Ten minutes went by; things were a bit quieter, so, hastily packing up, we doubled back to the road.
"I never did like getting near forward gun position," I said, "but, curiously enough, my best view-points compel me on many occasions to fix up in their vicinity."
We got on to the road without casualties and in time to see the H.L.I. forming up to leave at dusk for the front line, or the series of strong points which comprised it in this section.
They were having the operation orders read out to them by their officer in charge. The scenes made very interesting ones for me—the men, alert and keen to the last degree, stood there in line, listening intently to the words until the end.
The next morning I had a wire from H.Q. asking me to take charge of two French journalists for a day or two; they were most anxious to see the British troops in action before St. Quentin. Towards midday they arrived—M. Gustave Babin, of L'Illustration, Paris—and M. Eugène Tardeau, of the Echo de Paris. I presented these gentlemen to the General, who kindly extended every facility to them.
I took them up to the observation post from which they could look down on St. Quentin.
"It will be a great moment for me," said M. Babin, "to obtain the first impression of the Allied entry in the town."
For myself the day was quite uneventful, beyond obtaining extra scenes of the preparatory work of our artillery. The heavy bombardment was continuing with unabated fury, the horizon was black with the smoke of bursting high explosives, huge masses of shrapnel were showering their leaden messengers of death upon the enemy. Towards evening the weather changed for the worse. It began with a biting cold sleet, which quickly turned into snow.
That night we slept in an old greenhouse which was open to the four winds of heaven. The cold was intense. I rolled myself up tight in my bag and drew my waterproof ground-sheet well over my body. It was a good job I did so for the snow was blowing in through the many fissures and cracks and settling upon me like fallen leaves in autumn.
The heavy shelling continued throughout the night. Several Bosche shells came unpleasantly near, shaking my rickety shelter in an alarming manner.