held up its arms in supplication and its arms were
struck off. There was no earth any more, no sky and no
air ... those who moved must be souls in some un-
dreamed of hell, a hell of sound . . . nothing was left
but sound . . . the whole universe was writhing and
dissolving in sound, the sound of that terrific bombard-
ment.
Guns were answering guns, the Turks were replying,
shells crossed and recrossed, they were bombarding
heaven. Through a pall of dense smoke and choking
dust the men of the Legion were leaping forward. He,
Christophe, was leaping forward with the rest . . .
his mouth was wide open, he could feel himself
yelling, he could feel the great strength of his muscular
thighs, the great strength of his work-hardened
muscular hands. Jan was near him, vaguely discerned
through the smoke, they two were close on the Colonel's
heels . . . the Colonel was waving an arm as he ran;
he was leading his men, he had sworn to do it. He was
glancing round ... his face was quite changed . . .
but perhaps every face now looked like the Colonel's.
They were pouring into the enemy trenches,
touching bodies that felt like their own — human
bodies. Some creature was trying to defend itself by
shooting at close quarters, it must be mad ... it had
failed ... it was dead, with a gaping belly. This
detestable vigour that possessed the limbs, that surged
up to the brain and set it ablaze; it was like a heady
and poisonous wine, one wanted to sing, one wanted
to sob . . . one was doing all manner of things at
once, loving and hating, pitying and killing. Was
this Christophe who had so often pictured God's pain?
His lunges were ruthless and accurate, but now he was
using the butt of his rifle . . . what was it that had
gushed out over his hands? Jan's foot was on a man's
chest, he must wrench ... the Sergeant had warned
them against such thrusts, bones were awkward things,
475