“One-half of the brigade, two thousand men, is our enemy,” he explained; “and we’re going to fight them.  The battalion that’s helping us is on in front, and it will soon be fighting.  When it’s hard pressed we’ll go up to help, for we’re the supports.  It won’t be long till we hear the firing.”

An hour’s brisk march was followed by a halt, when we were ordered to draw well into the left of the road to let the company guns go by.  Dark-nosed and cold, they wheeled past, the horses sweating as they strained at the carriage shafts; the drivers, by deft handling, pulling the steeds clear of the ruts; out in front they swung, and the battalion closed up and resumed its march behind.

The rain ceased and a cold sun shot feeble rays over the sullen December landscape.  Again a halt was called; the brigadier-general, followed by two officers and several orderlies, galloped up, and a hurried consultation with our colonel took place.  In a moment the battalion moved ahead only to come to a dead stop again after ten minutes’ slow marching, and find a company detailed off to guard the rear.  The other companies, led by their officers, turned off the road and moved in sections across the newly furrowed and soggy fields.  A level sweep of December England broken only by leafless hedgerows and wire fencing stretched out in front towards a wooded hillock, that stood up black against the sky-line two miles away.  The enemy held this wood; we could hear his guns booming and now considered ourselves under shell fire.  Each squad of sixteen men marched in the rear or on the flank of its neighbour; this method of progression minimises the dangers of bursting shrapnel, for a shell falling in the midst of one body of men and causing considerable damage will do no harm to the adjacent party.

Somewhere near us our gunners were answering the enemy’s fire; but so well hidden were the guns that I could not locate them.  We still crept slowly forward; section after section crawled across the black, ploughed fields, now rising up like giant caterpillars to the crest of a mound, and again dropping out of sight in the hollow land like corks on a comber.  On our heels the ambulance corps followed with its stretchers, and in front the enemy was firing vigorously; over the belt of trees that lined the summit of the hillock little wisps of smoke could be seen rising and fading in the air.

Suddenly we came into line with our guns hidden in a deep narrow cart-track, their dark muzzles trained on the enemy, and the gunners, knee-deep in the mire of the lane, sweating at their work.  “We’re under covering fire now,” our young lieutenant explained, as we trudged forward, lifting enormous masses of clay on our boots at every step.  “One battalion is engaged already; hear the shots.”