been shattered. To the right was a patched-up road with several ruined
cottages on either side. To the left of the poplars was a wood in which
a large white château was half concealed. It looked very dreary with its
black, gaping windows. To our right was a big farmhouse. Most of the
tiles had been blown from the roof, showing the bare rafters. The door
was in splinters, and the walls were riddled. A little lane wound round
the farm in a loop and then lost itself in the wood.

Behind us was a hedge and a group of trees amongst which a gun was
hidden.

There was no sound of firing. No birds were singing, although it was
spring. All was quiet except for the frogs that uttered raucous musical
croaks in a pond near by and puffed out the bladders at the corners of
their mouths, so as to produce long-drawn shrill vibrations.

We shovelled the stones out of the trucks. Several of the men expressed
disappointment at the fact that there was no "excitement."

Soon after nightfall desultory firing broke out some distance off. Then
a gun began to fire a long way behind us. The shells passing high
overhead made a faint rustling noise, as though they were travelling
along in leisurely fashion.

Suddenly all the batteries in the entire neighbourhood joined in. The
uproar was like that of innumerable thunderstorms crashing together. The
guns bellowed and roared and pounded and deep reverberations filled the
night. From behind us there came flashes so dazzling that we could not
bear to look at them, and great blasts of air and thunder-claps that
seemed to strike our ears with colossal hammers and make them drone