I got most of the blood off the rifle with some grass, and, armed with it and the bayonet, I felt much more secure as we made our way through the houses. The Germans had evidently spent a day or two round the houses, for just behind we found a straw-lined ditch, which they had slept in and partially converted to a trench. We lined this ditch, which gave good cover against stray bullets, and waited for further orders. While we were waiting, Edwards, who had charge of the flanking party, pushed out to the right to get in touch with the Westshires, and Evans and I went back to have a look at the houses and see if the enemy had left any souvenirs behind. One of the buildings was the village wine shop, and a party of German officers had evidently used it as their headquarters for the night. They appeared to have had a rare time in the place. Half-emptied glasses of wine had been left on the bar counter and on the table; bottles and glasses lay smashed on the floor; every bottle from the shelves behind the bar had been taken down and either drunk or broken and the contents spilt over the floor. Two chairs lay broken, and all the pictures were smashed, presumably by cockshies with bottles and glasses. From the look of things the officers must have all been extremely drunk. While we were in the wine shop the order came for us to close up on A Company, who had pushed some distance forward. The ground at this point sloped up to some more cottages and farm buildings which lay at the top of the rise. A and C Companies had worked their way through the cottages and lined out beyond them facing the outskirts of the town. They were unable to go any farther, as the ground in front was a dead flat stretch of root crops, which the Germans could sweep with rifle and machine-gun fire. The cottages in front to a certain extent covered the advance up to this point, but not completely, as Mulligan, in charge of the right platoon of the next supporting company, discovered to his cost. We were advancing in extended order up the rise, my company being well protected by the cottages, but Mulligan had a gap in the buildings in front of him. About half-way across the field he evidently came into range of a German machine-gun. The gun opened a brisk fire, and in as many seconds twenty of his men were down, Mulligan himself getting a bullet through the shoulder, and his servant, who was beside him, being killed. From an infantryman's point of view a Maxim is like water to a mad dog. It will stop him when nothing else will. There is something particularly deterring about the sound of a Maxim, with its ping-ping-ping-ping as it sweeps down a line of advancing troops, spurting lead like a hose-pipe. The great art from an infantryman's point of view is to locate these guns, and avoid going over ground they cover. It is, humanly speaking, hopeless to try to advance straight against them. Word soon goes along a line, "They've