We climbed upon the parapet and
listened to the breathing of the sea, accompanying with its bass the
music of the motors. There were still a few straggling reddish vapors
over the luminous landscape, and the stars seemed dim. But other stars
took their place, those of the French _Voisins_ returning from some
bombing expedition, their lights dotting the sky like a moving
constellation, while at intervals a rocket shot from one or the other
who was anxious not to miss the landing-ground. Over Dunkirk, eight or
ten searchlights stretched out their long white arms, thrusting and
raking to and fro after the enemy machines. Suddenly one of these
appeared, dazzled by the revealing light, as a moth in the circle of a
lamp; our batteries began firing, and we could see the quick sparks of
their shells all around it. Flashing bullets, too, drew zebra-like
stripes across the sky, and with the cannonade and the rumbling of the
airplanes we heard the lament of the Dunkirk sirens announcing the
dreaded arrival of the huge 380 shells upon the town, where here and
there fires broke out.
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