There! Headlong in among the trees, and into the bushes, into the thorns. There they are falling lifeless to the ground, their faces buried in the soil, and they are squeezing their eyes tight, to shut out the sight of the accursed blue of heaven that spat down on us so treacherously--You dogs! You beasts! To shoot us down from behind--it is nothing more nor less than cowardly assassination. And slowly breath and consciousness return to us again, and when we have come to our senses we look at one another with dumb eyes, and these eyes presage nought that is good. A great, unspeakable Horror that will never be allayed again has risen in these eyes. CHAPTER IX THE WHIRLING EARTH Half-way on the march some one fell down beside me, flung out his arms, clawed himself tightly to the earth, and screamed and gasped against the soil. Barely half an hour later we saw another who had fallen into convulsions. And when we were lying in a damp ditch waiting for the enemy, a man suddenly jumped up, and shrieked, and ran away. He laughed back at us from afar until he vanished from our sight in the rain. The shrieking and running away had infected us all. 'Twon't be long before it will be your turn. One night when we were lying in our trenches, and had fallen asleep to the thunder of the guns, I suddenly started up--confused--dazed; and lo, the stars were standing bright in the dark, rainless sky, and shone down solemnly, ah God! how solemnly, on the turmoil, as if nothing in this world mattered. Yet there--in front of me, before my very eyes --glimmered a red reflection--that surely must be a pool of blood, for the stars are mirrored in it so redly--and suddenly a blind rage overtook me to howl aloud and clench my fists, and to scream in the very face of the great Master up above there--But I had neither time to howl nor to run. For in this self-same night it so happened that an uncanny whirr fell on our ears from out the distance. That was Death flying toward us on propellers. The spectres of the night whirred above us; we shot blindly into the air--for every moment the storm was bound to break over us.... Torpedo tubes above us ... they'll spurt in a minute ... they're going to fling down dynamite ... and then the magnesium bombs blazed out ... cries and crashes rose wherever we looked ... then they are gone again ... but we had to retire from our trenches ... senselessly, like automata, we marched for the whole of that day. I felt the goose-flesh creeping over my skin; my nerves ached, and if the bayonet were not at the small of my back I should chuck my rifle away, and roll sprawling in the damp sand. And yet four days afterward they have contrived to get us to make a stand again. For in our rear, on the other bank of the river, our regiments have crossed, and are groping for new positions. But we have to cover their passage at any cost.