I had been lying there for about half an hour. Then I got up and climbed out of the incline into the open trench. I worked my way towards the firing trench; bullets from Bosche machine-guns and snipers were flattening themselves against the parapet. Several times I had to squeeze myself close to the muddy sides to allow stretcher-bearers to pass with their grim burdens; some for the corner of the Quarry, some for good old "Blighty." I stayed for a while alongside a sentry. "Any news?" I asked. "No, sir," said he, "but I feel as if something is going to happen." "Come," said I, with a laugh, "this is not the time for dreaming." "No, sir, I'm not dreaming, but I feel something--something that I can't explain." "Well, cheer up," I said. "Good night." "Good night, sir!" And as I wended my way along I could hear him softly whistling to himself the refrain of an old song. At last I came upon the section opposite which our mine was going up in the morning, and cautiously looking over the parapet I surveyed the ground in front. There were several sandbags that required shifting. If they remained it would be necessary to place the camera higher above the top than was safe or wise. Carefully pulling myself up, I lay along the top of the parapet and pushed them aside. Several star-shells were fired whilst I was so engaged, and I dare not stir--I scarcely dared breathe--for fear the slightest movement would draw a stream of bullets in my direction. Undoubtedly this was the only place from which to film the mine successfully. So marking the spot I slid down into the trench again, and retraced my steps to the dug-out. I found the officer I had previously seen enjoying a lovely, steaming tin of tea, and it wasn't many minutes before I was keeping him company. We sat chatting and smoking for a considerable time. "Is everything ready?" I asked. "Yes," he said. "There is over three thousand pounds of it there" (mentioning an explosive). "Brother Bosche will enjoy it." "Let me see your map," I said, "and I'll point out the spot where I'm working. It's about eighty yards away from Bosche. If we work out the exact degree by the map of the 'blow,' I can obtain the right direction by prismatic compass, and a few minutes before 'time' lift the camera up and cover the spot direct. It'll save exposing myself unnecessarily above the parapet to obtain the right point of view." The point of view was accordingly settled. It was 124° from the spot chosen for the "blow." We had been so busy over our maps that we had not noticed how quiet everything had become. Hardly a gun sounded; the silence was uncanny. Save for the scurrying of the rats and the drip--drip--drip of water, the silence was like that of the grave. "What's wrong?" I asked. "Bosche is up to no good when he drops silent so soon," he said. The words of the sentry recurred to me. "I've a feeling, sir, that I cannot describe." I was beginning to feel the same.