We had recourse to a ghastly necessity. We set our men to piling the dead to make protective barriers for ourselves. We used our own men and Germans to make this fortress of human flesh, building the walls about six bodies to the width and ten high, throwing layers of mud between for cementing. It was revolting business, but it had to be done. The German fire was ceaseless, the shells forever showering, the “minnie” bullets cutting straight over our heads with a concert of noise that nearly arose to a scream. Our own artillery roared and thundered its reply, but we had no way of observing its results. Time and again our improvised fortress of the dead was ripped asunder and we had to scour No Man’s Land for other bodies with which to fill in the gaps. Of course, in the case of the bodies of our own men we were careful to remove the identification discs and all papers to be found. Foster and I shared the responsibility of taking these things into keeping, not forgetting to issue instructions to our N. C. O.’s to be sure to rescue them were we ourselves struck down. I hate to remember the awful pulp the German heavy five-point nines and their field pieces made of our fortress of dead, the repeated, shocking necessity of piling up more bodies. Why the Germans didn’t realize their advantage and sweep over No Man’s Land and annihilate us, I don’t know. I’m only too grateful they apparently didn’t think of it or, thinking of it, misjudged our strength. I know Foster and I expected every minute they would come rushing out after us. And in this predicament came a new source of worry. It was now past four o’clock in the morning. My men had experienced no sleep for many hours and the work of keeping up the grisly barricade had driven both them and the Anzacs to the point of absolute exhaustion. With every sort of explosion smashing and crashing around us, danger and death on every side, yet the men would throw themselves prone on the ground and drop off into sleep as if a bullet had brought them the deeper sleep of death itself. Foster and I and our N. C. O.’s nearly dropped ourselves at the exhaustion of the task of keeping them on their feet. Besides, we had constantly to give aid to our wounded. My best orderly, Price, had uttered a cry behind me and I turned to find him with his right leg blown off. I applied a tourniquet and Price is now somewhere safe in Blighty. Twenty of my men were killed outright during the night. As many Anzacs, if not more, died.