were carried in. Natural curiosity sometimes prompted one to question a tunnelling officer. You were told that a bit of a hole was being dug," and you were invariably asked to come in and have a drink"; but somehow after that you did not persist in having your curiosity satisfied. We soon learned that it was less wise to try questioning the sappers. They were hardly as polite in conveying that if you asked no questions you'd hear no lies.

I remember a certain point along a gallery where a tunnellers' sentry was posted, who prevented any but tunnellers from passing in. There would always be several sappers here, sitting about on sandbags and smoking or yarning. A piece of canvas hung across the gallery, over which were an electric light and a notice bearing the one word: "Silence." Beyond the curtain all speaking was carried on in whispers and, although it seemed impossible that from this point any sound could have been conveyed to the enemy, the rule of silence was rigidly observed. On one occasion, for instance, while the men were talking and laughing on one side of the notice, I saw two sappers, not ten feet away on the other side, conversing in whispers.

The tunnellers' sentry treated all the inquisitive alike, irrespective of rank. There was one instance of a general visiting our part of the line, who tried to pass beyond the curtain and was peremptorily ordered to "beat it "—which

he did.

Sometimes one would meet with a party of tunnellers wearing huge gas masks, with oxygen cylinders strapped on their backs, moving quickly along, dragging a kind of matting sledge, on their way to a rescue. Later one would see men being dragged out unconscious, and then being revived with oxygen in a dug-out used for that purpose.

Occasionally one was told off at night with a carrying party for the tunnellers. Sometimes it was timber, sometimes bales of sandbags, little trucks with rubber-tyred wheels, pumps, queer bits of machinery-a hundred and one things foreign to the ordinary man's knowledge or equipment.

I remember on several occasions a tunnelling officer addressing the carrying party as they left Little Gate: Now then, you blokes, there's some rum here. A good carry, good rum-bad carry, no rum. . . . Bribery and corruption!

*

At times there was a blow-up in No Man's Land or in the enemy trenches, and sometimes in our own. Then

again there was what was known as a camouflet. This meant that while sitting in your dug-out you suddenly felt a thud of the earth, your dug-out rocked a little, and you were left wondering. We were always advised beforehand -just beforehand that this was going to happen. Even in the case of an enemy camouflet the tunnellers generally informed us that probably a slight earthquake would be felt, but that there was no need for alarm.

A camouflet was the explosion underground of a quantity of high explosive which wrecked the surrounding workings, but did not blow out to the surface. This made it impossible for the ground affected to be tunnelled for a considerable period afterwards, owing to the unexploded gases being held in the earth. The gases were deadly, and all work had to be done with extreme caution. Canaries and white mice were part of a tunneller's equipment, being used as gas detectors.

What I have written here represents about the sum total of knowledge one could gain of the mining.

For some months prior to June 1917 there was a steady flow of artillery into the salient. Ammunition dumps rose like mountains in a night, until the whole front for a distance of twelve to fourteen miles bristled with guns, while every day artillery action both on our side and from the enemy became more intense.

By the beginning of June one could feel the air electric with excitement. We all knew that something was going to happen very soon. And then came the eve of the 7th.

It was a perfect summer's evening with a clear sky and a breeze from the east. There had been a little intermittent shelling along parts of the line, but nothing out of the ordinary in fact the shelling during the last few days had slackened considerably on both sides. There was little to suggest that in a few hours the greatest barrage of the war would crash down, that it would be preceded by the explosion of nineteen mines of such gigantic proportions as had never before been imagined.

The whole of the attacking forces had come in the previous night, and the great long galleries connecting Larch Wood with the forward dug-outs and workings were lined with men and equipment. Smoking had been pro

hibited underground, for the numbers would have made the atmosphere impossible. For the first time in two years the activities of the tunnellers had ceased: there was nothing for those thousands of men to do but to wait while the hours moved along towards midnight.

By 2.30 a.m. the attacking troups (69th Brigade, 23rd Division) had filed out quietly and taken up their position, some three hundred yards from where the mines were to go up. Orders had been issued that every man should lie down till after the exploding of the mines, which was to be the signal for the artillery barrage to fall. Absolute silence had to be maintained.

