up to tell us that the Bulgar was getting ready
to go over the top. The flame-spurts--paling from a hot red to faded
lemon as the light grew stronger--splashed up against the mist-pall as
the jet of an illuminated fountain rises and falls, and down where the
battered first-line trenches faced each other the dust-geysers of the
exploding shells rolled up in clouds to the surface of the thinning
vapors as the mud of the bottom boils up through the waters of an
agitated pool.

[Sidenote: The Allied artillery opens.]

For a minute or two the ragged line of the barrage wallowed forward
through the outraged mist alone. Then, as a sudden flight of rockets
spat forth from the Greek first line to warn that the enemy infantry was
on the way, all the Allied artillery that could be brought to bear
opened up and began dropping shells just behind where the murky
mist-clouds marked the swath of the Bulgar barrage.

For the space of perhaps two or three minutes the fog-bank swirled and
curled in swaying eddies as the shells came hurtling into it;
then--whether it was from a sudden awakening of the wind or through the
licking up of its vapors by the first rays of the now risen sun, I never
knew--almost in the wave of a hand, it was gone, revealing a broad
expanse of trench-creased plain with a long belt of gray figures moving
across it in a cloud of dust and smoke.

[Sidenote: Lively hand-to-hand fighting.]

"It isn't much of a barrage as barrages go on the western front," said
Captain X---- half apologetically. "Their artillery won't do much harm
to us, and, I'm afraid, ours not much to them. And we'll hardly be
having enough machine guns emplaced to sting them as they ought to be
stung for swarming up in masses like that. But if it's only a
second-class artillery show, I still think I can promise you--if only
the Bulgar has the stomach for it--a livelier bit of hand-to-hand
fighting than you might find in a whole summer of looking for it in
France. Do you see those little winking flashes all along where the
infantry are moving? Some of them are from bayonets, but most are from
knives. A great man with the knife is the Bulgar. Did you ever hear that
song about him they sang at a revue the British 'Tommies' had at
Saloniki? It was a parody on some other song that was being sung in the
halls in London, and went something like this:

[Sidenote: A Bulgar song.]

I'm Boris the Bulgar,
The Man With the Knife;
The P