On reaching our Ali-Baba cave, we learn that a 210 shell fell this afternoon in front of the grotto on a spot which for months we have regarded as absolutely sheltered. Sergeant Martin has been hurled into the air and the cooks flung _pêle-mêle_ on to the ground. Even in the galleries the men have been lifted off their feet by an irresistible shock. It is discovered that no one has received any real harm except Sergeant Martin, whose left leg has been cut off close to the pelvis. Debris of red cloth and of flesh are still strewn around the enormous hollow dug by the projectile. _Saturday, 9th January._ After a delightful and dry night spent in the grotto, we are sent to clean out the branch trenches. Jacquard remains in the grotto busily occupied in arranging in a box our store of chocolate tablets. Outside, the dance continues: 75's, 77's, 90's, 105's, 155's, and 210's plough their way through the air. With hands crossed on the shovel handle, and one foot on the iron, we watch these latter shells fall around the Montagne farm, and upon Le Moncel and Sainte-Marguerite: first a black cloud, then a red star-like flash and finally a thunderous explosion. The enemy is trying to find our batteries. From time to time four shots from a 75 follow one another in rapid succession as though to say: "Don't concern yourself." The spectacle is so fascinating that we do not feel at all inclined to work. Violent fusillade from the direction of Crouy. Towards evening the rain stops a little; so does the firing. The company is again installed in the first line. Verrier, Reymond, Maxence and myself are appointed to occupy in turn two loop-holes and a dug-out. This latter is not an attractive place: a cavity of three cubic yards dug in the side of the trench. There is scarcely room to move one's body, and a few inside repairs are quite indispensable. No sooner have we arrived than the corporal in charge declares-- "There are four of you for this post. Arrange amongst yourselves as regards the hours, but I want always to see two of you at the loop-holes." "All right." Two of us then mount guard; a simple matter in the daytime. It consists in walking about the trench, smoking one's pipe. An occasional glance opposite to see that nothing stirs. Those left in the dug-out are busily occupied. First, there is the cleaning to be done. Our predecessors have left bones and pieces of waste paper lying about, and the sight is sickening. "_Ah, là là!_ Could they not have removed their own filth themselves?" Then three tent canvases are opened out upon one another in front of the entrance to the dug-out. This is a delicate operation: no space or chink must be left between this improvised doorway and the walls of earth; first, in order to stop the draughts--it is extraordinary how one fears draughts in the trenches!--and then to keep out any light calculated to make our presence known to the Germans.