line of the regiment, but his comrades were standing looking at him from
the edge of an impossible star. He was aware of some deep wheel-ruts and
hoof-prints in the sod beneath his feet.

The artillery officer who had fallen in this meadow had been making
groans in the teeth of the tempest of sound. These futile cries,
wrenched from him by his agony, were heard only by shells, bullets. When
wild-eyed Collins came running, this officer raised himself. His face
contorted and blanched from pain, he was about to utter some great
beseeching cry. But suddenly his face straightened and he called:

"Say, young man, give me a drink of water, will you?"

Collins had no room amid his emotions for surprise. He was mad from the
threats of destruction.

"I can't!" he screamed, and in his reply was a full description of his
quaking apprehension. His cap was gone and his hair was riotous. His
clothes made it appear that he had been dragged over the ground by the
heels. He ran on.

The officer's head sank down, and one elbow crooked. His foot in its
brass-bound stirrup still stretched over the body of his horse, and the
other leg was under the steed.

But Collins turned. He came dashing back. His face had now turned grey,
and in his eyes was all terror. "Here it is! here it is!"

The officer was as a man gone in drink. His arm bent like a twig. His
head drooped as if his neck were of willow. He was sinking to the