The repetition of a frantic cry, "Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!—" draws us straight into a frenzy of action.
We're in the midst of an "ecstasy" of fumbling for helmets and gas masks.
(If you're wondering just how nasty and terrifying gas attacks were, check out some of the historical links in our "Websites" section. Believe us, on a nastiness scale of 1 to 10, we put gas attacks at 10.5.)
Does the word "ecstasy" seem strange here? It does to us.
We're guessing that Owen's trying to draw upon an apocalyptic language: at the end of the world, just about anything that you're doing will probably seem ecstatic.
The "ecstasy of fumbling" which goes on here, however, is anything but rapturous.
We're back to the sort of ironic language that we've seen in the title – combining elevated language with absolute chaos makes the whole experience seem totally out of proportion.