By 3 a.m. all was in readiness. Shortly after three I remember the general commanding the 69th Brigade and the officer commanding the Australian Tunnellers coming out and taking up a position close to a little sandbag shelter. In this shelter I could see other tunnelling officers with electric appliances and exploders, sitting waiting.

Looking back, I realize that hours seemed to elapse before my watch showed five past three, and I heard the tunnelling commanding officer call across to his officers: "Five minutes to go, lads!" After which fell, perhaps, the deepest silence it will ever be my lot to hear.

"Four minutes to go .! !" Another period of waiting, while the general and the tunnelling commander stood talking and laughing together, their two figures vaguely outlined against the sky.

"Two minutes to go, lads Just then a light soared up from the crest of Hill 60, For a moment illumining the whole world's surface for us. the general tension was broken by the voice of an Australian miner, which audibly said: "That's the last light old

Fritz'll ever let off from there! "

Thinking of seconds as hours, I feel that I owe that man an unpayable debt of gratitude, for his words sent a subdued wave of laughter all along the lines of waiting, crouching men.

"One minute to go. .!" The laughter ceased as suddenly as it had begun again there was absolute silence, while one heard one's neighbour breathing and felt one's own heart thumping the seconds into minutes.

I can see the tunnelling officer with his torch flashed on to his watch-he and the general, their heads close together, waiting for that hand to move round to that second which seemed years distant. Then we saw him turn towards the officers with the firing apparatus, his eyes still on his

watch. Suddenly he straightened up and said one word: Fire!"

*

Nothing seemed to happen. My impression was that the mines had failed to go off. I looked at the tunelling commander: he was again looking at his watch.* Then there was a dull thud, as though a dud shell had landed some distance away, and then a peculiar earth tremoranother and another, stronger and stronger, seeming to come in waves from beneath one. A faint tinge of light began to creep up from the horizon; it was the first streak of dawn. It caught my eye and, as I looked, I suddenly became aware that Hill 60 was rising. Up and up, slowly and ever up, the whole crest of the ridge appeared to rise, while the earthquake became more pronounced. Then I saw the crest of the hill, standing boldly out against the sky, crack and still move upward: the crack grew wider and wider, and then a beam of yellow-white light, as though emanating from ten thousand searchlights, leapt to the heavens.

With one resounding crash the barrage fell. The beam of light changed from white to crimson; with a roar and a crackling the great charges heaved. Thousands of tons of clay, sand and soil, pill-boxes, concrete, iron and steel, men and material, went hurtling heavenwards. It seemed as though the very bowels of the earth must have burst. The whole of the hill was enveloped in flame which kept changing from one colour to another-from gold to red, from red to violet and green-towering up to the sky, and yet rolling steadily towards us. I can see now men crouching on their knees with upturned faces-the whole landside lit as though by some magic fireworks. The glare was intense -and ever onward rolled this mass of fire. It seemed to be upon us-we could feel the heat-when suddenly it went out-and we were left momentarily blinded, stupefied. .

(I heard afterwards that it was the unexploded gases that had caught fire and the wind, being from the east, had rolled the column towards us.)

By this time the enemy barrage had dropped, and the air was seething with shells. Though apparently no order was given to advance, the attacking force was on the move ; the Hill was rushed; within two minutes we had gained the crater, and for the first time since April 1915 the crest of Hill 60 was in British hands.

* Actually fifteen seconds elapsed from the command to fire till the last signs of the explosion had disappeared.

All along the line the battle was waged with clockwork precision, all objectives being reached at scheduled time. It was a decisive victory. The mines had done their work and, thanks to them, these powerful positions were wrested from the enemy with practically no loss to us.

Of the days that followed the histories of the various divisions engaged can tell. It was war much as usual. But in my mind there remains a clear-cut picture of those hours of waiting and of the winning of the crest of the Hill. It is a picture which even Time cannot dim, and this must be so, I fancy, with every man who was there.

Hill 60 to-day shows no sign of trenches. Trains pass through the railway cutting, the bridge has been rebuilt, and a crop was harvested last year.

A little memorial-the Australian Tunnellers'-stands looking back towards Ypres. That and two craters, which now have the appearance of small lakes, are all that convey to one that somewhere back in the years there was a war.

P. A. N.