of men ran forward. A colour-sergeant fell flat with his flag as if he
had slipped on ice. There was hoarse cheering from this distant field.

Collins suddenly felt that two demon fingers were pressed into his
ears. He could see nothing but flying arrows, flaming red. He lurched
from the shock of this explosion, but he made a mad rush for the house,
which he viewed as a man submerged to the neck in a boiling surf might
view the shore. In the air, little pieces of shell howled and the
earthquake explosions drove him insane with the menace of their roar. As
he ran the canteens knocked together with a rhythmical tinkling.

As he neared the house, each detail of the scene became vivid to him.
He was aware of some bricks of the vanished chimney lying on the sod.
There was a door which hung by one hinge.

Rifle bullets called forth by the insistent skirmishers came from the
far-off bank of foliage. They mingled with the shells and the pieces of
shells until the air was torn in all directions by hootings, yells,
howls. The sky was full of fiends who directed all their wild rage at
his head.

When he came to the well, he flung himself face downward and peered
into its darkness. There were furtive silver glintings some feet from
the surface. He grabbed one of the canteens, and, unfastening its cap,
swung it down by the cord. The water flowed slowly in with an indolent
gurgle.

And now as he lay with his face turned away he was suddenly smitten
with the terror. It came upon his heart like the grasp of claws. All the
power faded from his muscles. For an instant he was no more than a dead