leaving jagged streamers of
vapour afloat here and there; the near jarring discharge of
artillery shook the ground till bits of sod fell in particles,
crumbling from the ditch's edge; the outrageous racket of musketry
never slackened.

Lying there, they heard a sudden burst of cheering, and far to the
left saw another regiment come tumbling into the ditch and crouch,
huddled there in a blue line stretching as far away as they could
see. And again the firing increased to a stunning roar, and there
were more cheers; and, to their right, another regiment came
running and rolling into the ditch.

Officers, recklessly erect, stood here and there along the interior
of the ditch; then from the lair of each regiment flags emerged,
bugles blew clear and impatient; there came an upheaval of
bayonets, and the three regiments scrambled to their feet, over the
ditch's edge, and surged forward into the sunshine.

Across the fields Stephen saw guns being limbered up; and drivers
lashing their horses to a gallop across a bridge. The regiment on
their left was firing by wings as it advanced, the regiment on the
right had broken into a heavy run, yelling: "Hey! We want them
guns! Wait a second, will yer? Where you takin' them guns to?"

There was a new rail fence close in front of the Zouaves, barring
their way to the bridge; and suddenly, from behind it, men arose
with levelled muskets; and the Zouaves dropped flat to the volley
that buried the fence in smoke.

"Now, boys!" cried Colonel Craig, "we've got to have that bridge!
So we'll finish this business right here with the bayonet. Come on
and let's end it _now_!"

Major Lent ran forward and started to climb the smoky fence;
everywhere the Zouaves were swarming along the newly split rails or
driving their bayonets through the smoke at the gray phantoms
clustering behind. Shots rang out, the crack of stock against
stock, the ringing clamour and click of steel filled the air.

The zouave next to Stephen lurched up against him spouting blood
from the neck; on the other side of him another, a sergeant, too,
had gone stark mad, apparently, and was swinging his terrible sabre
bayonet without regard to friend or foe; and still another man of
his squad, swearing horridly, had clutched a ghostly enemy in the
smoke across the fence and was trying to strangle him with his bare
hands.

Stephen, bewildered by a blow which glanced from his head to his
left shoulder, clung to his