A haze of smoke hangs over
the place. The guns thunder. The enemy's Maxim-Nordenfelt goes
rat-tat-tat a dozen times with immense rapidity. 'Come in,' says a Tommy
of the Grenadiers who has come to our hill for orders; and indeed it
sounds exactly like some one knocking at a street door. Now the
under-current of rifle fire becomes horrible in its rapidity. Can
anything in that hell down there be left alive? Suddenly their plucky
big gun opens again and sends several well-directed shells among our
batteries. The naval guns turn their attention to it immediately. You
can see the little, quick glints of fire low along the ground at each
discharge, and then the bursting shell just over the big gun on the
river-bank."
"10 A.M.--Both sides are sticking to the business desperately. The
rattle of rifle-fire is one low roar. The air shudders and vibrates
under it. Now the naval guns draw towards the river again; so do the
rest of our batteries. Things can't stand at this tension. The big gun
speaks again, but wildly; its shell bursts far out on the plain."
"10.30.--The aspect of the place is now awful. The breeze has died a
little and the smoke hangs more. It is enveloped in a haze of yellow and
blue vapour, partly from bursting shell and partly firing guns. Those
volumes of smoke, with gleams of fire every now and then, make it look
like some busy manufacturing town, and the blows and throbs with which
the place resounds convey the same idea.
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