On the way Lieutenant Westmacott, who was standing on the parapet directing his men where to cross over a trench, was blown up by a bomb thrown by a wounded German who was lying close by. He had a wonderful escape, and although completely stunned, he recovered sufficiently to join his company again later in the day. The Battalion was sadly in need of officers, and he insisted on returning that evening in spite of his dazed condition. Captain Lygon led the Battalion over a maze of wet trenches and ditches to where the Royal Scots Fusiliers were in front of the Moulin du Piètre, and the companies as they came up were ordered to get into the trenches. But as the day dawned slowly it was found that there was no room in the trenches for the men, as the Royal Scots Fusiliers were still there, and there was not time for them to get away. There were but some mere scratches in the earth, which would hardly hold a quarter of the men. The lighter it got the more obvious became the peril of the Battalion's position. Major Duberly did all he could. Absolutely regardless of danger, he went about shouting to the men to dig themselves in where they were, and endeavouring to establish communication between the groups of men who were making themselves some sort of shelter. Soon after daybreak the firing became intense, and the whole ground was ploughed up with shells and furrowed with machine-gun bullets. Major Duberly was killed early in the day, and Lieutenant Fisher-Rowe, who came down a communication trench filled with water, was wounded in the leg and unable to move, just as he had nearly reached the trench. His satchel, containing the orders, was passed up by the men to Captain Lygon in the front trench. The orders were to the effect that the Grenadiers were to attack Moulin du Piètre in co-operation with the Eighth Division on the right after a bombardment, which would last from 9 to 9.30 A.M. The Gordons were to attack on the left. [Illustration: Neuve Chapelle. March 13th 1915.] Captain Lygon, on whom the command of the Battalion now devolved, found himself in a position of extreme difficulty. Owing to the distances between the groups he had no means of sending messages to the men on the right and left, and the roar of musketry and bursting shells made all communication by word of mouth out of the question, though it was evident that before an attack could be carried out with any prospect of success, the men would have to be formed up and got into some sort of order, in spite of the withering fire. To make matters worse, some of our own heavy guns were dropping shells on the trenches occupied by the Gordon Highlanders, under the impression that that part of the line was held by the Germans. The Gordons wisely withdrew to their support trenches until the mistake was rectified.