imbing slowly to the high position, Peza was amazed to meet a soldier whose had been half shot away, and who was being helped down the sheep track by two tearful comrades. The man's breast was with blood, and from a cloth which he held to the wound drops were splashing wildly upon the stones of the path. He gazed at Peza for a moment. It was a mystic gaze, which Peza withstood with difficulty. He was exchanging looks with a spectre; all aspect of the man was somehow gone from this victim. As Peza went on, one of the unwounded soldiers loudly shouted to him to return and assist in this march. But even Peza's fingers revolted; he was afraid of the spectre; he would not have dared to touch it. He was surely craven in the movement of refusal he made to them. He hastily on up the path. He was running away.  
At the top of the hill he came immediately upon a part of the line that was in action. Another battery of mountain guns was here firing at the of black on the plain. There were filled with men parts of the , and near the base were other trenches, all crashing away . The plain stretched as far as the eye can see, and from where silver mist ended this emerald ocean of grass, a great of snow-topped mountains against a fleckless blue sky. Two , green and yellow with grain, sat on the prairie confronting the dark hills of the Greek position. Between them were the lines of the enemy. A row of trees, a village, a stretch of road, showed faintly on this great canvas, this tremendous picture, but men, the Turkish , were emphasized startlingly upon it. The ranks of troops between the knolls and the Greek position were as black as ink.
 
The first line of course was in smoke, but at the rear of it battalions crawled up and to and fro plainer than on a plate. Peza had never understood that masses of men were so declarative, so unmistakable, as if nature makes every arrangement to give information of the coming and the presence of destruction, the end, oblivion. The firing was full, complete, a roar of , and this of connected volleys was adjusted to the of the far-off range of snowy mountains. Peza, breathless, pale, felt that he had been set upon a pillar and was surveying mankind, the world. In the meantime dust had got in his eye. He took his handkerchief and mechanically administered to it.
 
An officer with a double stripe of purple on his trousers paced in the rear of the battery of howitzers. He waved a little . Sometimes he paused in his to study the field through his glasses. "A fine scene, sir," he cried airily, upon the approach of Peza. It was like a blow in the chest to the wide-eyed volunteer. It revealed to him a point of view. "Yes, sir, it is a fine scene," he answered. They in French. "I am happy to be able to entertain monsieur with a little practice," continued the officer. "I am firing upon that mass of troops you see there a little to the right. They are probably forming for another attack.&q............