"If they're bolting it means that our chaps are behind them," he thought to himself. "If it's a counter-attack, a friendly dug-out wouldn't be a bad place. But here goes, anyhow!" And, jumping on to the fire-step of the bay, he lobbed a bomb into the trench about fifteen yards higher up, where it burst with a loud report.
Then he sprang down, and, shouting loudly as though he had a whole party at his back, he pitched another bomb, which burst as it touched the ground.
His last bomb struck the side of the trench, dislodging the sandbags; but, covering the terrified mob with his revolver, he stalked boldly forward, calling to them to surrender.
They were big fellows, and they were Prussians; but their unexpected reception had demoralised them, and their hands went up in the air with a shout of "Mercy, Kamerad!"
There must have been twenty at least that had survived the explosions. How many he had killed he never knew; but he realised that he must carry matters with a very high hand, and give them no time to think.
"Come on, then—you are my prisoners," he said in German. "File along the trench; my men will escort you to the rear." And, stepping back a few paces to the angle of the bay, he stood aside to let them go by.
There was terror in their faces, and the sight of the revolver held threateningly in the officer's hand sent them past at a shambling trot.
Dennis had counted seventeen, and there were still four more to pass him, when, from the head of the drove, there came a loud laugh, and a guttural voice shouted back: "Sergeant, the Englishman is alone!"
Dennis saw the speaker jump on to the side of the parados with his hand to his mouth, and he raised his revolver; but the shot was never fired, for the butt of a rifle descended on his trench helmet from behind, and Dennis dropped with a groan.
When he opened his eyes he was lying on his back and it was dark. The action of turning his head caused a terrible spasm of pain, and made him lie quite still again for some moments.