ront of the
attacking line.

"Who said so?" asked Colonel Killem, looking at the man.

"I say so. I'm one of zee Staff."

"You damned German!" shouted the colonel, shooting him dead. The game
which had been so well played in France did not come off.

The remnants of the Turks were bayoneted and butted to death; but the
main body were fleeing up the hill.

"Rapid fire!" roared the colonel; but the eager men were already after
the enemy with the bayonet. Up the steep, steep sides of the cliff
they clambered and stumbled. It was more like a race for a prize than
a juggle with death. Occasionally the morning light showed the red
blood on the bayonets and hands of the charging men.

These blood-stained, panting soldiers terrified the Turks at the top of
the hill. Their tactics had surprised them. They had looked for the
usual musketry assault; instead, they had received the chilling steel.
And the bayonet on a cold morning is a sight that sickens the best.
Furiously they pumped another dose of lead into the gallant
Australians. More fell dead, others dropped wounded, blood spattered
the grass, and above the din of musketry and guns could be heard the
cries of:

"Bearers--stretcher bearers!"

"Water, for God's sake!"

"Send up the doctor."

"I'm done, boys--I'm d-o-n-e!"

The units, by this time, had become mixed. Many officers had been
killed. There was that confusion which is found in all attacks.
Still, all these men knew that "forward--forward" was the game. The
roughest and most daring took charge of little groups, and, with these,
they cheered, cursed, and leaped into the trench at the edge of the
green plateau. Again, the main body had fled, leaving the more weary
and stubborn to defend the hill.

"Kill the beggars!"

"Plug his bread-basket!"

These were some of the things that were shouted, for all soldiers, in a
charge, curse like Marlborough's troops did in Flanders.

A charge seems a terrible thing when reading of it at one's fireside.
Folks shiver and ask, "How can they do it? Don't they feel afraid?"
They may at the outset; but the noise, the swing, the officers'
inspiration, the sight of blood and a fleeing foe damp down the
sensitiveness of culture and recreate the primitive lust to kill.

For the moment the man is a savage; Nature blinds him to the perils of
wounds and death. Duty steels him harder still, and pride of race
tells him that he must do as his fathers did--die li