I was on the road all day yesterday, afternoon and evening, getting back to the post at 10 P.M. One of the darkest nights I remember--absolutely impossible to move without an occasional clandestine flash of my torch. Far off to the right (twenty or thirty miles) a heavy bombardment was in progress, the guns making a steady rumble and mutter. I could see a continuous flicker on the horizon. The French batteries are so craftily hidden that I pass within a few yards of them without a suspicion. The other day I was rounding a familiar turn when suddenly, with a tremendous roar and concussion, a "380" went off close by. The little ambulance shied across the road and I nearly fell off the seat. Talk about "death pops"--these big guns give forth a sound that must be heard to be appreciated. Another break here, as since writing the above we have had a bit of excitement, in the shape of a raid, or coup de main. In sectors like ours, during the periods of tranquillity between more important attacks, an occasional coup de main is necessary in order to get a few prisoners for information about the enemy. We are warned beforehand to be ready for it, but do not know exactly when or where. I will tell you the story of the last one, as related by a slightly wounded but very happy poilu I brought in beside me. "After coffee in the morning," he said, "our battalion commander called for one platoon of volunteers to make the attack--each volunteer to have eight days' special leave afterwards. It was hard to choose, as every one wanted to go--for the 'permission,' and to have a little fun with the Boches. At noon we were ordered to the first line. Our rifles and equipment were left behind, each man carrying only a little food, a canteen of wine, a long knife, and a sack of grenades. Our orders were to advance the moment the bombardment ceased, take as many prisoners as possible, and return before the enemy had recovered from his surprise. At the point of attack the German trench is only twenty yards from ours--several nights before, they had rolled out a line of portable wire-entanglements. At 4.30 in the afternoon our 75's began to plough up the Boche trench and rip their wire to shreds. It was wonderful--along the line in front of us hundreds of our shells, bursting only twenty metres off, sent earth and wire and timbers high into the air--while not one of us, watching so close by, was hurt.