Long hours of hard work usually induce sound sleep at night, but with the platoons in support this happy condition was difficult to achieve. A few had "bivies" excavated in the walls of the trenches, but most men had only the floor of the trench upon which to lie. Here, clothed in their overcoats and wrapped in their single blankets, they slumbered--only to be rudely awakened now and then by the pressure on some part of their anatomy of the feet of a passenger to or from the front line. On dark nights careless senior officers when going their rounds were treated to loud and homely descriptions of themselves which in daylight and cold blood would scarcely even have been whispered to a comrade. In the front trench, where the garrison was relieved by the supports every 24 hours, sleep was, theoretically, not to be thought of. However, the normal man felt that at some time during the 24 hours it was good to close his tired eyes--if only for a few minutes. After all, a seat on a sandbag, and a good solid wall against which to rest one's back, did give a little comfort. The officer in making his tour of inspection would ask a question here and there and occasionally mount the firestep and talk with the sentry. Usually the noise of his approach was sufficient to ensure alertness on his entering a bay that was manned, but, now and then, stertorous breathing and the attitude of the sentry, as revealed by his silhouette against the light of the moon or stars, would indicate that the flesh had momentarily vanquished the spirit. The touch of a hand was sufficient to restore wakefulness. Apropos of this, a senior officer, rather irritable at the moment, once touched an apparently sleeping sentry on the knee, at the same time asking the question "Look here! Are you asleep?" He was rather confounded at receiving the undoubtedly truthful answer "No, Sir."