"No use, Corporal. You can see that. We shall be outnumbered and hemmed in soon. We've got to go!"
"Gardner and Watson are in there!"
"Dead as mackerels! They'll stay there forever. Come, now; we must go back!" With that Sergeant West blew the signal again, and the men, with no wounded, but rushing a number of prisoners, turned once more to retreat.
And then the thing happened which Herbert had expected, in part, and had planned to circumvent: a rally of reprisal had been started. But not being sure of their ground, the Huns had meant, in turn, to cut off the Americans by another detour.
Carey had been left on guard outside of the wire. Paying little attention to what might be going on in the trench, he had followed the German survivors and he had seen and heard them return to No Man's Land and reach a place of ambuscade. This was along the line of some tall Lombardy poplar trees, that had probably once been a farm lane, and the spot was easily noted. Directly past it the Yanks must go to regain their trench.
Carey's speedy progress toward his comrades was hardly marked by caution. His information was received by West and Whitcomb with as much elation as they could show in the face of the loss of their companions in the dugout. This was no time for sentiment; only for action.
"Follow me, men; double file as much as you can and pussy-foot it for keeps!" Herbert ordered, caring no more for technical terms than do many other officers when bent upon such urgent duty.
West ordered three men to conduct the prisoners straight across to the gun pit. Carey indicated the line of trees. Herbert led his men to a point fifty yards behind the trees; then he went to West.
"You order the charge, will you? You inspire the men more than I. I will give you the signal again, this time the soft whistle of a migrating bird."