"Bang!" interjected a shot in his rear. Next there was a fierce volley of blank on three sides of his position, while away to the front he heard the volleys of his defending outposts. The startling onslaught frightened his charger, which reared and flung him to mother earth. The crack of the enemy's Maxims and the terrible crash of their musketry threw the regiment, for the moment, into a state of panic and alarm.
"Good Lord!—they've trapped us," roared the angry colonel, as he was helped to his feet.
"Yes, sir," replied the adjutant.
"Extend—extend," ordered the now alert veteran, in an endeavour to save his regiment. Alas! he was too late. Like one man the whole seven companies of Territorials fixed their bayonets and charged down on to the surprised Militiamen. It was, indeed, a glorious victory—one which startled the Brigadier, who happened to ride on to the scene.
"You've been scuppered, Corkleg," said the general, with a dry grin.
[pg 166] "Yes, sir," was the tart reply of the disconsolate C.O.
"Well—you're out of action. But why were you caught napping?"
"Waiting for my scouts, sir."
"Ah, Corkleg," interjected the Brigadier, "I thought you knew better. Scouts are the only privileged absentees at this game. Have a look in the nearest public-house," concluded the Brigadier as he rode away, well pleased with the work of "those d—— amateurs," as Colonel Corkleg had termed the enemy. By the way, this defeated colonel did look for his missing men. With his adjutant he rode towards the village. As they neared the inn, sounds of revelry rent the air. A cracked piano was playing "Tipperary," while many fuddled voices mumbled out the words of this popular air. "Tipperary" was followed by a general shout of—
"Oh, we won't go home till morning,
We won't go home till morning,
We won't go home till mor-n-n-ing,
And so say all of us."