He tore up the shirt of a corpse and bound them.... How like a living thing a shell snarls—as some wild beast, in ferocious glee thrusting its cruel fangs in earth and rock, rending livid flesh with its savage claws, and its fetid breath of poison powder scorching in the autumn winds.... All the way up the base of the hill ... they were almost unmolested.... This made them confident. But the Russian general ... had ordered his men to reserve their fire till we got within close range, and then to give it to us with machine guns.... The aim was so sure and firing so heavy that _nearly two-thirds of the command was mowed down at once_.... Then came the thud of a bullet. It was a different thud from any we had heard up to that time, and though I had never before heard bullet strike flesh, I could not mistake the sound. It goes into the earth wholesome and angry, into flesh ripping and sick with a splash like a hoof-beat of mud in the face.... The parapets of four forts were alive with bursting shrapnel. A hundred a minute were exploding on each (at fifteen gold dollars apiece). The air above them was black with glycerine gases of the motor shells, and the wind blowing ... held huge quantities of dust.... ‘No, the truth about war can not be told. It is too horrible. _The public will not listen._ A white bandage about the forehead with a strawberry mark in the center—is the picture they want of the wounded. _They won’t let you tell them the truth_ and show bowels ripped out, brains spilled, eyes gouged away, faces blanched with horror.... Archibald Forbes predicted twenty years ago that the time would come when armies would no longer be able to take their wounded from the field of battle. That day has come. We are living in it. Wounded have existed—how, God knows—on that field out there without help for twelve days, while shells and bullets rained about them, and if a comrade had dared to come to their assistance, his would have been a useless suicide. The searchlight, enginery of scientific trenches, machine-guns, rifles point blank at 200 yards with a range of over 2,000—these things have helped to make war more terrible than ever before in history. Red Cross societies and scientific text-books—they sell well and look pretty, but as for “humane warfare”—was there ever put into words a mightier sarcasm!’” Read all of Mr. Barry’s thrilling book and thus learn why the haughty “very best people,” who despise the workingmen, socially, don’t go themselves, up close, to the foul and bloody hell called war. In the Russian-Japanese war 275 officers and 1,349 men were treated in a single hospital for insanity. Says Dr. Awtokratow: