He spoke of the whole earth trembling and consumed by fire--of thunder and lightning and a great long trumpet call--of the dead leaping alive again from the graves where they lay buried.

Not a poor picture, sahib, of a night attack in Flanders! The first line of German trenches, and the second had been pounded out of being by our guns.

The barbed wire had been cut into fragments by our shrapnel.

Here and there an arm or a leg protruded from the ground--here and there a head.

For two hundred yards and perhaps more there was nothing to oppose us, except the enemy shells bursting so constantly that we seemed to breathe splintered metal.
Yet very few were hit.