"If those Brandenburgers are wise they'll stay where they are to-night," said the Australian corporal. "Hallo, Fritz! Why, Dennis, here's your prisoner, after all."
A white-faced man, crying "Kamerad!" at the top of his voice, climbed in over the sandbags, trembling like a leaf, and Dennis saw that it was indeed the Saxon he had captured at the bottom of the crump-hole over there.
"I told you I would come," said the prisoner. "I am sick of it all—it is horrible. The Emperor is a man without heart. He takes good care to keep out of harm's way, and sends us to our death by the thousand. Himmel! Look! This was my company!" And he lifted his quivering hands as he saw the litter of corpses that filled the trench from side to side. "We are told that you kill all prisoners and all the wounded, but I do not believe that. They feed us on lies and very little bread, while our officers have wine and even pianos in their dug-outs," and the nerve-shattered man burst into tears.
Captain Bob was in the act of giving instructions to one of his sergeants to pass the deserter to the rear, when another "brass hat" came along the trench—the genuine article this time, and one of the best, for it was Brigadier-General Dashwood himself, followed by his brigade-major.
The brigadier was a thick-set, soldierly looking man, fit as a fiddle in spite of the grey hairs which mingled with his brown moustache, and his eyes lit up as he saw his two sons still safe and well.
He was not one of those officers who paid a hasty visit now and then to the lines, ducking his head when his guide said, "Duck, sir!" where the wall of the traverse was low, and who, after a perfunctory glance about him through a gold-rimmed monocle went back again to headquarters, "having seen nothing and learned nothing." General Dashwood knew that he had a certain section of the front to defend, and did his work thoroughly, and the whisper often ran along the fire trench by night as well as day: "Look out, boys, here's the brigadier!"
He listened to all they had to tell him, and questioned the deserter closely, turning to his brigade-major several times and exchanging a meaning nod.
"The battalion has done very well, but that is nothing new," he said with a proud smile. "Still, it won't hurt them to hear my opinion. You'd better come with me, Dennis; there'll be nothing more doing here to-night, and I want someone to go to Divisional Headquarters with a message. You'll be back at your post by daylight," and, after picking his way along the trench to the far end and examining the German line carefully through a periscope, he returned, to find the men of Bob's platoon lifting out the dead Saxons and laying them on the reverse side of the parados to await the arrival of the sanitary squad with their picks and shovels.
"Well, so long, old chap," said Dan Dunn, as Dennis passed him. "I've enjoyed my visit. When you look me up I hope we shall be able to give you an equally good time. Fearfully sorry I spoiled your shot."
The cousins shook hands, and as Dennis followed his father and the brigade-major, Bob carried Dan into their dug-out, where he found that Australian panacea for all evils—hot tea.