Meanwhile the cannonade continued to rage. The heavens were full of bursting shells, even the very skies seemed like hell.
Hour after hour the fusillade continued, and presently there was a halt in the enemies' progress. They were falling back.
"Now at them! Give 'em ——"
There was a wild rush forward. How long it continued Bob could not tell. Behind them the big English guns were booming, and he knew that our artillery was pounding at the German trenches a long distance away.
Forward! forward!
Shot and shell were dropping thickly around, while on the right and left men were falling. In the distance lay the German trenches. Could they be reached? Yes, a few minutes later our men were in them. For a time at all events Bob's company was in comparative safety.
Panting aloud the hardy lads threw themselves into position. They had gained their immediate object, but could they hold it?
Suddenly amid the din a musical note rang out; it pierced the very heavens, it was more penetrating than the boom of the big guns, the screech of shells, or the crack of rifles.
From the distant heather, perhaps half a mile away, men with clear sight could see great masses of humanity in grey rise, seemingly out of the earth, and Bob heard the distant sound of fifes and drums.
"They are going to charge us!"