nd viewless, it is crossed and recrossed by heavy
blasts, and the murder of the earth continues all around, deeply and
more deeply, to the limit of completion.

There are even other guns which now join in--they are ours. Their
report is like that of the 75's, but louder, and it has a prolonged and
resounding echo, like thunder reverberating among mountains.

"They're the long 120's. They're on the edge of the wood half a mile
away. Fine guns, old man, like gray-hounds. They're slender and
fine-nosed, those guns--you want to call them 'Madame.' They're not
like the 220's--they're all snout, like coal-scuttles, and spit their
shells out from the bottom upwards. The 120's get there just the same,
but among the teams of artillery they look like kids in bassinettes."

Conversation languishes; here and there are yawns. The dimensions and
weight of this outbreak of the guns fatigue the mind. Our voices
flounder in it and are drowned.

"I've never seen anything like this for a bombardment," shouts Barque.

"We always say that," replies Paradis.

"Just so," bawls Volpatte. "There's been talk of an attack lately; I
should say this is the beginning of something."

The others say simply, "Ah!"

Volpatte displays an intention of snatching a wink of sleep. He settles
himself on the ground with his back against one wall of the trench and
his feet buttressed against the other wall.

We converse together on divers subjects. Biquet tells the story of a
rat he has seen: "He was cheeky and comical, you know. I'd taken off my
trotter-cases, and that rat, he chewed all the edge of the uppers into
embroidery. Of course, I'd greased 'em."

Volpatte, who is now definitely out of action, moves and says, "I can't
get to sleep for your gabbling."

"You can't make me believe, old fraud," says Marthereau, "that you can
raise a single snore with a shindy like this all round you."

Volpatte replies with one.

* * * * *

Fall in! March!

We are changing our spot. Where are they taking us to? We have no idea.
The most we know is that we are in reserve, and that they may take us
round to strengthen certain points in succession, or to clear the
communication trenches, in which the regulation of passing troops is as
complicated a job, if blocks and collisions are to be avoided, as it is
of the trains in a busy station. It is impossible to make out the
meaning of the immense maneuver in which the rolling of our re