The patrols which had again been ordered to follow the discharge were once more countermanded. It was most unlikely that they would have achieved anything but casualties, though it would have been interesting to know something of the results. Certainly an inspection of the enemy line after the Armistice revealed frequent remains of projectors. These, and detonated but unexploded medium trench mortar bombs, were to be found everywhere. The same day the enemy vented his wrath on us in no small measure, so we hoped we had done him some harm. To give an idea of what patrolling was like in this sector, the following account may be quoted as an example. The narrative was written by a member of the patrol who took part in it:--"The patrol, which left our trenches shortly after midnight, was composed of Riflemen Bolshaw, Matchett, and Corkill, with the section sleuth, Rifleman Dixon, in charge. The front line to the left of the head of Irish Avenue was only held to within about two hundred yards of the River Lys, the remainder of the trench from that point up to the river being rendered untenable by the marshy condition of the ground and the enemy command. Judging the Boche lines opposite to be similarly governed, it was obvious that this deserted area formed an excellent approach to Frelinghien. About this time a Boche withdrawal was expected opposite. The object of our patrol was to advance as far, and learn as much, as possible. The music encountered _en route_ for the front line speedily dispelled any idea as to a Boche retirement. A relief was in progress at the time, and Fritz must have spotted it, for we ran into a veritable nightmare inferno. Rifle and machine-gun bullets whined and snipped, 'pineapples' cracked, shells crashed, and 'minnies' crumped! Added attractions were a dense fog and the choking fumes of the explosions. Through it all the fitful glare of the Véry lights grew and waned, and the _tout ensemble_ created in me a stronger desire to enter No Man's Land than I had ever experienced before. There, at any rate, we would miss some of the 'hate' floating around. With due caution we made our way along the deserted trenches to the bank of the Lys. We then struck out sharply to the right some distance and lay down to listen. Barely distinguishable amid the din, we could hear a knocking, rattling, and clanking to our immediate front. A surmise that a Boche wiring party was at work was confirmed a few minutes later by the location of its covering party at no great distance from us. Our batteries about then commenced to retaliate for the "strafe," and a breeze, till then absent, commenced to carry the fumes from the Boche shells back home. Fritz's nerves were evidently not at their best that night, for almost immediately the musical tinkle of his gas alarms rippled south down the sector, incidentally causing us no little amusement. Having discovered that, far from being absent