sound like the crack of doom.

It was the field-guns now, and the sound of a field-gun close at hand
is bad for the nerves if you aren't expecting it. Peter thought he had
been hit, and lay flat for a little to consider. Then he found the
right explanation, and crawled forward very warily.

Presently he saw his first Russian shell. It dropped half a dozen
yards to his right, making a great hole in the snow and sending up a
mass of mixed earth, snow, and broken stones. Peter spat out the dirt
and felt very solemn. You must remember that never in his life had he
seen big shelling, and was now being landed in the thick of a
first-class show without any preparation. He said he felt cold in his
stomach, and very wishful to run away, if there had been anywhere to
run to. But he kept on to the crest of the ridge, over which a big
glow was broadening like sunrise. He tripped once over a wire, which
he took for some kind of snare, and after that went very warily. By
and by he got his face between two boulders and looked over into the
true battle-field.

He told me it was exactly what the predikant used to say that Hell
would be like. About fifty yards down the slope lay the Turkish
trenches--they were dark against the snow, and now and then a black
figure like a devil showed for an instant and disappeared. The Turks
clearly expected an infantry attack, for they were sending up calcium
rockets and Very flares. The Russians were battering their line and
spraying all the hinterland, not with shrapnel, but with good, solid
high-explosives. The place would be as bright as day for a moment, all
smothered in a scurry of smoke and snow and debris, and then a black
pall would fall on it, when only the thunder of the guns told of the
battle.

Peter felt very sick. He had not believed there could be so much noise
in the world, and the drums of his ears were splitting. Now, for a man
to whom courage is habitual, the taste of fear--naked, utter fear--is a
horrible thing. It seems to wash away all his manhood. Peter lay on
the crest, watching the shells burst, and confident that any moment he
might be a shattered remnant. He lay and reasoned with himself,
calling himself every name he could think of, but conscious that
nothing would get rid of that lump of ice below his heart.

Then he could stand it no longer. He got up and ran for his life.

But he ran forward.

It was the craziest performance. He went hell-for-le