He had hardly ceased speaking, when our dug-out shook as if a mine had gone up close by. I tumbled out, followed by the others. Lumps of earth fell on our heads; I certainly thought the roof was coming in on us. Getting into the trench, the bombardment was still going strong, and looking on my left I saw a dense cloud of smoke in our own firing trench.
"What in the world's up?" I enquired of a man close by.
"Dunno, sir," he said. "I believe it's a Bosche mine. It made enough fuss to be one, yet it seems in such an extraordinary position."
"How about getting round to have a look at it?" I said to ——.
"Right-o," he said; "but you know we can't cross the road there. I think if we back well down, about one hundred yards, we may nip across into No. 2 Avenue. That'll bring us out near 'Jacob's Ladder.'"
"Lead on," I said. "I wish I had known. I came in across the road there," pointing down our firing trench.
"You've got more pluck than I have," he said. "You can congratulate yourself that you are alive. Anyway, come on."
Eventually I reached "Jacob's Ladder," and asked an officer what had happened.
"I don't know," he said; "but whatever it was, it's smashed our front trench for about eighty yards: it's absolutely impassable."
Another officer came running up at that moment. "I say," he said, "there's a scene up there for you. A trench mortar gun had a premature burst, and exploded all the munition in the pit; blew the whole lot—men and all—to pieces. It's made a crater thirty yards across. It's a beastly wreck. Can't use that section of the front line. And to make matters worse, Fritz is pumping over tear-shells. Everybody is tickled to death with the fumes."