Another hour goes by. “Everything around is strewn with bodies of Germans. They are all mad. Throw themselves on us like starved rats, and we shoot. Every shot tells.” A little later, the voice speaks excitedly: “The Germans are flooding everything. We’ve no time to fire.... We cut down ten, and twenty take their places.... We mow down the twenty, and forty others are there already.... The Germans are in the fort. We are still firing at those in the field.... They’re trying to break through the roof.... Can’t hear anything.... The Germans are piling rocks against our gun-openings.... We are still firing.... Fire....” The voice stopped short. The Germans were in full possession of the fort. WITHOUT THE GLAMOUR A Lieutenant of the Royal Irish Fusiliers That Stormed Ginchy Paints War’s Horrors in Vivid Language It is well, once in a while, to take a square look at the grim, the ghastly, the repellent aspects of war, the reality stripped of the glamour, and realize that heroism is not always manifest in valiant deeds, but is often expressed in endurance, in patient suffering, in the play or poise of the inner forces in terrible circumstances. The experiences at the storming of Ginchy through which Lieut. Arthur C. Young of the Seventh Battalion, Royal Irish Fusiliers, passed and which he embodied in a letter to a relative some days afterward, were not perhaps exceptional,—but his description of them is. It is very doubtful if a more literal, faithful yet graphically vivid picture of war in its actuality has come from the battle front. In simple direct language we get the horror, the awfulness of it—but we also get reflectively the quality of manhood that produces heroes. Lieut. Young was, at the outbreak of the war, a resident of Kobe, Japan, and he promptly volunteered, returned to England and joined the Fusiliers. He had had his share of fighting, knew right well what it meant to go over the top, before the day at Ginchy which was the subject of his letter. The storming of Ginchy described by Lieut. Young occurred Sept. 9, 1916. He says: