"What is it? Who goes there?" he called out.
"Listen," whispered Tom, "it's one of the Bosches speaking to me. What is it?" he asked aloud.
"Only this," and the German laughed as he spoke: "you Lancashires are going to attack us at six o'clock to-morrow morning, eleven hundred strong, and we're ready for you. That's all," and again the German laughed.
"What does he mean?" said Tom to the man who stood by his side. "I know nothing about any attack. Do you?"
"I knows there's something on foot," replied the other, "but what it is
I don't know."
"Do you think we ought to tell one of the officers?"
"Nay, it's not worth the trouble," was the reply; "besides, it's only a bit of bluff."
Two hours later the English trenches were full of movement; evidently, as the other sentry had told Tom, something was on foot. Orders were given in low, tense tones, and although it wanted some time to daylight, preparations were evidently being made for an attack.
The words which the German had spoken weighed heavily on Tom's mind. Of course he was only a private, but might not the news he had received mean something? The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that the German who spoke to him told the truth. Tom had no knowledge, and no warning, that an attack was to be made, and yet, within two hours from the time the German had spoken to him, preparations were being made for an attack. He knew, too, that his battalion was eleven hundred strong, having been reinforced only two days before. Seeing a young officer, he determined to speak to him and tell him what he had heard.
"It is very funny," said the subaltern, "I can't understand it a bit; but it's too late now, we must go through with it." All the same the subaltern found his way to his Colonel.