In the smoke vomited by
dug-outs and the shaking wind of subterranean explosions, I come
upon a compact mass of men hooked onto each other who are describing
a wide circle. Just as we reach them the entire mass breaks up to
make a residue of furious battle. I see Blaire break away, his
helmet hanging on his neck by the chin-strap and his face flayed,
and uttering a savage yell. I stumble upon a man who is crouching at
the entry to a dug-out. Drawing back from the black hatchway,
yawning and treacherous, he steadies himself with his left hand on a
beam. In his right hand and for several seconds he holds a bomb
which is on the point of exploding. It disappears in the hole,
bursts immediately, and a horrible human echo answers him from the
bowels of the earth. The man seizes another bomb.
Another man strikes and shatters the posts at the mouth of another
dug-out with a pickax he has found there, causing a landslide, and
the entry is blocked. I see several shadows trampling and
gesticulating over the tomb.
Of the living ragged band that has got so far and has reached this
long-sought trench after dashing against the storm of invincible
shells and bullets launched to meet them, I can hardly recognize
those whom I know, just as though all that had gone before of our
lives had suddenly become very distant. There is some change working
in them. A frenzied excitement is driving them all out of
themselves.
"What are we stopping here for?" says one, grinding his teeth.
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