It was dawn on Saturday morning, and the second phase of the Battle of the Somme was more than twenty-four hours old.  The programme had opened with a night attack, always the most difficult and uncertain of enterprises, especially for soldiers who were civilians less than two years ago.  But no undertaking is too audacious for men in whose veins the wine of success is beginning to throb.  And this undertaking, this hazardous gamble, had succeeded all along the line.  During the past day and night, more than three miles of the German second system of defences, from Bazentin le Petit to the edge of Delville Wood, had received their new tenants; and already long streams of not altogether reluctant Hun prisoners were being escorted to the rear by perspiring but cheerful gentlemen with fixed bayonets.

Meanwhile—­in case such of the late occupants of the line as were still at large should take a fancy to revisit their previous haunts, working-parties of infantry, pioneers, and sappers were toiling at full pressure to reverse the parapets, run out barbed wire, and bestow machine-guns in such a manner as to produce a continuous lattice-work of fire along the front of the captured position.

All through the night the work had continued.  As a result, positions were now tolerably secure, the intrepid “Buzzers” had included the newly grafted territory in the nervous system of the British Expeditionary Force, and Battalion Headquarters and Supply Depots had moved up to their new positions.

To Colonel Kemp and his Adjutant Cockerell, ensconced in a dug-out thirty feet deep, furnished with a real bed, electric-light fittings, and ornaments obviously made in Germany, entered Major Wagstaffe, encrusted with mud, but as imperturbable as ever.  He saluted.

“Good-morning, sir.  You seem to have struck a cushie little home time.”

“Yes.  The Boche officer harbours no false modesty about acknowledging his desire for creature comforts.  That is where he scores off people like you and me, who pretend we like sleeping in mud.  Have you been round the advanced positions?”

“Yes.  There is some pretty hard fighting going on in the village itself—­the Boche still holds the north-west corner—­and in the wood on the right.  ‘A’ Company are holding a line of broken-down cottages on our right front, but they can’t make any further move until they get more bombs.  The Boche is occupying various buildings opposite, but in no great strength at present.  However, he seems to have plenty of machine-guns.”

“I have sent up more bombs,” said the Colonel.  “What about ‘B’ Company?”

“‘B’ have reached their objective, and consolidated.  ‘C’ and ‘D’ are lying close up, ready to go forward in support when required.  I think ‘A’ could do with a little assistance.”

“I don’t want to send up ‘C’ and ’D’,” replied the Colonel, “until the Divisional Reserve arrives.  The Brigade has just telephoned through that reinforcements are on the way.  When they get here, we can afford to stuff in the whole battalion.  Are ‘A’ Company capable of handling the situation at present?”