But suddenly the firing ceased and the star-shells waned. And here’s where my thankfulness to the rats comes in. I can only think that the commander of the trench decided that some burly rat had come into contact with the alarm wire. I know they sometimes rang false alarms like that in our trenches, which are similarly equipped with bells. When I finally dared move and stare up through the murk, I saw two sentries posted at the entering trench. Heads and shoulders only showed. They stood statuesquely, save now and then the head of one of them bobbed in the sudden relaxation of the neck of a sleepy man. Evidently after the big flare-up and the quieting of the alarm, these sentries didn’t think themselves called upon to be particularly alert. But I was altogether too close to them to take any rash chances. I laid in the ooze fully half an hour before I dared move again. In that time the sentries disappeared. This was good fortune, indeed. Moreover, I had come to the inner edge of the wire entanglements and these were only loosely constructed and I could wriggle my way through if I worked patiently. Besides, as I had full reason to believe, these inner wires were not electrically charged and would not sound an alarm. Some hundred or more feet from the spot where I had seen the two sentries I could make out the spur of the trench, a neatly placed corner from which a machine-gun could rake an attacking force. Toward the very end of that spur I went, still on my stomach. At such a time as this the likelihood of the spur being empty of the machine-gun crew was good. I listened a long time and then risked it. I dropped into the trench. The mud in it made my fall soundless. Through this spur I picked my way to the communicating trench. These communicators are always purposely blocked off in a zig-zag manner. They run on the flank of the trenches that front the enemy--run from the front to the rear trenches. To traverse one of these communicating trenches is, naturally, to be able to know a great deal of the enemy’s entire position. Moreover, save for sentries, and a possible but improbable patrol, the communicator is not occupied. It is the sunken roadway of the trenches. Once inside the trenches, I was less in fear of my life than when outside. Upon the outside obviously the greatest watchfulness is exercised. The idea of an enemy within them is scarcely, if ever, entertained. I actually wormed my way past the two sentries I had seen from the outside, but who had disappeared. They had stepped down from their parapets and their heads rested drowsily against the wall of the trench. Edging past them, I held my breath and you may be sure, was as nervous as a witch. They never even moved. But once past them I moved fast.