The shock of the discovery was so great that Dennis lay paralysed, and everything seemed very black indeed, until a low murmur in English brought him to his senses at his elbow.
"Well, I'm hanged! This is a pretty nice ending to a glorious day!" muttered Captain Bob. "But I shouldn't mind so much if I only knew that Dennis had come out of it all right."
A hand grasped his own, and the speaker started as someone whispered in his ear: "Dear old chap, keep your hair on, and don't speak above your breath. Half these poor beasts understand English. Are you badly hit?"
Bob's fingers closed on his brother's like a vice.
"Thank God!" he murmured, "I'm not hit at all. I trod on an unexploded shell, and gave my leg an infernal wrench just as our fellows had to fall back. I couldn't move a yard, and got collared in consequence, and when it was dark they brought me along here. Where are you hurt, Den?"
"Welt over the head with a rifle-butt," whispered Dennis excitedly. "I say, old chap, if we've any luck, I'll get you out of this. Do you know the lie of the land?"
"Yes, we're about a mile and a half in front of our new first line. Do you think you could rub my leg? You'll have to take the gaiter off; I've had several shots at it, but my fingers are all to pieces trying to get over some of their wire, and I couldn't slip the buckle for little apples."
Dennis had the gaiter undone in a moment, and Bob writhed as his brother felt the injured limb.
"You've got no end of a sprain, old man," whispered Dennis. "No wonder you couldn't walk. Your instep's swollen up as big as my two fists, and there's nothing for it but rest and cold water bandages to put you right."
"H'm! If I didn't know you for my own brother, I should put you down as a near relation of the late lamented Mr. Job," said Bob Dashwood, with a wry face. "But never mind, keep on rubbing. I'm feeling more life in it already. But, I say, Den, this is a weird place we're in. These German fellows don't seem to take their gruel like our chaps. It's a gruesome thing to hear a man cry."
"And it's worse to hear a man die, Bob," said Dennis solemnly. "I don't fancy from what the doctor said that many of these poor wretches will be here when the sun rises."
It was indeed a trying thing to be there, in the darkness with those sounds of human suffering all about them, and it made them both very anxious to make a start for that freedom which seemed such a long way off. Every now and then a piercing cry rose above the constant undercurrent of moans, and the sobbing was distressing in the extreme.
A strong man from the far side of the barn callingpiteously on "Mütterchen," made them both think of their own "little mother"; and after Dennis had rubbed for several minutes until the palms of his hands were terribly hot, Bob clutched his shoulder and whispered: "For goodness' sake, old chap, let's chance our arm! I can't stand any more of this!"
"Just as you like," assented his brother, strapping the gaiter loosely round the limb again. "If you can't walk you must crawl, and when you can't crawl I'll carry you; but I wish my head wouldn't ache so confoundedly. Do you notice no one's been near this place since they brought you in? That tells me the sanitary squad will be busy to-morrow."
He helped Bob up as he spoke, not to his feet, for he could not put the right one to the ground; but by passing an arm round Dennis's neck he managed to hop to the door, which was only a yard away, and there they paused to take their bearings before leaving the shelter of the barn.
Every step was as painful to the one as to the other, but the night air was very sweet, and the hope of liberty sweeter.
"This door opens to the east," whispered the Captain. "Consequently, our road lies yonder; and, by Jove! it is a road too! What stunning chaps the British gunners are when they're properly supplied with ammunition!"
"You're quite sure you're right, old man?" said Dennis. "The shells are bursting yonder like one o'clock."
"Exactly!" was Bob's dry rejoinder. "That's the German barrage falling behind our new line. It's aboutthere we shall probably get pipped on the post, brother of mine. That barrage lies between us and safety."
Overhead the shells rushed, clanging, booming, whistling, screeching, according to their different species and calibre; and every now and then a star-shell burst in the sky, lighting everything up for a few seconds in an unearthly brilliance.
"So long as we're between the two fires," said Bob, as they began their perilous journey, "there is nothing much to fear, it seems to me. The next mile is No Man's Land with a vengeance; after that it will be Dante's Inferno with the lid off."
Every time a star-shell burst the fugitives flung themselves on to the ground. After one of those enforced pauses, and before they had covered a quarter of a mile, they rested for quite a considerable time at the edge of an enormous crump-hole, and, Dennis still having his haversack, they divided its contents and ate ravenously.
"I suppose we shall be returned missing," said Bob. "But surely the governor will keep the news back for a day or two on the mater's account. Let's get a move on, old chap; our non-appearance is robbing him of all the satisfaction he'd have got out of a fine day's work." And as they went on again, the Captain using a Mauser rifle which Dennis had picked up as a crutch, he told his brother how completely successful the British advance had been up to the moment when the Reedshires were obliged to fall back. The battalion had lost terribly, but we had taken two villages, and what we had we meant to hold.
