The scudding clouds masked the moon for a moment, and everything faded from view, or rather, as in a kaleidoscope, the ever-changing shadows changed the forms of the ruins. Sudden beams of light rested for a moment like furtive phantoms on the stonework, to disappear a second later. On the edge of the horizon star shell were being thrown up, pitting the night with a white or green fixed star, or appearing as a diamond spray held by some invisible hand, to sparkle a moment and then vanish. The silence was cut by the regular cadence of the march of the various companies towards the neighbouring sectors. They debouched from every cross-road. There were French, Belgians and English, the latter whistling in chorus, “It’s a long long way to Tipperary,” and keeping step to it. As soon as they saw us by common accord they started the _Marseillaise_—a charming courtesy—and strange and rapid dialogues were exchanged between the “poilus” and the “Tommies” in a language so untranslatable, so indescribable, that most of the men burst out laughing at hearing themselves speak. Then some guns crossed the _place_ at the trot making a deafening noise. Every unit had its destination, its appointed place and perfect order prevailed. Those back from the trenches are glad at the prospect of rest; those going there are light-hearted also, and so the active ant-heap swarms with busy people. From time to time shell would fall in the town, crumbling still further the marvellous Cloth Hall or causing irreparable damage to the humble house of some inoffensive civilian. It was stupid and useless. From Zonnebeck onwards the ground was swept by rifle fire, and we had to cross a horseshoe sector exposed to fire from all sides. It was impossible to find cover, and the relief was extremely difficult and dangerous. Then it was that I made acquaintance with the new and the unknown. New trenches, new customs. We groped our way through a little pine wood. Every now and then a bullet struck the trunk of a tree with such a loud and sharp sound that the drum of one’s ear was all but torn. Insensibly the company advanced along the cutting which got deeper and deeper under ground. Soon one was in up to the shoulders, and the deeper the communication trench got the deeper we got into mud and water. I pretended to myself that we were figures in some “attraction” at Luna Park or the Magic City. We were in a labyrinth which turned to the right and left, doubled back on itself and got deeper and more difficult at each step, while “the bees” passed whistling over our heads.