“Nine inch, h. e.,” replied the expert. This was gratifying. It was the first time that I had been that near to a nine-inch shell explosion. Its “eat-’em-alive” frightfulness was depressing. But the experience was worth having. One wants all the experiences there are--but only “close.” A delightful word that word close, at the front! But the Germans were generous that afternoon. Another big scream seemed aimed at my own head. L---- disagreed with me; he said that it was aimed at his. We did not argue the matter to the point of a personal quarrel, for it might have got both our heads. It burst back of the trench about as far away as the other shell. After all, a trench is a pretty narrow ribbon, even on a gunner’s large scale map, to hit. It is wonderful how, firing at such long ranges, he is able to hit the trench at all. This was all of the nine-inch style, for the time being. We got some fours and fives in our neighbourhood, as we walked along. Three bursting as near together as the ticks of a clock, made almost no smoke as they brought some tree-limbs down and tore away a section of a trunk. Then the thunder storm moved on to another part of the line. Only, unlike the thunder storms of nature, this, which is man-made and controlled as a fireman controls the nozzle of his hose, may sweep back again and yet again over its path. All depends upon the decision of a German artillery officer, just as whether or not a flower bed shall get another sprinkle depends upon the will of the gardener. We were glad to turn out of the support trench into a communication trench leading toward the front trench; into another gallery cut deep in the fields, with scattered shell-pits on either side. Still more soldiers, leaning against the walls or seated with their legs stretched out across the bottom of the ditch; more waiting soldiers, only strung out in a line and as used to the passing of shells as people living along the elevated railroad line to the passing of trains. They did not look up at the screams boring the air any more than one who lives under the trains looks up every time that one passes. Theirs was the passivity of a queue waiting in line before the entrance to a theatre or a ball-ground. A senator or a lawyer, used to coolness in debate, or to presiding over great meetings, or to facing crowds, who happened to visit the trenches could have got reassurance from the faces of any one of these private soldiers, who had been trained not to worry about death till death came. Harrowing every one of these screams, taken by itself. Instinctively, unnecessarily, you dodged at those which were low-- unnecessarily because they were from British guns. No danger from them unless there was a short fuse. To the soldiers, the low screams brought the delight of having blows struck from their side at the enemy, whom they themselves could not strike from their reserve position.