"I am not sure of the date, but 'Dinkie' is going to 'poop' in a few days. He's got two tons under Bosche. It will be a —— fine show; right under his trenches. Ought to snip a hundred or so."
"Well," said another, "I was down in C shaft, and could hear Bosche working very hard, as if he had got all the world to himself."
At that moment a tunnelling-sergeant came in, and reported that the Bosche was much nearer. The listener could distinctly hear talking through the 'phone.
An officer immediately got up and went out with the sergeant, one of the speakers meanwhile suggesting that Brother Bosche was certainly going to visit realms of higher kultur than he had hitherto known.
Then came a close scrutinising of maps, showing shafts in the making and mines ready for "blowing"; of sharp orders to the tunnelling-sergeants and fatigue parties to bring charges from the magazine. The whole thing was fascinating in the extreme. A new branch of His Majesty's Service, and one of the most dangerous. To be on duty in a listening-post thirty feet underground—in a narrow tunnel, scarcely daring to breathe, listening to German miners making a counter-mine, and gradually picking their way nearer and nearer, until at last you can hear their conversation—would try the nerves of the strongest of men.
I went out, and made my way towards the well-known Quarries. Noting several interesting scenes of our Scottish battalions at work, I filmed them. A most pathetic touch was added to the scene, for a neat little graveyard occupied the right-hand corner, and about one hundred small crosses were there.
I was not allowed to remain very long. The Bosche sent over several aerial torpedoes, which exploded with terrific force and split up the ground as if a 12-inch H.E. shell had been at work. Naturally every one rushed to obtain as much cover as possible. I crossed to the other side of the Quarry, and entered a small tunnel, which led into a winding maze of narrow communication trenches.
"Be careful, sir," called a sentry. "Bosche is only thirty yards away, and they are plugging this corner pretty thoroughly; they're fairly whizzing through the sandbags, as if they warn't there, sir. They caught my Captain this morning, clean through the head. I was a-talking to him, sir, at the time; the finest gentleman that ever lived; and the swine killed him. I'll get six of them for him, sir." The look in his eyes and the tone of his voice told me he was in earnest. I passed on, keeping as low as possible.