He got up and walked leisurely across, as though inviting the death which seemed inevitable. He stopped at the shell-hole, and for a moment seemed to be looking down undecided whether to jump in or not. I shouted at him: "Don't be a damned fool; jump!" The next moment a shell burst between us, and I fell back into the shell-hole. When I again looked out and my eyes could penetrate the smoke, I saw no sign of Farman. I yelled, and to my intense relief I saw his head appear. He was safe! Again and again the last paragraph of my orders seemed to be blazing in front of me, and like a hidden hand from that dark inferno of horrors, kept beckoning me forward, "AT ANY COST! AT ANY COST!" Yes; this must be the end; but it's hell to die in a wood. The men used to call it Lousy Wood. What do they call it now? They were brave fellows; and they were only civilian soldiers, too! They used to be volunteers once. People would laugh, and call them Saturday afternoon soldiers. Reviews in Hyde Park used to be a joke, and the comic papers caricatured these men, and used them as material for their jests. They were only Territorials! That man, panting hard at the bottom of the shell-hole, and still clutching at his rifle, is a bank clerk; that man who fell at the last jump, with his stomach ripped up, was a solicitor's clerk. Look at the others. Their faces are pale; their eyes are bulging. But they are the same faces one used to see in Cornhill and Threadneedle Street. Yes, they are only Territorials! But here in this filthy wood they are damned proud of it. And what is taking place in England to-day? Is it really true that while all this is going on in Leuze Wood, orchestras are playing sweet music in brilliantly lighted restaurants in London--while a gluttonous crowd eat of the fat of the land? Is it really true that women in England are dressing more extravagantly than ever? Is it really true that some men in England are unable or unwilling to share the nation's peril--are even threatening to strike? No! No! Do not let us think that this is the true picture of England. If it is, then, Territorials, let us die in Leuze Wood! CHAPTER XVI THE ATTACK A DESPERATE SITUATION. BATTLE FORMATION. "FOR ENGLAND" Joy! The last leap I took landed me in a trench, and I found to my great relief that it was the lower part of the square which ran through the wood. A few yards along this trench it emerged into the open, where it was in possession of the Germans. Farman and I sat down, side by side, breathing heavily from our exertions. "That was hell, Farman," I said, hardly daring to trust my voice. "Awful!" "I hope the men are still following." "Those that are left." "Have a cigarette; it will buck the men up to see us smoking." "Thanks, I will, though I'm as dry as a bone." "Save your water; we've still got the attack to do. We've got an hour yet; that will give the men time to recover."