n act of
unparalleled daring. What is it to be? The question was eagerly put.
But those in the secret would not say more than the remark that the
nature of it no one would ever guess even if he were to sit down and
give all his life to it, and work overtime as well.

At half past six o'clock in the morning the signal came from Major
Beresford--a shrill note of the whistle and the cry, "Irish up and
over." Gas had been turned on some little time before to help in
clearing the ground for the advance, and as the wind was slightly
favourable it drifted, a mass of dark vapour, towards the German
trenches. But as there was a danger that the cloud might be overtaken,
if the charge were successful and rapid, most of the men put on their
gas helmets, and fearful and wonderful monsters they looked as, in
obedience to the company officers' order, "Over you go, lads," they
mounted the parapets. Over they went by platoons, with half a minute's
interval between each, and though the enemy immediately opened fire
they formed up in four splendid lines, with bayonets fixed and rifles
at the slope before they charged.

Then it was that the grand secret was disclosed, a thing almost
incredible and unthinkable, indeed. A football was dropped by members
of the London Irish Rugby Club in the ranks, and as they charged they
kicked it before them across a plain as flat, grassy, and bare of
cover as the Fifteen Acres in the Phoenix Park, or the upper stretch
of Wimbledon Common. A game of football on the border line between
life and death! What a fantastic conception! No wonder that the French
troops who were watching the advance were astounded by the spectacle.
"It is magnificent, but it is not war!" Possibly the French at Loos
had the same thought that the French at Balaclava had when they saw
the charge of the Light Brigade. But, wait a while. Despite the
apparent oddity and inconsequence of the incident, we shall see that
behind it there was a grim and dread purpose well befitting the
occasion.

On the Rugby playing fields the rush and dash of the Irish are famous.
Who that was there will ever forget the glorious international match
that was played at Twickenham between England and Ireland the year
before the war, with the King and Prime Minister among the tens of
thousands of fascinated spectators of the finest game that ever was
seen? Several of the grand young fellows who superbly contended for
the mastery of the ball on that great da