The Germans lost heart, retreated and were followed with bayonet, bludgeon and bomb. Tripping on the wires and stepping in flesh and blood, they went back, tramping on dead and wounded. The latter groaned piteously and shrieked for mercy. The retreat became general, the front wave of attackers receded, those which followed stood still undecided. Here and there isolated parties made great fight, holding out until the last men fell.... Some of the Irish followed them across: a large party of prisoners were surrounded near the hostile trench. The German gunners had shortened their range and were now shelling the ground between the lines. Fighting was even more severe on the right. There a confused and struggling mass reeled round the wires in a last wild effort, and the German artillery dealt death impartially to friend and foe alike. On all sides the wounded covered the field, lying in huddled heaps, in rows, singly and in pairs. In front of the mine a German moved on his stomach, then rose to his feet and flung a bomb at a party which went out to succour the wounded. A youngster, a boy newly out, named Ryan, rushed forward with his rifle, fired and missed. Still advancing, he slid a round into the breach of his weapon, shoved the rifle close to the German's forehead and pulled the trigger. The upper part of the man's head was blown off.... All day long the men stopped in the crater, always on the alert, and in front of them a long line of earth gradually took shape on the field, which showed that the enemy worked hard digging himself in. Towards dusk the dark line took on a whitish colour; the diggers had reached the chalk and were well under cover. When darkness fell the trench was raided and the occupants taken prisoners. Then graves were dug and the dead were buried. CHAPTER XII THE DAY'S WORK It's bloomin' well still the same, Ever and always the same, Right in the thick of it, Not feelin' sick of it, Naw! but it's always the same, the same. I like the 'ole bisness, not 'alf, Son of the Empire, not 'alf! Le guerre never finny, It's whizzbang and Minnie, And always the usual strafe, strafe, strafe. For ever and ever the same, Bloomin' well always the same; If the guns for a change Would just lengthen their range, But naw! they just strafe us the same. (_From Trench Doggerel._)