What if I should be lost all night? What would they think? It would be put down to funk. A cold perspiration came over me. I felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness amidst that gruesome scene of destruction; and to crown it all, a feeling of responsibility and anxiety which made the craters seem deeper as I frantically scrambled out of one and into another. At last, to my intense relief, I found the little footpath and reached my trench safely. Time was getting on. I gave orders for the men to dress and lie flat on the parados, ready for the word to move. When all preparations were completed, and bombs, picks, and shovels issued to each man, I signalled the advance, and with a few scouts in front and on the flanks, we slowly moved in single file into the unknown. It was a pitch-black night, intensified by a slight fog, and I took my direction by compass bearing, wondering all the while if it would lead me right. The men marched in silence. Nothing could be heard but the muffled footsteps over the soft ground, and occasional jingling of a spade or pick against the butt of a rifle. Distance became exaggerated, and fifty paces seemed like five hundred, until I began to get a horrible fear that my compass had misled me, and that countless German eyes were watching me leading my men into the midst of their guns. Where were we going? When would we get back, and how many of us? Call it funk or what you like, but whatever it is, it's a devilishly creepy feeling; and when at last I found myself close to the edge of the wood, I felt as if I were arriving home. But the real job had not yet begun. I signalled the halt to the leading file, and passed the word to turn to the right and extend two paces to the right and lie down. I next ordered a sentry group, consisting of one section to be sent out by each platoon to occupy shell-holes fifty yards in front as a protection against surprise. The platoon on the left was to bend its flank to face the edge of the wood, and get in touch with C Company in the wood; while the platoon on the right secured connection with A Company. One Lewis-gun section took up position on the left flank at the corner of the wood, whilst the other Lewis gun protected my right. These precautions against surprise being completed, I ordered the men to dig for all they were worth; rifles with bayonets fixed, and magazines charged to be placed within arm's reach at the back of the trench, the earth to be thrown in front until the parapet became bullet-proof. I spotted one man leaning on his shovel, and looking vacantly into the darkness. "Dig, man! Don't stand looking about you," I whispered hoarsely. "The ground's hard, sir; it's all chalk here." "Don't be a fool! Dig! I tell you we may be discovered any minute. If we get shelled you'll be glad enough of a hole to lie in." Passing along the line, I overheard two men talking in an undertone: "How do you like it, Timmy?"