Silently they crept forward to the very edge of the little town. Here, moving figures in the glare of many fires gave evidence that the German troops and their native allies were on the alert. But as Jack had surmised, they were not expecting an attack from this direction.
Approaching closer and closer, Jack finally gave the command:
"Fire!"
The crack of 400 rifles followed this command, and under the withering fire of the British, the Germans were mowed down on all sides.
At the same instant, from the river, the rapid firers in Frank's command shattered the stillness of the night with their noise of death. Thus attacked on two sides, the Germans for a moment stood as if paralyzed, men dropping on all sides.
But for a moment only. Then they leaped forward ready to encounter the unseen foe. Under the command of their officers they formed coolly enough, and volley after volley was fired into the woods.
But Jack and his 400 British sailors were not to be stayed. Right in among the Germans they plunged, shooting, cutting and slashing. The Germans at this end of the town were gradually being forced back—back upon their comrades who already were retreating before the rapid-firers of Frank's command at the other end of the town.
Caught between two fires, they nevertheless fought bravely, pouring in volley for volley. Suddenly the British under Jack ceased firing altogether and rushed upon the foe with cutlasses and clubbed rifles.
The shock of this attack was too much for the Germans, and with the fierce hail of bullets from Frank's end of the field, there was but one thing for them to do.
The officer in command raised a handkerchief on the point of his sword. Jack could barely make it out in the half-light. At the same moment the officer commanding the Germans opposing Frank's small force cried out: