"Take ground to your left, and both of you 'go' for that confounded gun," the Skipper had roared after me. "I'm coming along after you."
It's all jolly fine to tell one to charge along through paddy fields. Grainger was just behind me, and I felt sorry for him, because I kept on going in up to my knees in beautiful, rich, black mud, and knew that he had his eye on me and my second best pair of trousers. But we got up to old "B.-T." all right, and I shouted for him to come along and shove on for the gun, got my men extended well to the left, gave them a "breather" whilst he swung his men a little to the left as well (brought his right shoulder up, as they say in the drill book), and then off we went, howling and cheering, straight towards two little white huts behind which the gun was still firing.
Whitmore appeared from somewhere and took charge (he was the senior), Rawlings and a bugler boy legging it after him for all they were worth.
A good many bullets came whizzing past, and I saw chaps dodging about round those huts and under some trees. My men were coming along well, and old "B.-T." with his long legs was sprinting along in front of his chaps like a camel.
Away to the left people began cheering—"Rah! Rah! Rah!"—and I knew that came from the Omaha's crowd, and wasn't going to be beaten by them. Nor was more either; and though I knew that the "show" was not quite according to the "drill book", I wasn't going to let the "U.S.N." or our gunboats get there first.
Young Wilkins, running just behind me, gave a cry and fell; I heard the old sergeant-major cursing and hurrying on the men; we got in among the trees, my chaps half a dozen paces behind me; a chap got in my way and fell down—I suppose I did it; two or three fellows rushed out from the side of a hut and came for me with swords; but the well-beloved Grainger wasn't going to let them damage my best "serge", if he could prevent it, and we got rid of them between us. "B.-T.'s" chaps and mine were now all mixed up. There were a few "bickerings" going on round the huts and among the trees, and then we saw the gun standing by its "lonesome", and went dashing across to it.
One of "B.-T.'s" able seamen was the first to get to it, Whitmore and Rawlings close behind, and "B.-T." and I made a dead heat for fourth place.
"Don't 'hee-haw' like a jackass," Whitmore said, when he'd got his breath. "What's to be done now?"
I'm hanged if I could help laughing at the sight of old "B.-T." legging it, with little Withers, only about half his height, trying to keep up with him.
"Give us a cigarette, and don't be an ass, soldier!" "B.-T." sang out. "Your legs are funnier looking than mine, any day."