‘That bugger deserves to get off,’ said Sergeant-Major Tozer; but the unlucky Sergeant Hope, who was the person responsible, shoved a revolver into his pocket, took another bicycle, and scoured the country like a desperate man. Even when he returned, empty-handed, he could not say all he felt. In the afternoon they moved up to the front-line trenches.

Brigade had ordered them to make a raid to secure identifications and the various companies were asked to provide volunteers. Weeper Smart, who had been down to the headquarters’ dugout to get something, had brought back the message. With Lance-Corporal Eames and a man called Jackson, he had been attached to A Company as signaller for that tour in the trenches. He handed the message to Sergeant-Major Tozer, who gave it to Captain Marsden; and they discussed the matter in a low tone of voice. The Hun had become a little troublesome in no-man’s land, and it was a mistake to let him have too much of his own way.

‘Mr Cross will be in charge, with Sergeant Morgan and ten men.’

Bourne had been out with a fatigue party, draining a low-lying bit of trench which needed the pump daily. The trenches were rotten with wet, and when the frost gave the sides tended to collapse. He had brought his men back to the dug-out by the time Captain Marsden and Sergeant-Major Tozer had digested the message, and Captain Marsden looked up and saw him, muddy up to the thighs.

‘Lance-Corporal, we’re to make a raid tonight. I believe you know something about the lie of the land up here. Do you wish to make one of the party? We’re asking for volunteers.’

‘Lance-Corporal Bourne is down for a commission, sir,’ interposed Sergeant-Major Tozer, ‘and per’aps …’

‘I know all that,’ said Captain Marsden, shortly. ‘What do you say, Lance-Corporal?’

Bourne felt something in him dilate enormously, and then contract to nothing again.

‘If you wish it, sir,’ he said, indifferently.

‘It’s not a question of my wishes,’ said Captain Marsden, coldly. ‘We are asking for volunteers. I think the experience may be useful to you.’

‘I am quite ready, sir,’ said Bourne, with equal coldness.

There was silence for a couple of seconds; and suddenly Weeper stood up, the telephone receiver still on his head, and his eyes almost starting from their sockets.

‘If tha go’st, a’m goin’,’ he said, solemnly.

Captain Marsden looked at him with a supercilious amazement.

‘I don’t know whether your duties will allow of you going,’ he said. ‘I shall put your name down provisionally.

A young man called Gaymer volunteered; no one else. They got some food, and sat in silence, smoking. After some time, Bourne, Smart, and Gaymer were told to report themselves outside H.Q. dug-out at once. The trenches by day were as forlorn and desolate as by night, but without the enveloping mystery. Everything was stark, bare, and cold; one crept within the skeleton ribs of earth. The party gradually came together, and the adjutant climbed out of the dug-out, and spoke to each man individually. He seemed a little perplexed as to what he should say. He looked at Bourne rather doubtfully.