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They had not seen or tasted such wonderful stuff since the Bosche occupation, and their eyes sparkled with pleasure on tasting it again. I had brought copies of the Echo de Paris, Journal, Matin and other French papers, and these were the first they had seen for two years. The farmer declared it was like a man awakening from a long sleep. "We'll turn in," I said.
"We are not, of course, shelling the place to damage it at all. Those fires you can see there are of Bosche making; he is systematically burning the place as a prelude to retreat.
He took a tremendous pride in the Brigade "I take off my hat every time to the 229th" and I fancy what pleased him far more than defeating Turk or Bosche was our victory over the Scots Guards at Grand Roullecourt. If we had gone abroad within three months after mobilization nothing would have saved "Black Mick" if within six months it was about even odds.
The place was choked with men, many of them badly wounded; some of them, I'm afraid, destined as tenants of the little cemetery near by. The awful nightmare continued. Men were coming and going. Reserves were being rushed forward; more bombs were being sent up. The Bosche artillery quietened down a bit, but only, as I found out immediately afterwards, to allow their bombers to attack.
There must be a sap leading up there, for the bombers certainly have not advanced overground. I've been looking out for them since stand-to. Who is this anxious gentleman?" A subaltern of the battalion on our right was forcing his way along the trench. He addressed Wagstaffe. "We are having a pretty bad time with Bosche bombers on our right, sir," he said.
So far as we have mastered the mysteries of the craft, there appear to be four types of bomb in store for us or rather, for Brother Bosche. They are: The hair-brush. The cricket-ball. The policeman's truncheon. The jam-tin. The hair-brush is very like the ordinary hair-brush, except that the bristles are replaced by a solid block of high-explosive.
It naturally aroused my interest. I closely inspected it, both inside and out, and, while I stood regarding it, two whizz-bangs came over in quick succession, bursting about thirty feet away. The fact immediately occurred to me that the Tank was under observation by the Bosche and he, knowing the attraction it would have for enquiring natures, kept a gun continually trained upon it.
Officers and men were doubled up with mirth as they watched the acrobatic antics of this mechanical marvel this Wellsian wonder. Now the metal monster was on the move again. It was advancing on the German position. The Bosche machine-guns got busy and poured a very hail of shells and bullets upon the oncoming death-dealer. It made no difference.
We all of us soon forgot about the previous night's efforts of Fritz in a gorgeous repast of bacon, fried bread, and tea. Bosche was now fairly quiet; he was "strafing" the ridge in front with an occasional H.E.; some of our batteries on my right were still at it.
I got out of my sleeping-bag, thinking that if any prowling Bosche patrol ventured near I should be able to do something. Nothing happened, and for quite half an hour I was on the alert. Several rifle-shots rang out quite near, then quietness reigned again, and, as nothing else happened, I wriggled into my bag again and dozed. In the morning I told one of our patrol officers of my experience.
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