“We was,” said Pug; “but I ’aven’t seen one o’ ours since this last shell strafin’ began. I’m wondering if there’s any left but us three. Looks like our trench was blotted out.”
But on that he was corrected swiftly and dramatically. The pouring shells ceased suddenly to crash over and about them, continued only to rush, shrieking and yelling, high above their heads. At the same moment a figure appeared suddenly from the ground a little in front of them, and came running back. He was passing their shelter when Kentucky recognized him as the officer who earlier had moved along the trench to go out in front and establish a listening post. He caught sight of the little group at the same moment, swerved, and ran in to them. “Look out,” he said; “another attack coming. You Stonewalls? Where’s our trench? Further back, isn’t it?”
“What’s left of it, sir,” said Kentucky. “Mighty near blotted out, though.”
“Open fire,” said the officer. “Straight to your front. You’ll see ’em in a minute. I must try’n find the others.”
But evidently the word of warning had reached the others, for a sharp crackle of rifle fire broke out along to the right, came rattling down towards them in uneven and spasmodic bursts. The men in the shell-hole lined its edge and opened fire, while the officer trotted on. A dozen paces away he crumpled and fell suddenly, and lay still. In the shell-hole they were too busy to notice his fall, but from somewhere further back, out of the smoke-oozing, broken ground, a couple of figures emerged at the double, halted by the limp figure, lifted and carried it back.
“There’s still some of us left,” said Pug, cheerfully, as they heard the jerky rifle fire steady down and commence to beat out in the long roll of independent rapid fire.
“Not too many, though,” said Kentucky anxiously. “And it took us all our time to stand ’em off before,” he added significantly. He turned to the two Highlanders, who were firing coolly and methodically into the thinning smoke. “Can you see ’em yet?”
“No,” said one, without turning his head; “but we’ve plenty cairtridges ... an’ a bullet gangs straight enough withoot seein’.” And he and the other continued to fire steadily.
Then suddenly a puff of wind thinned and lifted the smoke cloud, and at the same instant all saw again that grim gray wall rolling down upon them. The five rifles in the pit crashed together, the bolts clicked back, and the brass cartridge-cases winked out and fell; and before they had ceased to roll where they dropped the five rifles were banging again, and the five men were plying bolt and trigger for dear life. Behind them and to the right and left other rifles were drumming and roaring out a furious fire, and through their noise rose the sharp tat-tat-tat-tat of the machine guns. The British artillery, too, had evidently seen their target, the observers had passed back the corrections of range and rapid sequence of orders, and the bellowing guns began to rake and batter the advancing mass.