her it was a position which should never have been
bombarded in this fashion. The artillery was directed upon a hill high
above it, lying between it and the breaking day. On its crest,
separated by only a few yards, were both the defenders and the
attackers. Few of the shells were likely to hit the enemy, for the
majority must either spend themselves in the air beyond the crest or
else fall among our own men on the crest itself; so they fell thickly
along Mac's line, and thus to the danger of an enemy on three sides was
added the tragedy of our own artillery on the fourth. Helpless they
were to shield themselves or to stop this mad destruction. They had
red and yellow flags to mark their positions, and these they waved
violently, but it could be of no avail in the dawn light, the dust and
the smoke.

What telephone communication there was with the rear, Mac did not know;
but, whether there was any or whether it had been cut by the enemy, no
sign came that the artillery knew where its shells were falling. One
after another those shells burst with a yellow glare and a fountain of
black smoke, sending men, some alive, and many dead, flying upwards;
and when Mac could see again there would be a space in the line where
one, two or more of his troop had taken the long trail. They rained
faster, bursting incessantly on that narrow strip between them and the
edge of the cliff, often falling behind and always odd ones and twos
dropping into the trench itself. Mac felt sick with the fumes and the
horror of it, and sometimes the blast of a shell sent him against the
side of the trench. The helplessness of the position appalled him.
There were fewer and fewer of them left, and there was a growing gap in
the line. Yet there was no means of stopping it; and he longed for the
bombardment to cease. He sniped away at the Turks along the cliffs,
and turned his attention at times to some who had been hunted from the
knob by the shelling. There were only three or four of them left in
this corner and yet there was no slackening of that mad artillery fire.
Then swiftly there was an awful lurid flash close in front of him, on
the level ground almost in his face, and it seemed he had been hit
across the head with a bar of wood, and he could not see. He pressed
his hand to his face and sank slowly to the ground.

"Old Mac's a goner," he heard the voice of one of his mates say in
those same affectionate, final tones which had follo