e shock. The shelling of the
morning had practically blown it all down. But there was sufficient for
a clearance all around for my purpose, and sufficient shelter against
stray bits of shrapnel. I prepared to put up my camera. Not quite
satisfied, I left it about thirty yards away, to view the situation
quickly, as there were only twenty minutes to go. Hardly had I left the
machine than a "whizz-bang" fell and struck the parapet immediately
above the ladder, tumbling the whole lot of sandbags down like a pack of
cards.

It was a lucky escape for me. The position was absolutely no use now,
and I had to choose another. Time was short. I hastily fixed my camera
on the side of the small bank, this side of our firing trench, with my
lens pointing towards the Hawthorn Redoubt, where the mine--the largest
"blown" on the British Front--was going up. It was loaded with twenty
tons of a new explosive of tremendous destructive power, and it had
taken seven months to build.

Gee, what an awakening for Bosche!

My camera was now set ready to start exposing. I looked along the
trench. The men were ready and waiting the great moment.

One little group was discussing the prospects of a race across "No Man's
Land."

"Bet you, Jim, I'll get there first."

"Right-o! How much?"

"A day's pay," was the reply.

"Take me on, too, will you?" said another hero.

"Yes. Same terms, eh? Good enough."

"Say Bill," he called to his pal, "pay up from my cash if I 'go West.'"

"Shut up, fathead; we have to kill Huns, 'strafe' them."

I turned away to speak to an officer as to the prospects.

"Very good," he said. "I hope they don't plaster our trenches before all
the men get out. They are as keen as mustard. Never known them so
bright. Look at them now; all smoking."

Our guns were still pounding heavily, and the din and concussion was
awful. To hear oneself speak it was absolutely necessary to shout.

"You are in a pretty rocky position," some one said to me. "Fritz will
be sure to plaster this front pretty well as soon as our men 'get
over.'"

"Can't help it," I said; "my machine must have a clear view. I must take
the risk. How's the time going?"

"It's 'seven-ten' now," he said.

"I am going to stand by. Cheero; best of luck!" I left him, and stood by
my machine. The minutes dragged on. Still the guns crashed out. The
German fire had died down a bit during the last half-hour. I glanced
down our trenches. The officers were g