At the end of another quarter of a mile they took cover again very suddenly; no star-shell that time, but a verybusinesslike German high explosive, which scooped up tons of earth, and it was followed by another and another, which all burst in their immediate neighbourhood.
"I say, Bob, this is getting rather serious," said Dennis. "They're shortening their fuses for some reason or other, and we're just in the line of fire. I wish there was a safe spot where we could lie up until we see what it means. What's the matter with that building over there with the broken chimney shaft? The beggars are shelling right and left of it as though they didn't want it to get hit—mean to use it when they counter-attack, I suppose; and if we're questioned, I must pass you off as my prisoner, eh?"
"It certainly is getting sultry," assented Captain Bob. "Let's try that place yonder. One may as well get killed by falling bricks inside as by T.N.T. in the open."
His voice grew very solemn as he added: "I believe it was in front of that place that our battalion got its fearful gruelling, and poor old A company was wiped out."
It was the only building anywhere visible, and a zigzag walk between shell craters brought them to it.
A bristling hedge of very thick barbed wire was the first thing they encountered; but, thanks to another star-shell, they discovered an opening at the back leading to what had evidently been a brewery in the piping times of peace. The shattered sheds about the yard and the half-ruined main building had been sandbagged and strengthened by the enemy's engineers, as though they had intended to hold it.
But for some reason or other it was now deserted.The machine-guns had been removed from their positions, and there were signs of a hasty and recent exodus. The tall shaft of the chimney-stack stood sentinel over the deserted place; but as the two brothers penetrated into the main building, the thought that was in both their minds was voiced by Dennis.
"I believe we've touched lucky," he said. "You're right, old chap; they don't want to hit this show for some reason best known to themselves."
A perfect hurricane of shells was passing on either side of the ruined brewery from batteries not very far behind it, and it was a relief to steal inside the big dark chamber where the thunder seemed less loud.
"I've still got my torch," said Dennis in a low voice, after an anxious pause. "I wonder if it would be safe to have a look round the place?"
"Why not?" replied Bob. "There must be water somewhere here, and my throat is like the sole of an old boot. If there had been anyone hiding, we should have heard them by this time."
Dennis turned on his light, and the beam showed them that the ground floor of the building had been utilised as a bathroom. Rows of vats and coppers were ranged along one side, and a network of pipes communicated with some large stoves, in one of which there was still a handful of red embers.
"Can't make out why the beggars scooted," muttered Bob Dashwood. "This place has been turned into a regular redoubt, and might have been held successfully against a division. There is something at the bottom of it, Dennis, and the mind of Brother Boche is a subtle anda crafty mind. Look!" And he pointed to a long line of underclothing hanging above the stoves. "They've even left their washing when they cleared out."
His speculations terminated abruptly as an electric bell rang somewhere in the darkness.
"Great Scott!" cried Dennis, stabbing the gloom with the beam of his pocket-torch. "There's another room here, and the place is evidently in communication with their headquarters."
He ran in the direction of the sound, and the door led him into the engine-room of the brewery, a mysterious place smelling of oil. Wheels, shafts and boilers met his eye, but he paid no heed to them, for the bell still rang; and Bob, limping painfully after him, heard the sharp cry he gave, and saw him bending down in a huge cavity on which he flashed his light.
"I say, Bob!" he called excitedly. "The chimney overhead is fitted with a wireless installation, and here's a complete outfit of field telegraph and telephone!"
"Smash it; it's worse than useless to us, for we don't know their code," was the practical advice of the captain.
"Hold on!" chuckled Dennis. "They don't talk by code. We may hear things yet!" And he unhooked the telephone receiver.
Bob's eyes opened very wide, and, leaning on his rifle-crutch, he explored his brother's pocket for a cigarette and lit it.
"Well, what's it all about?" he asked impatiently, his eyes riveted on the delighted smile that wreathed the listener's face.
Dennis made a hasty gesture with his hand and continued to listen.
It was a very angry voice that came along that wire, and the quick-witted lad instantly saw great possibilities here.
"What are you doing with yourself, Von Dussel?" demanded the voice.
"Pardon, sir," said Dennis, in his best German, "I have difficulty in catching your words; the noise of the shells is so great." And he winked delightedly at Bob. "Who is speaking, please?"
An imprecation preceded the reply. "I am the General von Bingenhammer at the headquarters of Prince Rupprecht, who is furious at the delay."
"A thousand apologies, your excellency!" said Dennis into the receiver. "The truth is, we are so hard pressed here that it is difficult to get the necessary information. My three assistants have been killed, and I have this moment returned from a personal reconnaissance, where I managed to get within fifteen yards of the trench we lost this evening, and I am afraid the news I have will be decidedly unpleasant."
