At what hour it happened I cannot, say for certain; the mist was clearing, the sun was beginning to be merry and the air was streaky with lavender-tinted smoke, when between the pollarded trees of the high-road batteries of French seventy-fives appeared, gallantly trotting to the carnage. They were the first of the sacrifice batteries moving up. Shells burst to right and to left of them; one fell directly among them. It made no difference; the guns and wagons which were behind, swerving aside and round the struggling mass, passed determinedly on to meet the vaster horror which lay before them. The drivers, sitting stiffly erect as on parade, rose and fell to the movement of the horses. The gunners clung tightly to the jolting vehicles, no tremor of emotion showing on their faces. They were going into open warfare, where men die cleanly among wheat-fields. The sight was superb and filled us with envy. We had been firing at extreme range for some time; now at last across the wire the order came to stand down. This meant that where our shells had been falling, our infantry were preparing to advance; it also meant that unless we hooked in and followed up, we should be permanently out of action. We felt disgraced to sit there doing nothing, while crowds of those about to die streamed past us. Yes, streamed past us; they came in droves, these young lads with their keen, bronzed faces. They came singing and twirling their caps on their bayonets, as if fear were an emotion unknown to their hearts. They came brushing through the wheat, following the tracks the tanks had made; they came cheering up the ravines and laughing along the high-road. They came carrying rifles, machine-guns, trench-mortars, bombs—all the filthy inventions war has brought to perfection, whereby one man may torture another. They stuck wild-flowers in their tunics, as if off on a holiday. They never once acknowledged by word or gesture that, life might hold for them no more to-morrows. Brave hearts! And always as they passed, seeing us sitting beside our silent guns with our still more silent faces, they would throw back gay taunts about meeting us in Germany. We could not taunt back; we felt ourselves a farce. In our minds we saw the French sacrifice batteries going at the gallop into action, “Halt, action front.” popping off their rounds, hooking in again, and going on and on forever. Why had we been forced to march so far if, now that we were here, they did not intend to use us? They’d shown precious little consideration up to now; and now, when the battle was raging and we were needed and ought not to be spared, they were willing to spare us. Death didn’t in the least matter, if only we could earn our share in the glory.