The trenches had got from bad to worse. When I first went into them there was eighteen inches of water and five inches of mud; but now it was a matter of standing almost up to the waist in water. They became so bad that instead of using the communication trenches, which you might almost call tunnels, it was decided that we should cross the open country to get to our fighting-place, the main trench--indeed, we had no option, because the communication trench was almost impassable. On a mid-January night, and very bad at that, we began the journey to the trenches. If there had been just ordinary honest darkness we should have been all right and quite satisfied; but though there was darkness enough there was plenty of light--the uncanny brightness which came from the star-shells. Star-shells were going up all along the line and bursting. They are a sort of firework, giving a brilliant light, and as they exploded they showed us up almost as clearly as if we had been in daylight. We had only a very short distance to go, but the star-lights made the journey to the trenches a desperate undertaking. In single file, a little bunch of ten of us, crouching down, holding our loaded rifles and carrying all we possessed--we went along, losing no time. From the stealthy way in which we started on our little trip you might have thought that we were burglars or villains bent on some fearsome job, instead of ordinary British soldiers getting back to their trenches. We went with caution, and had not covered more than ten yards when what I take to be machine-gun fire was opened on us. All at once, without the slightest warning, a real hail of bullets struck us, and of the ten men of us who were advancing in single file three were killed and four were wounded. The three who were shot down in the ghastly glare of the star-shells were ahead of me. When that happened we were ordered to keep well apart and open out, but there was not much chance for those of us who were left; at any rate, no sooner had we obeyed and were making a little headway than I was struck myself on the head. For half-an-hour or so I was unconscious; then I recovered and picked myself up and found that I was all alone. I crawled a few yards to a trench and got into it; but finding it full of water I thought I might as well be killed as drowned, so I got out, and not caring in the least for the German bullets or the star-shells, I made my way as best I could to the nearest dressing-station, and received attention. After that I found myself in a motor-car, and later at a clearing-station and on the boat for home. You can see the scar of the wound here; but I don’t bother about that. I suffer terribly from sleeplessness--and too often I see again the German soldiers who had wished us a merry Christmas--and were buried at the back of their trenches on the gloomy afternoon of Christmas Day. CHAPTER IX SAPPING AND MINING: THE “LUCKY COMPANY”