On turning a sharp bend in the path, Corporal Findlay and the Sergeant saw the sentry, as their guide had described him, asleep, and, before he had time to awake, Corporal Findlay had dashed him to the ground with a swinging blow from the butt-end of his rifle. Three minutes later, and the head of the column found itself facing the mud wall and the machine-gun. This was the critical moment. If their guide meant mischief, now was his opportunity. Following closely at his heels, their rifle and revolver at his head, the Sergeant and Corporal crept up to the wall, and, one by one, the rest of the O——s filed into the open space after them. Holding their breath the Highlanders laid hold of the top of the wall, then with a sudden stoop, they swung themselves upwards. The sleeping sentinels awoke, but only to feel one short, sharp thrust—and the pangs of death. The outer position won, the Highlanders next turned their attention to the cottage and the enclosed space in front of it. There, a strong body of German infantry were stationed, and, as they came rushing out to meet the intruders, they shared the same fate as their companions. In ten minutes there was not a German left alive, and the O——s, their bayonets dripping with blood, were busy liberating the English prisoners. When it was all over, and the Colonel and his staff were sitting down in the front parlour of the cottage enjoying some refreshment, Colonel R—— suddenly remembered the guide. “Anderson,” he said, “fetch that fellow—our guide—in here. It’s not very gracious behaviour on our part to leave him outside, for, egad, if it had not been for him we should not be where we are. Moreover, I want to see him—I’ve an idea he’s someone I know.”
The subaltern departed, and after an interval of some minutes returned, followed only by Corporal Findlay.
“Hulloa!” exclaimed the Colonel, looking up sharply from his meal. “This is not the man I wanted. Where is he?”
“If you please, sir,” the subaltern said, in a voice full of suppressed excitement, “Corporal Findlay can tell you all about it—he was the last to see him.”
“The last to see him,” growled the Colonel. “Why, what the deuce do you mean. Where is he?”
“I can’t say, sir,” Corporal Findlay began. “After the fight was over I followed him into this cottage, right into this room. And he halted just where you are sitting, under that beam,” and he pointed to the great, white rafter immediately over the Colonel’s head. “He then turned round, sir, and drawing aside the cloak, that had hitherto hidden his face, showed himself to me!”
“Good God, man, you needn’t look so frightened!” the Colonel cried. “He wasn’t the devil, was he?”
“No, sir, he wasn’t the devil,” Corporal Findlay responded. “He was Sergeant Mackay of the first battalion—and the last time I had set eyes on him was in this room on the night of the retreat from N——, when I and several others of the O——s found him hanging from that rafter—dead.”
“And then,” said the Colonel, after a long pause, “and then what happened?”
“Why, sir,” Corporal Findlay replied, “he smiled, as if something had pleased him mightily, and waving his hand—disappeared.”