to advance. And men rose
up.

"D. Company, fix bayonets! Close in!" came the order. Tim gripped his
sword and strode over to the Bowman. Then the advancing Germans poured a
blasting volley on them.

"The Old Battalion--_charge!_" came the stentorian voice of a senior.
The men scrambled to their feet, and Tim following the Bowman sprang
ahead of the Battalion. The men leapt across the blood-smeared grass
after them with the speed of a winged fury, but they struck the Germans
a dozen yards ahead of the battalion. The bowman had hurled aside his
long bow and was using a short battle mace with terrific effect. As for
Tim: all he wanted to do was to slash; stab and slash again with that
wonderful sword. There followed a nightmare of drawn, grinning faces, of
fierce yells and groans. The mud-stained grey figures struck at him
wildly, futilely. On and on Tim went, his glittering blade now at a
white face, now at a throat, now at a chest, still stabbing and
thrusting to pass through the wall of men which barred his way.

The man with the bow ranged up alongside him: "On, man, on, in the name
of God, march forward.... By St. George and Our Lady! we are breaking up
their front;" he muttered.

"Strike me crimson!" bellowed a man near to Tim, "but you're a blooming
marvel! Those German beggars are going down for twenty yards around
your (decorated) sword without being hit at all. Look! Look! there goes
another Hun down. Let me come over near you, mate!"

But Tim knew that De Gamelyn the Bowman had summoned to their help the
armies of the unconquered dead. They came, the De Gamelyns of all
generations from Crecy to Waterloo: they fought by his side, and the
machine gun bullets, which fell upon the dusty earth like tropical rain,
hurt them not.

Again and again the Bowman's mace smashed and lashed out before him, and
Tim thrust, and thrust yet again with his sword. He heard the
deep-throated roar of the bowman's singing "The Song of the Bow."

What of the shaft?
The shaft was cut in England:
A long shaft, a strong shaft,
Barbed and trim and true;
So we'll drink all together
To the grey goose feather
And the land where the grey goose flew.

Suddenly a yell, horrible and fierce, uprose from the soldiers, and he
heard the bowman's voice no more.

"They're on the run, by Gawd, they've got it right in the neck this
journey," bellowed a soldier as the German infantry broke and tailed
away