verywhere except, by extraordinary bad luck, upon it.

VIII

NOVEMBER 30th-DECEMBER 1st, 1917

GERMAN ONSLAUGHT

4.30 a.m., Friday, November 30th.--Quiet, comparative quiet everywhere.
Gas shells came over with an ever increasing frequency, but men slept on
without masks. A shell, heavy, unmistakably from a huge howitzer,
crashed with a mighty uproar into a small house and demolished it at a
stroke. Then another, and another, and still another ... phew, what was
he "searching" for? From the doorway of Brigade Headquarters I looked
into the night and listened to the whistle of shells passing overhead
from eastward into our lines. Our own artillery was silent. No sound
came from our near infantry lines, not the crack of a rifle, not the
splutter of a machine-gun.

Again the dull drone of the heavy stuff--the practised ear could gauge
its fall, and I retreated a few yards into the passage. The courtyard
outside caught it, and the entire chateau trembled violently at the
concussion. But why, why these big guns? Another landed in the yard,
followed by an unearthly tinkle of falling glass. Someone ran in from
the gateway with a headlong rush, gained the passage and paused.

"Phew," excitedly, "what the devil is Fritz up to? Heaviest shells on
this front."

"Yes. Might be coming over."

"Hardly."

"Why these heavies?"

"Dunno. He's shelling along the whole line--good God," in a shout, "look
at that chap there ... it, oh, my God, it's got him ... did you, did
you, see THAT?" A heavy had whined into the yard just as a runner
essayed a blind rush. Nothing was left. Nausea, a slight dizziness
enveloped us.

"What," he asked hoarsely, "what is this place?"

"86th Brigade."

"I want the Guernseys."

"In the Catacombs. The road up on the right." He walked out on to the
steps, stared intently into the night--in a flash we both sensed Death.
He ran down the flight:

"Good-night." He was a death casualty that night, and we HAD BOTH KNOWN
IT.

Presentiment of looming danger was pregnant, became accentuated with the
increase of heavy shelling falling from three angles: from directly
overhead, from the right rear flank and left rear.

It all culminated before dawn into a barrage on our lines, shells
raining in on every acre by the dozens. From the top of the chateau (it
was built on a hill) with the coming of day, wave upon wave of
grey-coated infantry could be discerned through the glasses. It was
impossib