Captain Scammell from brigade, the colonel and the adjutant stood in the trench at the point of exit. Suddenly they heard the dry, smashing reports of grenades through the chatter of machine-gun fire on the left. The bombs went fast and furious, punctuated by the crack of rifles and bursts of pistol fire. S. O. S. rockets went up from the German positions; and, as if in answer to those signals, our batteries laid a heavy barrage on and just in rear of the enemy's support trenches. The colonel flashed a light on his wrist.
"They have been in four minutes," he said.
At that moment a muddy figure with blackened face and hands and a slung rifle on his back scrambled into the trench, turned and pulled something over the parapet that sprawled at the colonel's feet.
"Here's one of them, sir; and there's more coming," said the man of mud. "Ah! Here's another. Boost him over, you fellers."
"'HERE'S ONE OF THEM, SIR; AND THERE'S MORE COMING,' SAID THE MAN OF MUD."
Into the trench tumbled another Fritz, and then a third, and then a Canadian, and then two more prisoners and the third Canadian.
"Five," said the last of the escort. "Us three started for home with eight, but something hit the rest of 'em—T-M bomb, I reckon."
"Sure it was," said the Canadian who had arrived first. "Don't I know? I got a chunk of it in my leg." He stooped and fumbled at the calf of his right leg. The adjutant turned a light on him, and the man extended his hand, dripping with blood.