"Very well, you shall join the bombers; and presently I will bring you a bag of sweetmeats of the sort the French do not find to their liking."
His nod implied that there was already a secret understanding between them, and as he passed on Dennis saw possibilities looming in the future. A bomber acted more or less independently, and an avenue of escape was opened up to him.
All that July day, however, the battalion remained on the bank of the canal resting; and during the afternoon the mist, which had never entirely cleared away, returned, and a thick grey fog muffled the marshlands.
True to his promise, the sergeant had provided him with a sheaf of grenades with copper rods to be fired from the rifle and a collar of racket bombs, and Dennis sprang smartly to his feet when the word was given to fall in.
"We are going to attack in ten minutes," said the sergeant. "There are two places—the village of Biaches over yonder, and the hill of La Maisonette more to the left. The French carried them on the 9th; they will be ours again to-night. The fog is the very thing for us; nothing could be better. Our battalion will take Biaches, and it will be hot work."
"What are the troops we shall have to face, sergeant?" said Dennis.
"Senegalese, I am told—Black Devils, who stick at nothing—and some Territorials, mostly old men and fathers of families; but we shall see."
"Yes, we shall see!" murmured Dennis, as the command "Links schliessen!" was given, and the battalion touched in to its left.
Hoarse voices bellowed out of the thick mist, and the 307th Reserve Battalion, after marching for a short distance along the river, filed across a lock bridge and plunged into the woods.
Smoking was forbidden, and strict silence enjoined. Other battalions had come from Péronne by way of the Faubourg de Paris, and there were several halts to establish communication.