accompany him? "Don't speak above a whisper," he said.

He disappeared through a hole about three feet square. I followed, clinging to the muddy sides like a limpet, half sliding, half crawling, in the impenetrable darkness. We went on, seemingly for a great distance; in reality it was only about fifteen yards. Then we came to a level gallery, and in the distance, by the aid of a glow-lamp, I could see my companion crouching down, with a warning finger upon his lips to a.s.sure silence. The other side of him was a man of the tunnelling section, who had been at his post listening. The silence was uncanny after the din outside. In a few moments I heard a queer, m.u.f.fled tap--tap--tap, coming through the earth on the left. I crept closer to my companion, and with my mouth close to his ear enquired whether that was the Bosche working.

"Yes," he said, "but listen with this," giving me an instrument very similar to a doctor's stethoscope.

I put it to my ear and rested the other end upon a ledge of mud. The effect was like some one speaking through a telephone. I could distinctly hear the impact of the pickaxe wielded by the Bosche upon the clay and chalk, and the falling of the debris.

I turned to him with a smile. "Brother Bosche will shortly have a rise in life?"

"Yes," said he, "I think we shall 'blow' first. It's going to be a race, though."

Final orders were given to the man in charge, then we crawled up again into the din of the crashing sh.e.l.ls. I was more at home in these conditions. Down below the silence was too uncanny for me. When I reached our dug-out once more a message was waiting for me to return to H.Q., as important things were in prospect the following morning.

The message was urgent. Mines were to be blown at an early hour. I therefore decided that the best thing to do was to go into the trenches and stay the night, and so be prepared for anything that might happen.

Little did I dream what the next forty-eight hours were going to bring.

It's a good thing sometimes we don't know what the future has in store for us. The stoutest heart might fail under the conditions created by the abnormal atmosphere of a modern battlefield.

I prepared to depart at 8 p.m., and bidding adieu to my friends, I started off in the car. The guns were crashing out continuously. Several times I pulled the car up to shelter under some ruins. Then for a few minutes there was a lull, and directing my chauffeur to go ahead at top speed we reached our destination safely. I had barely entered this scene of desolation when Bosche sh.e.l.ls came hurtling overhead and fell with a deafening explosion a short distance away. Here I had my first taste of gas from the German weeping sh.e.l.ls. The air was suddenly saturated with an extraordinarily sweet smell. For the first few moments I quite enjoyed it. Then my eyes began to water freely, and pain badly.

Realising at once that I was being "ga.s.sed," I bade the driver rush through the village, and as far beyond as possible.

His eyes, poor fellow, were in the same state. The car rolled and pitched its way through, smashing into sh.e.l.l-holes, bounding over fallen masonry, sc.r.a.ping by within a hair's-breadth of a recently smashed lorry. On and on, like a drunken thing. Still the air was thick with the foul gas. My eyes were burning; at last it was quite impossible to keep them open. But I had to get through, and so with a final effort looked ahead, and to my great relief found we were beyond the village, and the air smelt cleaner. I told the driver to pull up, and with a final roll the car landed its front wheels into a ditch.

For two hours afterwards I was to all intents and purposes blind. My eyes were burning, aching and weeping. The pain at last subsided, and collecting the apparatus we trudged off along the communication trench to the front line. Threading our way through seemed much more difficult than previously. The sides of the trenches had been blown in by sh.e.l.ls a few minutes before, and this necessitated climbing over innumerable mounds of rubble; but working parties were quickly on the scene clearing a way through. At last I reached the dug-out previously referred to, and believe me, I was very thankful. The officer there seemed rather surprised to see me.

"Hullo!" he said. "What news? Anything doing?"

"Yes," I replied. "H.Q. says they are 'blowing' in the early morning, so I decided to come along to-night and fix up a good position for the camera, not desiring to attract the too earnest attentions of a Bosche sniper."

"Whose mine are they blowing?" said he. "I suppose I shall hear any moment." Just then a message came through on the 'phone. He picked up the receiver and listened intently. An earnest conversation was taking place. I could gather from the remarks that H.Q. was speaking. In a few minutes he replaced the receiver, and turning to me, said: "D shaft is going to blow; time, 7.15 a.m."

Soon after I turned in. Rolling myself in a blanket, I lay down on a trestle-bed in the corner, and in doing so disturbed a couple of rats, almost as large as rabbits, which had taken up their temporary quarters there. Apparently there were plenty of them, for several times I felt the brutes drop on my blanket from holes and crannies in the chalk.

Needless to say, I could not sleep a wink, tired out as I was, and as I lay there, twenty feet underground, I could hear the rumble and roar of the sh.e.l.ls crashing their way through our parapets, tearing, killing and maiming our brave lads, who throughout all these horrors held this section of our line like a wall of steel.

I had been lying there for about half an hour. Then I got up and climbed out of the incline into the open trench. I worked my way towards the firing trench; bullets from Bosche machine-guns and snipers were flattening themselves against the parapet. Several times I had to squeeze myself close to the muddy sides to allow stretcher-bearers to pa.s.s with their grim burdens; some for the corner of the Quarry, some for good old "Blighty."

I stayed for a while alongside a sentry.

"Any news?" I asked.

"No, sir," said he, "but I feel as if something is going to happen."

"Come," said I, with a laugh, "this is not the time for dreaming."

"No, sir, I'm not dreaming, but I feel something--something that I can't explain."

"Well, cheer up," I said. "Good night."

"Good night, sir!"

And as I wended my way along I could hear him softly whistling to himself the refrain of an old song.

At last I came upon the section opposite which our mine was going up in the morning, and cautiously looking over the parapet I surveyed the ground in front. There were several sandbags that required shifting. If they remained it would be necessary to place the camera higher above the top than was safe or wise. Carefully pulling myself up, I lay along the top of the parapet and pushed them aside. Several star-sh.e.l.ls were fired whilst I was so engaged, and I dare not stir--I scarcely dared breathe--for fear the slightest movement would draw a stream of bullets in my direction.

Undoubtedly this was the only place from which to film the mine successfully. So marking the spot I slid down into the trench again, and retraced my steps to the dug-out. I found the officer I had previously seen enjoying a lovely, steaming tin of tea, and it wasn't many minutes before I was keeping him company. We sat chatting and smoking for a considerable time.

"Is everything ready?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "There is over three thousand pounds of it there"

(mentioning an explosive). "Brother Bosche will enjoy it."

"Let me see your map," I said, "and I'll point out the spot where I'm working. It's about eighty yards away from Bosche. If we work out the exact degree by the map of the 'blow,' I can obtain the right direction by prismatic compa.s.s, and a few minutes before 'time' lift the camera up and cover the spot direct. It'll save exposing myself unnecessarily above the parapet to obtain the right point of view." The point of view was accordingly settled. It was 124 from the spot chosen for the "blow."

We had been so busy over our maps that we had not noticed how quiet everything had become. Hardly a gun sounded; the silence was uncanny.

Save for the scurrying of the rats and the drip--drip--drip of water, the silence was like that of the grave.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Bosche is up to no good when he drops silent so soon," he said. The words of the sentry recurred to me. "I've a feeling, sir, that I cannot describe." I was beginning to feel the same.