's pounce, in a surprise attack
which we ought to have anticipated. I happened to be on the way to
Gouzeaucourt early that morning, and, going through the village of Fins,
next to it, I saw men straggling back in some disorder, and gun-teams
wedged in a dense traffic moving in what seemed to me the wrong
direction.

"I don't know what to do," said a young gunner officer. "My battery has
been captured and I can't get into touch with the brigade."

"What has happened?" I asked.

He looked at me in surprise.

"Don't you know? The enemy has broken through."

"Broken through where?"

The gunner officer pointed down the road.

"At the present moment he's in Gouzeaucourt."

I went northward, and saw that places like Hermies and Havrincourt,
which had been peaceful spots for a few days, were under heavy fire.
Bourlon Wood beyond was a fiery furnace. Hell had broken out again and
things looked bad. There was a general packing up of dumps and field
hospitals and heavy batteries. In Gouzeaucourt and other places our
divisional and brigade headquarters were caught napping. Officers
were in their pajamas or in their baths when they heard the snap of
machine-gun bullets. I saw the Guards go forward to Gouzeaucourt for a
counter-attack. They came along munching apples and whistling, as though
on peace maneuvers. Next day, after they had gained back Gouzeaucourt, I
saw many of them wounded, lying under tarpaulins, all dirty and bloody.

The Germans had adopted our own way of attack. They had assembled masses
of troops secretly, moving them forward by night under the cover of
woods, so that our air scouts saw no movement by day. Our line was
weakly held along the front--the 55th Division, thinned out by losses,
was holding a line of thirteen thousand yards, three times as much as
any troops can hold, in safety--and the German storm-troops, after a
short, terrific bombardment, broke through to a distance of five miles.

Our tired men, who had gained the first victory, fought heroic
rear-guard actions back from Masnieres and Marcoing, and back from
Bourlon Wood on the northern side of the salient. They made the enemy
pay a high price in blood for the success of his counter-attack, but we
lost many thousands of brave fellows, and the joy bells which had rung
in London on November 20th became sad and ironical music in the hearts
of our disappointed people.

So ended 1917, our black year; and in the spring of 1918, after all the