the enemy's thrust, and the
second to drive the bayonet home into his vitals, after which, without
command, there must be a swift recovery.

"Naw then, Hn-gah!--Pint!!!"

For some moments, in response to these orders, the squad practised
"guarding" and "pointing," not, however, to the complete satisfaction of
the sergeant.

"Naw, then, number five, stick it hinto 'im. Ye ain't 'andin' a lidy an
unbreller!"

Another attempt by number five being still suggestive of the amenities
proper to a social function, the sergeant major stepped up to the
overgentle soldier.

"Naw, then," he said, "hobserve! There's my henemy. See 'is hugly mug.
Hn-gah! Pint!!!"

At the words of command, the sergeant major threw himself into his guard
and attacked with such appalling ferocity as must have paralysed an
ordinary foe, sending his bayonet clean through to his guard, and
recovering it with a clean, swift movement.

Having secured a fairly satisfactory thrust, the sergeant major devoted
his attention to the recovery of the bayonet.

"Fetch it hout!" he cried fiercely. "There's another man comin'. Fetch
it hout! Ye may fetch 'is spinial column with it. No matter, 'e won't
need it."

The final act in this gruesome drama was the attack upon the second line
represented by the sacks lying upon the parapet of the trench beyond.
The completed action thus included the guard, thrust, recovery, the
leap forward past the swinging line of sacks, and a second thrust at
the figure prone upon the parapet, with a second recovery of the weapon,
this second recovery being effected by stamping the foot upon the
transfixed effigy, and jerking back the bayonet with a violent upward
movement.

This last recovery appeared to cause number five again some difficulty.

"Now then, number five, put a little aight (hate) into it. Stamp your
bleedin' 'obnyles (hobnails) on his fice, and fetch it hout! This wye!"
As he took the rifle from number five, the sergeant major's face seemed
to be transformed into a living embodiment of envenomed hate, his
attack, thrust, recovery, gathering in intensity until with unimaginable
fury he leaped upon the prostrate figure, drove his bayonet through to
the hilt, stamped his hobnails upon the transfixed enemy, jerked
his weapon out, and stood quivering, ready for any foe that dared to
approach. The savage ferocity of his face, the fierce energy in his
every movement, culminating in that last vicious leap and stamp,
a