still the bird-like notes are in the air above, and
bitter little sounds against stones, and tiny little fountains of
dust spurt from the ground around. And then a great feeling comes to
him that he would like to be out of it all. There is no glory in it.
The sun is hotter than he ever felt it before. His water-bottle is
finished, and his mouth is clammy. A young subaltern with an
eye-glass, no end of a toff, walks along the front of the line, and he
watches with interested delight microscopic ducklets of his head,
synchronising with whistles. Just as the toff is opposite him, he
spins round suddenly, exclaiming, "By Jove!" and falls down like a
sack of potatoes all of a heap. He begins to feel a strange sickness
in the stomach, just the same as coming out on the transport. He feels
it coming on. He knows he is going to be sick, and as he is going to
be sick he wants to go away. There is no use in a sick man remaining
in the fighting line. But then he feels as if he were held down there
by the weight of the whirring air. There is no room in it for him to
get up safely. There is no room to go away. Momentarily the noises
increase. Men are firing about him, and he strains his eyes on the
opposite hill to see something to shoot at, and empties his magazine
at what looks like a man but may be a tree-trunk, and then stops again
and gets sick. Another long period of waiting follows. All the water
is gone from his water-bottle; an intolerable thirst is scorching his
throat. He does not reload his magazine, and makes up his mind to say
that his rifle is jammed, so that he need not go further with any
fresh stupid advance that may be ordered. This is no time to care
about what any one may think of him, it is just too awful for
anything.

The ground has ceased trembling with the cavalry, who have dashed to
the front. There is no longer any whizzing in the air. The "cease
fire" is already sounding right along the line. The man who was afraid
stands up with his comrades, who are already on their legs. The old
Colonel trots along the line, mopping his red face with his
handkerchief. "That was a hot business," he says to his Captain, and
calls cheerily to us, "Well done, C Company! You are damned steady
boys under as hot fire as I have ever seen." The man who was afraid
opens his shoulders and pulls out the collar of his tunic and stoops
down to wipe off the cakes of dirty earth that are sticking to his
knees.

VII

THE DA