Part 6 (1/2)

At any other time Dennis would have been constrained to laugh at the incongruity of their choice, but Harry Hawke knew what he was doing, and that no German could have imitated the c.o.c.kney tw.a.n.g in which they brayed their chant at the top of their strident voices.

”There's a silver linin'--froo the dyark clard s.h.i.+nin', Turn the dyark clard inside art till the boys come 'ome!”

they howled, and as a fresh star-sh.e.l.l lit up the trench they saw a man in khaki thrust his head and shoulders over the topmost bag and look under his hand in their direction.

”Cut it out, 'Arry--there's Ginger Bill, and 'e's 'eard!” cried Tiddler, jumping to his feet. ”Run for all you're worth, sir!”

His companions needed no second bidding, and in another minute they were clambering up the outer face of the parapet and falling in a heap on to the fire step inside.

”Well, I'm blowed!” said Ginger Bill, as they picked themselves up.

”And you ain't the only one,” panted Harry Hawke. ”Where's the other chaps?”

And then he saw that Ginger Bill was bleeding badly.

”Ordered over there at the double--ain't none of you got any ears?” said Ginger Bill, pointing to the hand-to-hand scrimmage which seemed to end in front of the Dashwoods' dug-out.

Harry Hawke, very excusably overstepping the deference due to commissioned rank, clutched the skirt of Dennis's tunic and nearly pulled him backwards.

”We four ain't no good, sir, in that scrum, but there's a sh.e.l.l-proof bomb store not a minute's run down this 'ere traverse. We could give 'em socks then!”

”Bravo, Hawke!” shouted Dennis. ”Come on, Dan; he's right!” And they tore along the traverse like men possessed.

Back they came, Hawke and Tiddler girdled with a belt of racket bombs, Dennis and Dan Dunn each laden with two bags of that deadly variety so handy to the arm of the bowler.

Ginger Bill gave them a cheer as they went past him, but they heard nothing and saw nothing but that solid ma.s.s of grey German uniforms, wedged like herrings in a barrel where they had no right to be--in a British trench!

Without a moment's hesitation Dennis sprang on to the parados, and hurled bomb after bomb with perfect aim into the grey ma.s.s, which instantly began to yell and squirm as panic seized it. Nothing human could withstand that terrific shower that rained upon the victorious Saxons, who had been recovering their second wind; and as a lucky sh.e.l.l from one of our 18-pounders put the Prussian machine-gun out of action, Dan Dunn mounted the parapet, leaving the trench clear for Hawke and Tiddler.

The four advanced steadily, bombing as they went.

”Hold on!” sang a voice as Dennis reached the mouth of the next traverse. And, looking down, he saw that it was Bob who spoke, and behind him thirty or forty men of the platoon, who had been forced to take refuge there from the overwhelming rush of the enemy.

”Oh, it's you, is it?” cried the captain, darting out, revolver in hand.

”Come on, boys! The bombers have got a move on them; it's our turn now!”

And as Dennis launched a long ball, the men of the platoon poured out into the trench again and clambered over the hideous carpet of dead and dying.

Without hesitation Dennis leapt across the traverse, and was soon at the head of the bayonet party, Dan Dunn keeping neck and neck with him on the parapet, and only when he groped to the bottom of his second bag and found it empty did he jump down and flatten himself against the side of the trench.

”Here, what's wrong?” he shouted, as his own men came pouring back.

”Order's come to retire, sir; we've got to fall back on the next trench!” cried a panting private.

”Oh, hang it! I thought we'd got the beggars out!” exclaimed the lad, almost overthrown by the jostling crowd with packs and rifles that streamed past him. ”I wonder what's become of Bob?”

Tiddler and Harry Hawke were nowhere to be seen, and Bob was equally invisible; but there could be no doubt about the order, for a staff-captain, his uniform stained with the white chalk, came running along the trench, crying: ”Retire! Hurry up, there! Here come the Bavarians!”

”But I say, sir,” expostulated Dennis, ”isn't this all wrong? We've piled the Saxons up six deep behind us yonder, and surely we can hold on here?”