Again he heard the crash and roar of the French fire, again he saw British and Americans coming forward in indomitable masses, offering themselves to death, once again he saw them tangled among the logs and sharpened boughs, and then mowed down at the wooden wall.
He roused himself and passed his hands over his eyes to shut away that vision of the stricken field and the vivid reminder of his terrible disappointment.

The picture was still as fresh as the reality and it sent shudders through him every time he saw it.

He would keep it from his sight whenever he could, lest he grow too morbid.
He rose and started once more toward the south, but the forest became more dense and tangled and the country rougher.

In his weakened state he was not able to think with his usual clearness and precision, and he lost the sense of direction.

He began to wander about aimlessly, and at last he stopped almost in despair.
He was in a desperate plight.