Thus did Fitzgerald, who woke up, translate the man's remarks. Bowdy gave him a drink of water. He lay down again in one of the men's overcoats and was soon asleep. As the men dozed off one by one the rats drew closer, peering curiously out from the darkness of the remote corners of the cellar.... Fitzgerald fell asleep to awake suddenly with a start. A rat had run over his face. "The damned pests," he muttered getting to his feet. "I can't stand them. I'll get outside and sleep on the ground. God! it's strange how a little thing like a rat disturbs me," he muttered. He went outside, lay down on the cobbles and slept the sleep of a weary man. In the evening the battalion marched away from the neighbourhood of Souchez and entered the Loos Salient just in time for the Christmas season. CHAPTER VI CHRISTMAS EVE The sergeant's water bottle's full, But it is strange to see The sergeant on the 'ear'ole for Some water for his tea. But ain't it strange when night is on And we are out o' sight, The sergeant takes his bottle out And swigs from it all night Cold water-- Co-o-old water-- Co-o, o-o, o-o, o-o, co-o-old water. (_From "The Lost Rum Ration."_) It was about seven o'clock in the evening and an unusual silence brooded over the Loos Salient. In the trenches the silence always broods; the soldiers, not knowing what the moment may bring forth, are uneasy; and the eternal hidden menace of the Unknown is intensified by the stillness. The evening was intensely dark; black, impenetrable shadows bulked in the trenches and became the colour of the parapet, parados and bay. Objects quite near at hand took on strange fantastic shapes and looked like men lying asleep on the firesteps; only a closer examination would show that the phantoms were sandbags or ammunition boxes. Many of the boys were smoking; the lighted cigarettes glowed like rubies set in an illimitable spread of ebony. It was raining; a soft, almost caressing rain dropped sleekly and helplessly down on the firing line. In this manner it had been falling for hours; the trenches were filled to the firestep with slush and muck; the duck-boards were afloat, and men changing their position in the trench clambered out over the top and walked along the reverse slope of the parapet. Now and again a wayfarer stuck in the clinging quicksand of the trench floor, only to free himself when he succeeded in climbing out of his Wellington boots.