He was right: there probably would be a great deal of "fun." The Battery was not more than fifty yards from the road on the left, while on the right there was a drop, at an angle of at least sixty degrees, of twenty yards. He imagined the frightened horses careering madly down the slope, the carts and wagons bumping and crashing down upon them--the kicking, struggling heap below! Then, just as it was growing dark, they reached the edge of the plateau, and the huge rolling valley of the Aisne swam before them in the purple twilight. The further heights were already wrapt up in darkness; and the ground, glowing green at their feet, merged in the distance to rich velvet patches of purple and brown. The river itself was hidden by the trees clustering round its banks, but they could guess its course, winding away for a score or so of miles to the east. "What a beautiful scene," he said reverently. The Senior Subaltern may, or may not, have appreciated the beauty of the scene. His eye was on the further heights. "This is where they will try to stand," he said. And, as usual, he was right. They looked across to where the dark heights opposite were thrown out clearly against the pale sky, faintly yellow with the reflected glory of the sunset at their backs. Lights momentarily twinkled, now here, now there, intermittently along the whole line, as far as they could see. It was just as if matches were being struck, and instantly blown out again. But all the time the low, booming noise floated across to them. It was the German heavy artillery, slinging over heavier projectiles than, so far, it had been their bad fortune to meet. Just as they were entering a little village, nestling half-way down the slope, a tremendous explosion happened. There was a thunder-clap of noise, and a perfect cloud of earth and stones and wood was thrown high into the air. It was their introduction to the famous "Jack Johnson." But, "Jack Johnson" or no "Jack Johnson," they marched on into the village, and were allotted billets for the night. The men of the Company were very comfortably accommodated in a barn half filled with dry hay, which, of course, is a great deal more pleasant to sleep upon than straw. The Officers went into a little cottage by the barn, and, having intimated to the owner of it that they were willing to buy anything she could sell them to eat or drink, flung off their equipment and went out into the little farmyard. The air was rosy with the sunset light; even the rising dust was golden. The sky overhead was the palest of dusky whites. It was not a sky: it was just Eternity. Out of it, infinitely far, yet comparatively close, a few stars were beginning to wink.