cessful attack on positions so strong as those opposed to us would be proof positive that the enemy's hopes of holding up the Allied ride of conquest by building a series of such dams across Europe were founded on folly. On the other hand, if the attack was vigorously pressed and failed, the chances were that the rôle of the 46th Division in the present war was played for good and all.
As the hours rolled on towards the fateful moment when the barrage was due to open, a hush of expectancy seemed to settle over the whole front of the Division. The enemy fire was fitful—an occasional shell, only, falling on such well-known targets as “The Tumulus,” Hudson's Post, or the roads and tracks through Ascension Valley, the most shell-torn area behind our lines. Our own artillery fired sporadically, guns having been told off to simulate an appearance of normal activity. Suddenly, to the minute agreed upon, the preliminary gun of the barrage boomed forth and, in a second, flashes appeared to spring from every square yard of the “gun-lines,” while a perfect tornado of furious sound, a hellish compound of the voices of guns of all calibres, rent the air and caused the very earth to shake. The enemy lines were already hidden in thick mist, so that the grandest sight of a modern battle—the striking of the steel storm on his front—was hidden from the sight of the watchers in our trenches, though the crash and roar of the exploding shells was proof enough of what was happening in front of us. As the barrage opened, officers and men of the leading Brigade gave a sigh of relief from the intolerable tension of the preparation; the men sprang from their forming-up positions and, led by their officers, poured down the slopes toward the nearest enemy trenches, keeping close to the barrage. In these initial stages of the attack, direction was maintained fairly well, in spite
