waves of air followed one another with great violence, and the fumes of
picric acid and of other acids that he did not know became very strong.
But he scarcely noticed it. The bombardment was all in the day's work,
and when the Germans ceased, the French, after a decent interval, would
begin their own cannonade, carried on at equal length.

John thought little of the fire of the guns, now almost a regular affair
like the striking of a clock, but force of habit kept his head down and
no German sharpshooter watching in the trench opposite had a chance at
him. He advanced through a vast burrow. Trenches ran parallel, and other
trenches cut across them. One could wander through them for miles. Most
of them were uncovered, but others had roofs, partial or complete, of
thatch or boards or canvas. Many had little alcoves and shelves, dug out
by the patient hands of the soldiers, and these niches contained their
most precious belongings.

Back of the trenches often lay great heaps of refuse like the kitchen
middens of primeval man. Attempts at coziness had achieved a little
success in some places, but nearly everywhere the abode of burrowing
soldiers was raw, rank and fetid. Heavy and hideous odors arose from the
four hundred miles of unwashed armies. Men lived amid disease, dirt and
death. Civilization built up slowly through painful centuries had come
to a sudden stop, and once more they were savages in caves seeking to
destroy one another.

This, at least, was the external aspect of it, but the flower of
civilization was still sound at the stem. When the storm was over it
would grow and bloom again amid the wreckage. French and Germans, in the
intervals of battle, were often friendly with each other. They listened
to the songs of the foe, and sometimes at night they talked together.