I did
not wait for his question but assured him that I could see the German
battery quite plainly. I hope the recording angel will take into
account the extenuating circumstances of that lie.

We had a "spring gun" or "catapult" that came very near preventing this
book ever being written. On one occasion we placed a bomb in the cup,
but instead of taking the spring and lever out, which was the correct
way, we tried a new experiment of holding the lever down with two nails
which would release the spring as soon as it was let off.
Unfortunately, the bomb rolled off at our feet, and we had four seconds
to get to a safe distance. Some of us got bad bruises on our foreheads
as we dived for an open dugout as though we ourselves had been thrown
from a catapult. On another occasion we used Mills grenades with a
grooved base plug. To our alarm, the first one exploded with a
beautiful shrapnel effect just above our heads. I am sure a piece
passed through my hair but I could not wear a gold braid for a wound
because, not even with a candle, could the doctor find a mark.

Our tunnellers were always mining and we would see them by day and
night disappearing into mysterious holes in the ground, and it was only
when Messines Ridge disappeared in fine dust that we understood that
their groping in underground passages was not in vain. They would
sometimes tell us exciting tales of fights in the dark with picks
against enemy miners; and now and again we would be roused by
explosions when one side blew in on the other and formed a new crater
in No Man's Land. With their instruments our miners discovered that
the head of one of the enemy galleries was under the headquarters
dugout of the English regiment on our right. I went along to inform
them. With excitement in my voice I said to the officer in charge: "Do
you know that there is a mine under here?" "Bai Jove, how jolly
interesting! Come and have a drink." I said: "Not in here, thank
you." "Why? It won't go off to-day," he said. "Anyway, we are being
relieved to-morrow, so it won't worry us, but we'll be sure and leave
word for the other blighters."

There was a dugout in our own sector in which were heard mysterious
tappings, but though we had an experienced miner sleep in it he
reported that the sounds were not those of mining operations. Maybe it
was the rats, but we gave that dugout a wide berth, as some one
suggested that it was haunted, and even in the trenches