in those early morning hours the enemy crept very close indeed.

We could almost hear his hot breath behind the bars of our fastened doors.
There was a peculiar little headache that I have felt nowhere else, before or since, that attacked one on those early mornings.

It was not a headache that afflicted one with definite physical pain.

It was like a cold hand pressing upon the brow, a hand that touched the eyes, the nose, the mouth, then remained, a chill weight upon the head; the blood seemed to stop in its course, one's heart beat feebly, and things were dim before one's eyes.

One was stupid and chose one's words slowly, looking at people closely to see whether one really knew them, even unsure about oneself, one's history, one's future; neither hungry, tired, nor thirsty, neither sad nor joyful, neither excited nor dull, only with the cold hand upon one's brow, catching (with troubled breath) the beating of one's heart.
In normal times the night-duty was of course taken in rotation, but during the pressure of these four days we had to snatch our rest when we might.
About midnight on the fifth day the procession of wounded suddenly slackened, and by two o'clock in the morning had ceased entirely.