The Corporal, nursing a gashed cheek and spitting mouthfuls of blood, shouted at him again, “Y’ ain’t goin’ to try ’ hold on longer, surely. We’ve near shot the last round away.”
“I’ll hold it,” said the Sergeant grimly, “if I have to do it myself wi’ my bare fists.”
But he cast anxious looks behind, in hope of a sight of reinforcements, and knew that if they did not come before another rush he and his party were done. His tenacity had its due reward. Help did come—men and ammunition and bombs and a couple of machine-guns—and not three minutes before the launching of another attack. An officer was with the party, and took command, but he was killed inside the first minute, and the Sergeant again took hold.
Again the attack was made all along the line, and again, under the ferocious fire of the reinforced line, it was beaten back. The line had at the last minute been hinged outward behind the Sergeant, and so joined up with him that it formed a sharpish angle, with the Sergeant’s crater at its point. The enfilade fire of this forward-swung portion and the two machine-guns in the crater did a good deal to help cut down the main attack.
When it was well over, and the attack had melted away, the Captain of the Sergeant’s Company pushed up into the crater.
“Who’s in charge here?” he asked. “You, Sergeant? Your note came back, and we sent you help; but you were taking a long risk out here. Didn’t you know you had pushed out beyond your proper point? And why didn’t you retire when you found yourself in the air?”
The Sergeant turned and pointed out where the thinning smoke gave a view of the wide open flats of the plain beyond the ridge.
“I got a look o’ that, sir,” he said, “and I just thought a commanding position like this was worth sticking a lot to hang to.”
“Jove! and you were right,” said the Captain, looking gloatingly on the flats, and went on to add other and warmer words of praise.
But it was to his corporal, a little later, that the Sergeant really explained his hanging on to the point.