The shells sounded like the jarring sound of telegraph wires when one hits the pole they hang from with a stone; and when the shells were close they sounded like the noise made by two trains passing in opposite directions when the wind is driven between the cars.

The bullets were much worse than the shells as you could always hear them coming, and the bullets slipped up and passed you in a sneaking way with a noise like rustling silk, or if some one had torn a silk handkerchief with a sharp pull.

One shell struck three feet from me and knocked me over with the dirt and stones and filled my nose and mouth with pebbles.

I went back and dug it out of the ground while it was still hot and have it as a souvenir.

I swore terribly at the bullets and Bass used to grin in a sickly way.