"He's down below, sir." The man drew to one side, and the Sapper passed up a narrow deep trench and went "down below" to the trench-mortar emplacement, a cave hewn out of the ground much on the principle of an ordinary dug-out. But there were certain great differences; for half the roof had been removed, and through the hole thus formed streamed in the early morning sun. A screen of rabbit wire covered with bits of grass, lying horizontally over the open hole when the gun was not firing, helped to conceal it from the prying eyes of Hun aeroplanes. Let into the ground and mounted and clamped to a stand was the mortar itself--while beside it sat a very young gunner officer, much in the attitude of a mother beside her firstborn. He was obviously new to the game, and the Sapper surveyed him with indulgent eye. "Good morning." The Gunner looked up quickly. "I'm the Sapper Officer on this bit of line. You've just come in, haven't you?" "Yes, early this morning. Everything seems very quiet here." "From four till eight or nine it's always peaceful. But I don't know that you'll find this spot very quiet once you start pooping off. This particular emplacement was spotted some two months ago by the wily Hun, and he got some direct hits on it with small stuff. Since then it hasn't been used. There are lots of others, you know." "I was ordered to come to this one," answered the boy doubtfully. "Right-oh! my dear fellow--it's your funeral. I thought I'd just let you know. Are you letting drive this morning?" "Yes--as soon as I get the order to fire." The boy was keen as mustard, and, as I have said, very young--just another infant. He had not long to wait, for hardly were the words out of his mouth when a sergeant came in. "Captain's compliments, sir, and will you fire two rounds at G. 10 C. 5 4?" Rapidly and without confusion the men did their appointed jobs; the great stalk slithered down the gun, the bomb--big as a football--filled with high explosive was fixed with a detonator, the lanyard to fire the charge was adjusted. Then every one cleared out of the emplacement, while the Sapper took his stand in the trench outside. "Let her rip." The lanyard was pulled, and with a muffled crack the huge cannon-ball rose into the air, its steel stalk swaying behind it. Plainly visible, it reached its highest point, and still wobbling drunkenly went swishing down on to G. 10 C. 54--or thereabouts. A roar and a great column of black smoke rose from the German lines. Almost before the report had died away, the gun was sponged out, and another inebriated monster departed on its mission. But the Sapper was already some way up the Haymarket. It was not his first view of a trench-mortar firing.