"
"Is that what you fear most?" I asked.
"No, the rifle bullet is a thing I dread; the saucy little beggar is
always on the go."
"What do you fear most, Goliath?" I asked the massive soldier who was
cleaning his bayonet with a strip of emery cloth.
"Bombs," said the giant, "especially the one I met in the trench (p. 111)
when I was going round the traverse. It lay on the floor in front of
me. I hardly knew what it was at first, but a kind of instinct told me
to stand and gaze at it. The Germans had just flung it into the trench
and there it lay, the bounder, making up its mind to explode. It was
looking at me, I could see its eyes--"
"Git out," said Bill, who was one of the party.
"Of course, you couldn't see the thing's eyes," said Goliath, "you
lack imagination. But I saw its eyes, and the left one was winking at
me. I almost turned to jelly with fear, and Lord knows how I got back
round the corner. I did, however, and then the bomb went bang! 'Twas
some bang that, I often hear it in my sleep yet."
"We'll never hear the end of that blurry bomb," said Bill. "For my own
part I am more afraid of ----"
"What?"
"---- the sergeant-major than anythink in this world or in the next!"
I have been thrilled with fear three times since I came out here, fear
that made me sick and cold. I have the healthy man's dislike of (p. 112)
death. I have no particular desire to be struck by a shell or a bullet,
and up to now I have had only a nodding acquaintance with either.
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