For a solid twenty minutes the hail of high explosive projectiles continued, while simultaneously shrapnel put up a barrage in the rear of the hostile trenches with a two-fold purpose: to prevent the Huns running away and also to make it almost impossible for reinforcements to be brought up to the firing line. "They're lifting!" exclaimed Penfold as the shells began to drop further away. "Five minutes more, lads!" said the platoon commander in clear, decisive tones. "Now, show them what the Wheatshires can do in broad daylight." "D'ye want a leg-up, Tubby?" sang out George Anderson, addressing his remarks to a corpulent private whose previous efforts to surmount the parapet were ludicrous in spite of the mental and physical strain of "going over the top." A general laugh greeted George's words, the butt of his remarks joining in the hilarity. With few exceptions the men were high-spirited. Their confidence in the artillery and the knowledge that they were "top-dog" when it came to hand-to-hand fighting made them eager and alert to rush forward at the first blast of the whistle. Thirty seconds more. With an ear-splitting roar and a veritable volcano of flame the mine under the Pumpnickel Redoubt was exploded. The earth trembled violently with the crash of the detonation. In places sand-bags slipped bodily into the British trench. A gust of violently displaced air, bearing grit and dust, mingled with weightier fragments, swept over the heads of the waiting Tommies. Where the strongly fortified earthworks had stood was a crater quite two hundred yards across, but how deep the British were yet to learn. Before the last of the far-flung debris had fallen to earth the whistles sounded. With a rousing cheer the line of khaki-clad men swarmed over the parapet into the muddy and smoke-laden, crater-pitted No Man's Land. Almost without opposition the Wheatshires gained their objective. More, carried away by their enthusiasm, pressed onwards, until their officers, realizing that the men were in danger of being hit by their own shells, recalled them with difficulty. Lining the outer edge of the enormous mine-crater, the Wheatshires set to work to consolidate their easily won position. Setley, while engaged in the work, viewed with astonishment the stupendous result of the explosion of the mine. For full seventy feet the scorched and still smoking earth sloped steeply to the bottom of the immense pit. Everything of a defensive nature--concrete gun-pits, reinforced trenches, and deep dug-outs--was obliterated by the comparatively smooth "batter" of displaced chalk and earth. "When are the guns going to lift, do you think, sergeant?" asked Penfold, who, having laid aside his rifle, was piling up sand-bags with the energy of a steam-engine. "'Bout time," replied Sergeant Ferris. "We're supposed to make good for a mile. Hullo! What's happening on our left flank?"