To our men life in the trenches was a dull and dismal experience after the stirring days of open fighting in which they had recently been engaged. There were many attacks and counter-attacks; but for the most part the opposing armies lay in their trenches during the day, watching each other while the shells of friend and foe hurtled overhead. Between the trenches was a No Man's Land, strewn with wounded and the unburied bodies of the dead. The moment any attempt was made to rescue the wounded a heavy fire broke out; so the poor fellows lay on the sodden ground in torment, within a few yards of their own trenches, for days together. In some places the British and the German lines were so near that the soldiers could exchange remarks. As a rule, each side shelled the other by day, and at night the Germans, after a fierce bombardment, were in the habit of attacking some part of our lines. They crept forward in the early hours of the morning, hoping to dig themselves in, so as to be able to reach our trenches at a single rush. While they were so engaged, searchlights played upon our positions, in order to dazzle the eyes of our marksmen, and from dusk to dawn "snipers" were busy picking off all who showed themselves. Nevertheless, the attacks were constantly beaten off, and at close quarters our men did great execution with the bayonet. Frequently they made successful counter-attacks. During the first fortnight the weather was very wet, and our men were drenched to the skin. For days at a time they were knee-deep in a mixture of water and a peculiarly sticky, chalky mud which filled their eyes, ears, and throats, and could not be kept out of their food. Despite these discomforts they were as cheery and high-spirited as ever. They welcomed German attacks as a relief from the long, trying hours of waiting under a fierce and almost continuous bombardment. The heavy guns of the enemy fired shells of eight or nine inches in diameter, which roared through the air like an express train, and exploded with a terrific report, throwing up columns of greasy, black smoke, and tearing craters in the ground big enough to hold the bodies of five horses. The Germans fully expected that these terrifying shells would drive our men crazy with fear. It was soon discovered, however, that their bark was worse than their bite, and familiarity with them bred something like contempt. Our men christened them "Black Marias," "coal boxes," and, best of all, "Jack Johnsons." They built bomb-proof shelters and "dug-outs," in which they took refuge from these monster missiles.