I saw now that He was repulsive, abject, pitiful lying there, His face close to the wires, a thousand bullets in his head. Unable to resist the impulse I endeavoured to turn His face upward, but was unable; a barb had pierced His eye and stuck there, rusting in the socket from which sight was gone. I turned and ran away from the thing into the bay of the trench. The glory of the dawn had vanished, my soul no longer swooned in the ecstasy of it; the Pleiades had risen, sick of that which they decorated, the glorious disarray of jewelled dew-drops was no more, that which endured the full light of day was the naked and torturing contraption of war. Was not the dawn buoyant, like the dawn of patriotism? Were not the dew-decked wires war seen from far off? Was not He in wreath of Pleiades glorious death in action? But a ray of light more, and what is He and all with Him but the monstrous futility of war.... Mac tugged at my shoulder and I awoke.
"Has the shelling begun?" I asked.
"It's over, mon," he said. "It's four o'clock now. You'll be goin' awa' from here in a minute or twa."
"And these wounded?" I asked, looking round. Groaning and swearing they lay on their stretchers and in bloodstained blankets, their ghastly eyes fixed upon the roof. They had not been in when I fell asleep.
"The enemy replied to our shellin'," said Mac curtly.
"Ay, 'e replied," said a wounded man, turning on his stretcher. "'E replied. Gawd, 'e didn't arf send some stuff back! It was quiet enough before our blurry artillery started. They've no damned consideration for the pore infantry.... Thank Gawd, I'm out of the whole damn business.... I'll take damn good care that I...."
"The ambulance car is here," said Mac. "All who can walk, get outside."
The rain was falling heavily as I entered the Red Cross wagon, 3008 Rifleman P. MacGill, passenger on the Highway of Pain, which stretched from Loos to Victoria Station.
THE END