Now the firing grew fierce, and the roll of the volleys ceaseless.

It was impossible to jam the cartridges fast enough in the breech.
A subtle flavour of sulphur filled the mouth, and the lips became dry.
Sunshine and gleaming leaves and sky and grass seemed to all disappear in the fever of the moment.

The gun burned the hands, all blackened by the powder; the metal got hotter and hotter; the sward was poached and trampled and dotted with cases; shot hissed through the air and pattered in showers on the opposite plantation; the eyes, bleared and bloodshot with the smoke, could scarce see to point the tube.

Pheasants fell, and no one heeded; pheasants escaped, and none noticed it; pheasants were but just winged and ran wounded into the distant hedges; pheasants were blown out of all living shape and could hardly be gathered up.

Not a word spoken: a breathless haste to load and blaze; a storm of shot and smoke and slaughter..