ut we're so far, so far apart,
Each lonely in a different land.

The night was murky and the air was splashed with rain. Following the
line of trench I could dimly discern the figures of my mates pulling
off their packs and fixing their bayonets. These glittered brightly as
the dying fires from the trench braziers caught them, and the long
array of polished blades shone into their place along the dark brown
sandbags. Looking over the parados I could see the country in rear,
dim in the hazy night. A white, nebulous fog lay on the ground and
enveloped the lone trees that stood up behind. Here and there I could
discern houses where no light shone, and where no people dwelt. All
the inhabitants were gone, and in the village away to the right (p. 089)
there was absolute silence, the stillness of the desert. To my mind
came words I once read or heard spoken, "The conqueror turns the
country into a desert, and calls it peace."

I clamped my bayonet into its standard and rested the cold steel on
the parapet, the point showing over; and standing up I looked across
to the enemy's ground.

"They're about three hundred yards away," somebody whispered taking
his place at my side. "I think I can see their trenches."

An indistinct line which might have been a parapet of sandbags, became
visible as I stared through the darkness; it looked very near, and my
heart thrilled as I watched. Suddenly a stream of red sparks swooped
upwards into the air and circled towards us. Involuntarily I stooped
under cover, then raised my head again. High up in the air a bright
flame stood motionless lighting up the ground in front, the space
between the lines. Every object was visible: a tree stripped of all
its branches stood bare, outlined in black; at its foot I could see
the barbed wire entanglements, the wire sparkling as if burnished;
further back was a ruined cottage, the bare beams and rafters giving
it the appearance of a skeleton. A year ago a humble farmer might (p. 090)
have lived there; his children perhaps played where dead were lying. I
could see the German trench, the row of sandbags, the country to rear,
a ruined village on a hill, the flashes of rifles on the left ... the
flare died out in mid-air and darkness cloaked the whole scene again.

"What do you think of it, Stoner?" I asked the figure by my side.

"My God, it's great," he answered. "To think that they're over there,
and the poor fellows lying out on the field!