red that flickered, as an
aurora borealis, from horizon to horizon.

But the uninitiated Medical Corps unit, numbed to inertia, was only
sensible to an overhead riot of screeching demons, as shells hurtling
forward were passed and answered by shells hurtling back--a sky of
flying steel and a horizon of blasted earth! In moments of greatest
concussion, simultaneous with the most blinding flashes, the air about
their faces seemed to jump; crazy little vortexes scurried past the
dug-out opening, or flew in across the floor, like phantom kittens
seized by some curious madness. To Jeb's highly imaginative, and now
half-crazed, mind these represented newly liberated souls, in anguish
seeking refuge from the hurricane of death and its drenching rain of
fire. He had not then found out how many hundreds of shells must be
fired to wound one man!

On the Allied side the bombardment, with growing intensity, became a
_barrage_. Explosions came as thick as drum taps when a roll is sounded.
There seemed to be no intermission, really; no more, at any rate, than
one's ear can detect between clicks in a telegraph room when the
instruments work rapidly.

Barrow and Bonsecours ran in. They looked weirdly grotesque in the
fitful playing of lights, and Bonsecours shouted something, although no
voice seemed to issue from his lips. Then with vigorous gestures he
beckoned the men up to him--having come especially to get this new unit
straightened out, since his own veterans knew exactly what to do.

Jeb had not moved, for the blanket still hung from his shoulders.
Neither had the others arisen from their bunks, so bewildered were they
also by the chorus of death engines.

"Up now, and active!" the great surgeon yelled. "Stretchers! You go out
shortly!"

"Go out!" Jeb screamed, finding his voice in a burst. "Go out!" he
screamed again. "God Almighty, no one can go out _there_!"

His face was ghostlike, his eyes were large, staring, vacant. Bonsecours
stepped nearer and studied him, bellowing in a tone that had made more
than one man obey:

"There are twenty thousand fine fellows, _mon chere enfant_, each about
to spring from his trench with the firm belief that if he gets hit we
shall bring him in. No man dares break faith with a friend who thus
relies on him!" He had put both hands on Jeb's shoulders and now
continued to look steadfastly, honestly into his eyes. Then quickly he
kissed him on both cheeks, saying: "I'll believe in you