During all these days the German fire on the salient at large had continued as fiercely as before but had spared us its severest trials.
The night of the seventh passed to all outward appearance pretty much in the same manner as the preceding one.
THE EIGHTH OF MAY AND THE LAST STAND OF THE PRINCESS PATS
Morning in the Trenches--The Artillery Preparation for the Infantry Attack--The P.P's Chosen to Stem the Tide--The Trust of a Lady--Chaos--Corporal Dover--The Manner in Which Some Men Kill and Others Die.
It seemed as though I had just stepped off my whack of sentry go for my group when a kick in the ribs apprised me that it was "Stand-to." I rubbed my eyes, swore and rose to my feet. Such was the narrowness of the trench that the movement put me at my post at the parapet, where in common with my mates, I fell to scanning the top for the first signs of day and the Germans.
The latter lay on the other side of the ravine from us as they had since the Fourth, except for such times as they had assaulted our position. The smoke of Ypres and all the close-packed villages of a thickly populated countryside rose sullenly on every hand.
Over everything there hung the pallor of the mist-ridden Flemish morning, deadly quiet, as was usual at that time of the trench day when the tenseness of the all-night vigil was just merging into the relieving daylight.
At half past six that stillness was punctuated by a single shell, which broke barely in our rear. And then the ball commenced--the most intense bombardment we had yet experienced. Most of the fire came from the batteries in concealed positions on our right, whence, as on the fourth, they poured in a very destructive enfilade fire which swept up and down the length of the trench like the stream of a hose, making it a shambles. Each burst of high-explosive shells, each terrible pulsation of the atmosphere, if it missed the body, seemed to rend the very brain, or else stupefied it.
The general result was beyond any poor words of mine. All spoken language is totally inadequate to describe the shocks and horrors of an intense bombardment. It is not that man himself lacks the imaginative gift of words but that he has not the word tools with which to work. They do not exist. Each attempt to describe becomes near effrontery and demands its own separate apology.