the ground, in constant fear of a star shell which
might point them out to a sniper or a waiting
machine gun crew. But more compelling was the
recollection of that crouched and filthy creature.
It was possible to see him stretched in the narrow
tunnel, digging away as stealthily as possible the
soil in front of him, quite at the mercy of the German listeners, perhaps breaking through into a
rival sap-head and fighting murderously in a narrow hole.
When a mischance occurs during mine
work a burial isn't often necessary or possible.
We walked on after that with some thought for what might be going on beneath our feet. Certainly mining alone is enough to keep the other fellow from feeling too much at his ease. Fancy trying to protect yourself day after day from all the enemy's noisy devices of death, knowing as well that each moment mines are creeping towards you, wondering each moment if your particular section has been chosen, anticipating each moment the crumbling of the earth beneath your feet, a roar, a disintegration as important for you as the end of the world.
It is necessary to visit the front to put life into the dry-as-dust phrases of the official reports. "We exploded a mind and consolidated the crater"—That line carries more horror than the blackest tragedy ever written.
