In spite of long-range guns of great power and high-velocity telescopic rifles, we fight in trenches close together, and we have got back to grenadier days. Hand-grenades, rifle-grenades, and trench-mortar bombs as big as howitzer-shells are tossed over to the enemy lines at the same murderous distances as those at which Wellington's and Napoleon's veterans fired at each other in Peninsula days. The raid is the last illustration of our backsliding in an age of science to the primaeval fighting instinct, unrelieved by the chivalry of a knightly age. You may be sure there are no banners flying or trumpets blowing, no heraldic challenge to warn the Hun that he is to be raided. It is a form of frightfulness calculated to jar the nerves of the most militant disciple of the gospel of blood and iron. We were warned that our battalion, in common with others, would be expected to raid the enemy's lines in its turn, and volunteers were immediately called for. There was no lack of response. Then the men had to go through a long and careful training, as those do who are out to win a county football cup. In the rear of the sector they dug trenches which were a replica of those to be raided. They did this from photographs provided by our indomitable airmen. On this ground the men were trained physically, and in the use of the special arms they were to carry. Relay races to give them speed, crawling attacks at night to make them wary and acquaint them with the 'lie of the land'; and added to this, bayonet-fighting, revolver-practice, and all this again and again, and in all sorts of light or darkness, until at last they were smitten with a desire to 'get it through,' and a confidence that they could 'put it through.' So much so, that two of their number who became due for leave declined it, as they thought it was 'up to them' to be in the raid after training for it. At last the great day arrived. No one knew until almost the last moment. When the raiders came up in two London motor-buses singing 'Australia will be There,' we did not know them at first. They were a disgrace to the battalion as far as clothing went, for they were clad in ragged and dirty clothes from which all marks of identification were absent. Short as the notice was, we had organized a 'banquet' for them, and even got a huge three-decker bride-cake from a neighbouring village. We had a solid meal of three courses, and you may be sure it was none the less hearty because of the absence of intoxicants. Every one was cheerful, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness and grim determination. The chaplain had to propose a toast, and after he had wished them 'Good luck' and 'God bless you,' the men came up with apparent casualness to say a word or two of intimate confidence not to be divulged in this sketch.