He had scarcely spoken, when a man came to the a tent and asked for admission; a second later he had entered, bearing a despatch. Colonel Sapsworth read it hastily. "By God!" he muttered under his breath; "but I expected it!" It was a despatch sent from the General of the Division telling him that an attack on his forces would possibly be made that day--that men in the Flying Corps had been able to see the general movements of the enemy, and had brought the news that before long great masses of men would be upon them. A few minutes later everything was in order. The officers had each received his instructions, and were on the _qui vive_. It was only half an hour past daylight, and the dewdrops were still glistening on the grass and shining on the tree-tops. It seemed as if some occult influences were at work, and that the men were conscious of the fact that the atmosphere was laden with tragedy, for instead of laughter and merry jest, a strange silence prevailed. Only one sound broke the great stillness which had fallen on the camp. It was the sound of a body of men singing: "O God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come, Our shelter from the stormy blast, And our eternal home." Bob had heard both hymn and tune a hundred times in St. Ia. He thought, too, from the intonation of the men's voices, that they were Cornish lads who sang. For the moment he forgot where he was, and was oblivious to the fact that he was in the midst of a great armed host, and that tens of thousands of men were all around him, each armed with implements of death. He was in Cornwall again, and he was breathing the Sabbath morning air. He heard the church bells ringing in the distance, while the hymn he heard came from some humble Meeting House where simple people met together for prayer and praise. "A thousand ages in Thy sight Are like an evening----" "Some religious swabs," laughed one. "Boom! boom! Crack, crack, boom!" The hymn was broken off in the middle. The sound of guns was nearer than Bob had ever heard it before. The enemy had evidently decided upon a surprise attack. A horrible screech rent the air, and, looking up, Bob saw an explosion. It was as though a bouquet of fire were falling on them; and then he heard noises such as he had never heard before. It was the groans of the wounded; the cries of men pierced by arrows of fire; the moaning of brave fellows torn and mutilated for life. The British guns answered the fire of the enemy, while all around quick, decisive commands were given.