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[Page 32]
everybody in the vicinity, the whole Earth seems to burst forth into a roaring, hissing, surging termoil, in which it is hard to say one gun can be heard distint from another. For varying periods, sometimes lasting over the hour there is nothing in the world but this coughing & pounding of these hundreds of guns – great & small. They recall to my mind the stamp batterys of the Kalgoolie goldfields, magnified a thousandfold. It is a constant bubbling as though of some great porrage pot, & when laying in my little dark hole in the ground my imagination is carried into those days when the Earths surface
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