I went along the empty valley, meeting only a mule waggon on the way. As I arrived at the waterbutts, two star-shells burst in the sky, and a volley of rapid fire broke from the trenches. But at the end of a little while the fire died again to an even roll. I rested a second time at the foot of the hill where Headquarters was dug in, and then began the last bitter pinch. I thought I should never reach the top; but I scrambled there at last. Before reporting to the sergeant-major, I sat down to get breath.
The night was dark, but I was used to it. Round about me the men sat at the mouths of their funk-holes, talking together and smoking and dreaming. The colonel, with a couple of other men, was in the officers’ dug-out: he spoke down the ’phone, relating the day’s events so far as I heard. I looked for the sergeant-major, and found him in his dug-out, lying on the blankets. He looked tired and ill. A candle in a cigarette tin lit the place. I put down my head, for the roof was low, and peered inside.
“I’ve come to report myself, sergeant-major.” He looked at me over the candle and blinked his eyes: I was in shadow and he took a moment to recognise me.
“Oh, it’s you, Lake. You’ll be wanted in the morning for observing. You brought your kit, I suppose?”
I said “Yes,” and then “Good-night,” and went across to the telephone office.
There I found Wilkinson. He read The Bulletin by the light of a lantern. The receiver was strapped over his ears. He seemed pleased to see me, and said all of a sudden, “You look crook.”
“I feel pretty crook,” I answered. And then I sat down and asked for the news. Wilkinson had plenty to give.
“They’ve got Lonesome Pine,” he exclaimed.
“By Jove!” I said. “What about the Jolly?”
“They’ve not got that yet. They found tons of ammunition in the Lonesome Pine trenches; and there’s a report through that our fellows and the Gurkas have taken ‘971.’ It sounds dinkum.” His speech was excited. He told me a lot more, all as hopeful.