“Can they get you down here?” inquired the M. O.
“I fancy a direct hit from a really big H. E. would disturb our little home, but nothing else would. Of course, a shell in the door wye would be a bit awkward, you knaow,” replied the Australian.
The night, however, passed quietly, and except for a few slightly wounded walking cases, there was little work to do. The Canadians decided that in coming to the Somme, they had made a most happy exchange.
A quiet day followed the night, but the whole battalion was keyed up with intense expectation for the attack which they knew was fixed for the night following. With expectation mingled curiosity. They knew all about raiding; that was their own specialty, but they were curious as to the new style of fighting which they knew to be awaiting them, the capturing, holding and consolidating of a line of enemy trenches.
Nightfall brought the opportunity to gratify their curiosity. For two hours before the attack, their guns put down the barrage to cover the front line of enemy trenches, and to dispose of his wire.
The M. O. and Barry, with the Australian and their whole staff, made their way to a ridge a few yards distant to see the show.
“Great Heaven, what is that?” inquired the M. O., pointing to what seemed to be a line of flickering watch fires upon the crest of a neighbouring rising ground.
“Guns! Ours,” said the Australian, surprised at the M. O.'s excitement.
“Guns! My Lord, guns, Barry,” shouted the M. O.
“Guns? And in the open! And on a hill! And wheel to wheel!” cried Barry. “Thank the good Lord I have lived to see this day. Look at the boys,” he added in a low tone, to the Australian beside him.