nd water. We seem to be going
ever down and down, as in a pit. We slip and tumble, butt into the wall
of the trench, into which we drive our elbows hard, so as to throw
ourselves upright again. Our going is a sort of long slide, on which we
keep up just how and where we can. What matters is to stumble only
forward, and as straight as possible.

Where are we? I lift my head, in spite of the billows of rain, out of
this gulf where we are struggling. Against the hardly discernible
background of the buried sky, I can make out the rim of the trench; and
there, rising before my eyes all at once and towering over that rim, is
something like a sinister doorway, made of two black posts that lean
one upon the other, with something hanging from the middle like a
torn-off scalp. It is the doorway.

"Forward! Forward!"

I lower my head and see no more; but again I hear the feet that sink in
the mud and come out again, the rattle of the bayonets, the heavy
exclamations, and the rapid breathing.

Once more there is a violent back-eddy. We pull up sharply, and again I
am thrown upon Poterloo and lean on his back, his strong back and
solid, like the trunk of a tree, like healthfulness and like hope. He
cries to me, "Cheer up, old man, we're there!"

We are standing still. It is necessary to go hack a little--Nom de
Dieu!--no, we are moving on again!

Suddenly a fearful explosion falls on us. I tremble to my skull; a
metallic reverberation fills my head; a scorching and suffocating smell
of sulphur pierces my nostrils. The earth has opened in front of me. I
feel myself lifted and hurled aside--doubled up, choked, and half
blinded by this lightning and thunder. But still my recollection is
clear; and in that moment when I looked wildly and desperately for my
comrade-in-arms, I saw his body go up, erect and black, both his arms
outstretched to their limit, and a flame in the place of his head!

------------

[note 1:] All these high roads are stone-paved, and traffic is
noisy.--Tr.

XIII

The Big Words

BARQUE notices that I am writing. He comes towards me on all fours
through the straw and lifts his intelligent face to me, with its
reddish forelock and the little quick eyes over which circumflex
accents fold and unfold them-selves. His mouth is twisting in all
directions, by reason of a tablet of chocolate that he crunches and
chews, while he holds the moist stump of it in his fist.

With his mouth full, and wafti