The crater, when I reached it, proved to be one of an enormous size. It must have been quite 150 feet across. The place had been converted into a miniature fort. I noticed how spongy the ground was. When walking it seemed as if one was treading upon rubber. I casually enquired of an officer the cause of it. "Dead bodies," said he; "the ground here is literally choked with them; we dare not touch it with a spade; the condition is awful. There are thousands of them for yards down, and when a shell tears away any section of our parapets the sight is too ghastly for words."
At that moment a man yelled out "cover," and, looking up, I saw several Bosche rifle grenades falling. Shouting to my orderly to take cover with the camera, he disappeared into what I thought was a dug-out but which I afterwards discovered was an incline shaft to a mine. He made a running dive, and slid down about four yards before he pulled himself up. Luckily he went first, the camera butting up against him. He told us afterwards he thought he was really going to the lower regions.
I dived under a sandbag emplacement, when the grenades went off with a splitting crash, and after allowing a few seconds for the pieces to drop, looked out. A tragic sight met my gaze. The officer with whom I had been speaking a few moments before had, unfortunately, been too late in taking cover. One of the grenades had struck him on the head, and killed him on the spot. Within a few moments some Red Cross men reverently covered the body with a mackintosh sheet and bore it away. One more cross would be added to the little graveyard in the Quarry.
Shortly after I met an officer of the Mining Section. He was just going down into the gallery to listen to Bosche working a counter-mine. Did I care to accompany him? "Don't speak above a whisper," he said.
He disappeared through a hole about three feet square. I followed, clinging to the muddy sides like a limpet, half sliding, half crawling, in the impenetrable darkness. We went on, seemingly for a great distance; in reality it was only about fifteen yards. Then we came to a level gallery, and in the distance, by the aid of a glow-lamp, I could see my companion crouching down, with a warning finger upon his lips to assure silence. The other side of him was a man of the tunnelling section, who had been at his post listening. The silence was uncanny after the din outside. In a few moments I heard a queer, muffled tap—tap—tap, coming through the earth on the left. I crept closer to my companion, and with my mouth close to his ear enquired whether that was the Bosche working.
"Yes," he said, "but listen with this," giving me an instrument very similar to a doctor's stethoscope.
I put it to my ear and rested the other end upon a ledge of mud. The effect was like some one speaking through a telephone. I could distinctly hear the impact of the pickaxe wielded by the Bosche upon the clay and chalk, and the falling of the débris.
I turned to him with a smile. "Brother Bosche will shortly have a rise in life?"
"Yes," said he, "I think we shall 'blow' first. It's going to be a race, though."
Final orders were given to the man in charge, then we crawled up again into the din of the crashing shells. I was more at home in these conditions. Down below the silence was too uncanny for me. When I reached our dug-out once more a message was waiting for me to return to H.Q., as important things were in prospect the following morning.