is underneath."

"Well, but, Sergeant, how am I to get at him underneath?"

"Silence, sir! You, a British soldier who has had the bayonet exercise
drilled into him solid for years, ask your officer how you are to use
your weapon if it comes to an engagement! You will be wanting to know
how to pull your trigger next.--Right about face! March! Left incline.
Forward!"

_Tramp, tramp, tramp_, growing fainter and fainter till it died out; and
then Private Smithers said, "Hah!" making a great deal of it, and then
sighed and smacked his lips as if thirsty, for the water was rippling
pleasantly in his ears. Then, grounding arms, he began to feel in his
pocket, and dragged out a soda-water-bottle, which felt soft, for it had
been carefully stitched up in very thick flannel to guard it from the
consequences of casual blows. On his twisting the cork, the neck
emitted a peculiar squeak, followed by a gurgling sound, which lasted
till the bottle was half-empty, by which time the thirsty private had
become fully conscious of its contents.

"Yah!" he ejaculated as he snatched the bottle from his lips. "Cold
tea! Weak--no milk, of course; but you might have put in a bit of
sugar." Then replacing the cork, he gave the yielding stopper so
vicious a twist that the neck emitted a screech which sounded strangely
loud in the black silence of the night, and was followed by a heavy
splash and the sound of wallowing about a dozen yards away. Then,
apparently from just below the bank of the river a little higher up,
there was a horrible barking sound such as might have been uttered by a
boar-hound with a bad sore throat, and then _whop_, as of a tremendous
blow being struck on the surface of the water, followed by the hissing
_plash_, as of a small shower of rain.

"Murder!" muttered Private Smithers in a hoarse whisper, as he finished
corking the bottle by giving the neck a slap, stuffed it quickly into
the pocket of his tunic, and then brought his piece up to the ready and
began to back slowly from where he had been stationed.

"This is nice!" he growled, as he released his right hand to draw the
back across his reeking brow. "Glad the missus ain't here. He warn't
gammoning me, then. My, how thirsty I do feel! It's the perspiration,
I suppose. Here, how plaguy dark it is! Course I've seen these 'ere
things before, but it never seemed so bad as this.--Not fire? Won't I?
Why, if I made out one of them things coming on up