Just before dusk we heard the dull report of a heavy gun in the distance. _R-rump_--CRASH--a shell burst a quarter of a mile to our right. Again the gun boomed, and again the dull "_R-rump_," followed by a loud explosion and cloud of mud and earth in the same place. The men stirred uneasily in their dug-outs. They knew what it was--60 lb. high-explosive melinite. It was no joke like shrapnel, this. If the enemy happened to turn a few on to us we should be blown to bits. It was an anxious time listening to the gun and waiting for the shells to explode. But they did not seem to be swinging round in our direction, and darkness found us all still safe. At eight the order came for the company to go back into the firing-line. XI. A NIGHT ATTACK After twenty-four hours in reserve it was our turn to go back into the firing-line and relieve A Company. We took over A Company's trenches at dusk, Goyle going with each platoon commander, showing him his section, and giving orders about the posting of groups and improvement of cover. My section of trench had already been worked on by the company we took over from. The officer before me had scooped out a dug-out for himself at one end and lined it with straw. This I marked off for my own use, and then went along the line to see that all the men were busy. By the time I had inspected the trench and put out an advanced post it was quite dark, and I settled myself down in my own dug-out with a pious hope that the night would remain fine and we should all be able to pass it comfortably. There was no sound from the front, and it looked as though we should be undisturbed. One by one the stars came out, the night grew colder, and I pulled on my greatcoat. It was weird lying there in the darkness, hearing nothing, seeing nothing, with only the dark shapes of the men on each side and the occasional tinkle of an entrenching tool against a stone to remind one that one was taking part in a great war. I wondered what my friends at home were doing, thought of dances at the Ritz and the happy days when one dressed for dinner, and smiled to think what a funny sight I must look tucked up for the night in a ditch. As I lay there I heard far away on the right the sound of rifle fire. Were they our troops or the French? Perhaps it was one of our divisions which we had been told was swinging round on our flank. So the division had done its march and was fighting now. I was glad we were not. It was much better to lie peacefully in a ditch. Fighting meant seeing one's pals killed--crawling about, peering forward with tired eyes--worry, anxiety, with, of course, always the fever of excitement. But we had all had a full share of excitement, and were not sorry to lie still until we were wanted. Hullo! The sound of firing was drawing nearer and swelling in volume. That must be the brigade on our right engaged. Ah! There were two sharp shots from the farm where the next company lay.