This isn't much like the war we've read about, is it, Scott?
A great battlefield, vast batteries blazing, long lines of infantry in brilliant uniforms advancing, twenty thousand cavalry charging at the gallop the earth reeling under the hoofs of their horses!" "No, it's just murder in the dark." [Illustration: "Once they came to the very edge of the trench to be slain there"] "But a black night would oppress me less than the ghastly whitish glare of the snow.

I can't see a thing out there, Scott, but those low sounds I hear appall me." The wind and the fall of snow alike were increasing in violence.

The great flakes poured in a feathery storm into the trench, and, before them, all things were hidden.

John knew, too, that it was covering the many dead in their front with a blanket of white and that the wounded who were unable to crawl back would probably lie frozen beneath it in the morning.

Once more that shiver of horror and utter repulsion seized him.