ur men coming back, until it was
noticed that they were unarmed, and held their hands up. They were a
party of the enemy who had surrendered, and for the next quarter of an
hour we watched them being marched slowly down the hill-side opposite.

Our advance here seemed to be held up by some cause we could not see.
German 5.9 shell were falling just on our side of Fricourt village, and
in a line from there up the valley behind our attack. It was not a
really heavy barrage--big black shell-bursts at intervals on the ground,
helped by fairly constant white puffs of shrapnel in the air above them.
Just then our attention was attracted in quite another direction: La
Boiselle.

It had been fairly obvious for some time that La Boiselle was about to
be attacked. While the rest of the landscape before us was only treated
to an occasional shell-burst, heavy explosions had been taking place in
this clump of ruins. Huge roan-coloured bouquets of brickdust and ashes
leaped from time to time into the air and slowly dissolved into a tawny
mist which floated slowly beyond the scarred edge of the hill. It must
have been a big howitzer shell, or perhaps a very large trench mortar
bomb, which was making them. Gradually most of our artillery in the
background to the left of us seemed to be converging upon this village.
Suddenly, at a little before 4 p.m., there lashed on to the place the
shrapnel from three or four batteries of British field guns. They seemed
to be fired as fast as they could be served. Shell after shell laid whip
strokes across the dry earth as swiftly as a man could ply a lash. One
knew perfectly well that our infantry must now be advancing for the
attack, and that this hailstorm was to make the garrison, if any were
left, keep its heads down. But the shoulder of the hill prevented us
from seeing where the infantry was going to issue.

In the turmoil which covered that corner we scarcely noticed that the
nature of the shelling had suddenly changed. Our shell-bursts had gone
much farther up the hill--one realised that; and heavy black clouds were
spurting into the air below Boiselle, just behind the hill's shoulder.
The _crash, crash, crash, crash_ of four heavy shells, one following
another almost as quickly as you would read the words, focused all
one's attention on that point. The fire on it was growing. The Germans
were shooting down a valley, almost a funnel, invisible to us. But we
could see that the fire was incre