For several hours now the colonel of the
Durhams could not get into touch with his companies, isolated and
hidden beneath the smoke of the shell-bursts. Flag-wagging and
heliographing were out of the question. He could not tell even if a
single man remained alive out there beneath all those shells. No word
came from them now to let him know if the enemy were counter-
attacking.
Early in the afternoon he decided to go out and make his own
reconnaissance. The bombardment was still relentless, and it was only
possible to go part of the way in an old communication trench. The
ground about was littered with the dead, still being blown about by
high explosives.
The soul of the colonel was heavy then with doubt and with the
knowledge that most of the dead here were his own. When he told me
this adventure his only comment was the soldier's phrase, "It was not
what might be called a 'healthy' place." He could see no sign of a
counter-attack, but, straining through the smoke-clouds, his eyes
could detect no sign of life where his men had been holding the
captured lines.
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