Many men behind them
were killed and a stream of wounded dragged themselves toward the rear.
The giant shells also fell among them, spreading death over wide areas.
The hideous smell of fumes and gases spread. The air seemed poisoned.

The rifles now opened fire, and the air was filled with singing steel.
The little bullets flew in millions, cutting down men, bushes, grass,
everything. John and his comrades using the ridge for shelter fired
their own weapons as fast as they could pull the trigger. He did not
know how Carstairs and Wharton had obtained their rifles, but plenty
were lying about for the taking.

As the German lines drew nearer John saw the men falling in hundreds.
Their ranks were swept by shell, shrapnel and the unceasing storm of
bullets, but the gray hosts, a quarter of a million strong, passing over
the dying and the dead, always swept on, their generals eager to cut off
and destroy the English army where it stood. As they marched vast bodies
of troops thundered out "The Watch on the Rhine," or "A Mighty Fortress
is our God." Now and then a strain of the song came to John's ears on
the roar of the battle.

The gray sea was coming nearer, ever nearer. Losses, however large, were
nothing to the Germans. Their generals led them on straight into the
face of the British fire, and John gasped as if all that tremendous
weight were about to be hurled upon his own chest.

The British fire doubled, tripled. The German line wavered, steadied
itself and came on again. Then John saw a flash extending along their
own front, and he and his comrades sprang to their feet. He saw an
officer give an order and then with a tremendous shout the men, their
line bristling with steel, rushed forward.

John heard the shrapnel and bullets shrieking and whistling among them,
but he was untouched. Whether there was any bayonet on the end of his
rifle he did not know, but he was running forward with the others, and
then he was in the center of a vast red whirlwind, in which the faces of
men shone and steel glittered. Cannon and rifles crashed, and there was
a great shouting, but the Germans at last reeled and gave back before
the bayonet.

A tremendous roar of cheers came from the British line, and for a little
space there was a comparative lull in the thunder of the battle. John
heard a Highland brigade singing some wild song, and near him the Irish
were pouring forth a fierce, wailing note. Wharton and Carstairs were
stil