"Well, what is it?" snapped the general. "Unpleasant or no, we rely implicitly on your judgment."
"Your excellency is pleased to be very kind," said Dennis, scarcely able to disguise the laughter which convulsed him.
"By Jupiter, Bob, here's a chance to rub it in!" he whispered aside. And then he very gravely gave an account of what Prince Rupprecht's agent was supposed to have discovered!
"The enemy has consolidated himself in what were our support trenches," reported the mock spy. "TheKönigin AugustaRedoubt was carried with great fury at six o'clock this evening, and its brave defenders practically destroyed. The English have now seventy machine-guns mounted on the work, and to take it will be impossible. In my opinion, there is nothing for it but to fall back. We can do nothing against the horde of reserves massed behind the English firing line. It is incredible the number of battalions I have seen to-night, and their howitzer batteries have been moved forward."
"Here, I say, go slow!" interjected Bob, marvelling at the clever way in which Dennis conducted his ruse.
"Shut up!" snapped Dennis shortly. "He is asking me questions now, and we shall learn something."
"Has the evacuation of the brewery taken place?" inquired Von Bingenhammer.
"It has, your excellency," answered Dennis promptly.
"And there is nothing to prevent that Australian Division taking possession of the place—nothing to warn them of the trap?"
"I am expecting their arrival at any moment, your excellency. In fact, it will be difficult for me to escape if I stay here much longer."
"Good," assented the speaker at the other end of the 'phone. "And the land mine is charged ready to blow them back to their antipodes,nicht wahr?"
"Everything is ready as your excellency has ordered it," replied Dennis, with a startled grimace at his brother.
"Then you had better look after your own safety, only remaining to see the mine properly fired, and then comeback to His Highness's headquarters. We are preparing a heavy counter-attack for the early hours of the morning. That is all, captain. May the God of the Fatherland protect thee!"
Dennis laid the receiver down, and was rapidly recounting all the general had said to his brother, when he stopped and switched his light off.
A quick step was heard in the outer room. The real spy was approaching, and their old acquaintance, Von Dussel, alias Van Drissel, came through the doorway, turning on his own light as he did so!
For a couple of strides he advanced towards them, deceived for an instant by the jacket of the dead German which Dennis was wearing. Then he sprang back with a startled cry, his light vanished, and the clang of the heavy door echoed dully in the pitch darkness.
Bob Dashwood's hand gave his brother's shoulder a warning grip, and the pair listened, scarcely breathing. In both their minds was the one thought: Had their enemy gained the outer room before the door closed, or was he still there, waiting for the first sound that should betray their whereabouts?
Dennis, who had been standing erect when the torch beam found him, now crouched low; but Bob stood motionless, his head turned sideways to listen, the half-smoked cigarette still in his mouth.
The silence of the room seemed to be intensified by the gunfire outside; and, without thinking, Bob Dashwood pulled at the cigarette.
The tiny end shone faintly, with a brighter glow, a loud report broke the unnatural stillness, and the bullet of an automatic pistol carried the cigarette from the smoker's lips and struck the wall behind him!
Even Bob Dashwood, to whom physical fear wasunknown, felt himself turn pale at the narrowness of his escape.
The spy was still there, and evidently a crack shot, while they had no firearms!
After a long, thrilling pause, a gloating laugh came out of the darkness.
"The English are the greatest fools in the world; or is it perhaps that they have no weapons, hein?" said the spy's voice, the soliloquy being evidently intended for his listeners' benefit.
Dennis was conscious that his brother had edged away behind a large boiler, and groping desperately in the pockets of the German coat, hoping against hope that he might find something that would turn the tide in their favour, his own fingers closed on—a raw potato!
An idea occurred to him, and with a silent jerk of his forearm he threw it to the other end of the room. As the potato fell, Von Dussel swung round and fired two shots in the direction of the sound, and under cover of the reports Dennis joined Bob in his temporary shelter.
A snarl of vexation broke from the angry Prussian at his second failure; and, taking Bob's hand in his own, Dennis tapped out a Morse Code sentence on the back of it with his first finger, relieved to find from his brother's answering squeeze that Bob understood him.
"Give me that rifle," he tapped. "There might be an unused cartridge left in the magazine, after all."
Bob supported himself on the side of the boiler, and Dennis took the Mauser from him without noise.
He knew the barrel must be choked with earth from the use it had been put to, but, after all, it was a chance.
Bur-r-r-r!The telephone bell struck an odd, imperative note at that moment, and Von Dussel spoke sharply.
"You hear that, you hound?" he thundered. "You Dashwoods, you! How long have you been here?"
