Suddenly a frantic whistling tears the air and there is a shower of
shrapnel above us. Meteorites flash and scatter in fearful flight in
the heart of the yellow clouds. Revolving missiles rush through the
heavens to break and burn upon the bill, to ransack it and exhume
the old bones of men; and the thundering flames multiply themselves
along an even line.
It is the barrage fire beginning again. Like children we cry,
"Enough, enough!"
In this fury of fatal engines, this mechanical cataclysm that
pursues us through space, there is something that surpasses human
strength and will, something supernatural. Joseph, standing with his
hand in mine, looks over his shoulder at the storm of rending
explosions. He bows his head like an imprisoned beast, distracted:
"What, again! Always, then!" he growls; "after all we've done and
all we've seen--and now it begins again! Ah, non, non!"
He falls on his knees, gasps for breath, and throws a futile look of
full hatred before him and behind him. He repeats, "It's never
finished, never!"
I take him by the arm and raise him. "Come; it'll be finished for
you."
We must dally there awhile before climbing, so I will go and bring
back Ramure in extremis, who is waiting for me. But Joseph clings to
me, and then I notice a movement of men about the spot where I left
the dying man. I can guess what it means; it is no longer worth
while to go there.
The ground of the ravine where we two are closely clustered to abide
the tempest is quivering, and at each shot we feel the deep simoom
of the shells.
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