Across it now came the whine of shells, and I saw that shrapnel bullets were kicking up the dust of a thousand yards down the straight road, following a small body of brown men whose tramp of feet raised another cloud of dust, like smoke. They were the only representatives of human life⁠—besides ourselves⁠—in this loneliness, though many men must have been in hiding somewhere. Then heavy “crumps” burst in the fields where the sheep were browsing, across the way we had to go to the brigade headquarters.

“How about it?” asked the captain with me. “I don’t like crossing that field, in spite of the buttercups and daisies and the little frisky lambs.”

“I hate the idea of it,” I said.

Then we looked down the road at the little body of brown men. They were nearer now, and I could see the face of the officer leading them⁠—a boy subaltern, rather pale though the sun was hot. He halted and saluted my companion.