They knew it was only a ruse to make them betray themselves, prompted by their enemy's keen anxiety to answer the summons, and they stood behind the boiler perfectly still.
Bur-r-r-r!
"So you will not speak," snarled Von Dussel. "Very well, I am going to answer that message. I shall have a Browning pistol in one hand and the receiver in the other. You had better look out; you will never leave this room alive, either of you."
Dennis, groping silently in front of him along the brick base in which the boiler was fixed, had found a heavy screw wrench, and, repeating his former manœuvre, hurled it this time to the opposite end of the engine-room.
It dropped with a loud clang; but Von Dussel was on his guard, and before he fired he switched his light on for an instant, and Dennis pulled the trigger of the rifle.
It was only for a second's space that Dennis saw the man with his hand raised, and he could not repress a fierce shout of joy as a Mauser bullet dashed the Browning pistol from Von Dussel's hand.
"Perhaps we English are not such fools, after all!"he laughed. But when the spy's voice answered him, it was from the opposite side of the room.
"That remains to be seen," was his reply. "I tell you, you will not leave this place alive. The brewery is mined, and I am going to fire the charge. Good night. I will send Madame Dashwood a field post card to-morrow!"
In vain Dennis had pulled on the trigger while he spoke, the rifle pointed in the direction of the voice. That cartridge had been the last one; and as they heard the heavy door bang for the second time that night, they knew that the man had gone and would keep his word!
"Dennis, boy," said Bob quickly, "I'm rather afraid our number's up, after all. I'm useless with this leg, but where there's life there's hope. There's a permanent ladder at the end of this hole. Give me my crutch again, and, meanwhile, see where it leads to."
Dennis did not require telling twice.
"You're right, Bob," he said. "There's death on the other side of that door, so it's wasting time to try whether that hound has fastened it or no." And while he spoke he flashed his own pocket torch to the far end of the engine-room. "You'll be able to pick your way, and I'll be back in a shake," he concluded, tearing along the floor and bounding up a permanent ladder to the next storey.
A circling sweep of his invaluable light showed the lad a low-ceilinged room corresponding to the one he had just left, and a cool wind blowing in from somewhere reminded him of his adventure in the German dug-out, and the friendly passage he had discovered.
"Come on, Bob!" he called down the ladder. "I'll be back in a minute and give you a hand. We'll do the beggar yet."
He bounded through the door which his light revealed, and found himself in the open air upon an iron gallery running along the outside of the building.
His impulse was to lift up a shout of thankfulness at the sight of another iron ladder, obviously leading into the yard below. To make quite certain that the way was clear he ran towards it, and stole cautiously down for a short distance, trying to penetrate the intense blackness in quest of any sign of Von Dussel.
All at once his feet dropped into nothingness, for, unknown to him, an English shell had carried away the rest of the ladder a week before, and, clutching wildly at the last step, he clung there, dangling in space!
To let go, even had he known the distance between him and the ground, was absolutely unthinkable with his brother helpless and unwarned within the building, and though the explosion of the mine might happen any moment, his one and only effort was to get back by sheer strength of arm and return to Bob's assistance.
"If we've got to go out to-night we'll go out together," he muttered between his teeth, and he added something of a prayer to the resolve.
The fragment of the ladder vibrated under his weight as he worked himself slowly and cautiously to one edge, and the sharpness of the jagged iron rungs hurt his hands terribly.
"If I can only haul up high enough to get my kneeon the first step it'll be all right," he thought, when something scrunched immediately underneath him, and he dangled motionless, as a brilliant star-shell burst directly overhead, making everything around as bright as day.
Caught in the open by the sudden fire of uncountable machine-guns, the 2/12th Battalion of the Royal Reedshires had gone down like grass before the scythe. Another fifty yards, and they would have reached the uncut wire in front of that ruined building with the broken chimney shaft.
So close were they that the word was already given to divide and sweep round the flank of the obstacle when cruel Fate said no; and as he lay with three bullets through him, tears of rage and anger had dimmed the keen eyes of their C.O. as he groped for his whistle and blew the retire.
They had made a fine rush by successive waves across the open, taking advantage of the tumbled ground to get close up to that seemingly deserted brewery which had shown no sign of occupation, and from which no shot had been fired. And then that thing had happened, and he blamed himself as he sent the brave remnant scurrying back to the trench they had captured, knowing that he should have rested content with his capture and not been greedy for more.
He did not realise that he was badly wounded, and he did not care. It was his own fault, and the tears in his eyes were for those khaki heaps that lay to right and left of him. He even resisted three of the survivors who ran to his help. They only grinned when he threatened themwith pains and penalties; and, picking him up, they had carried him in under a murderous rain of bullets.
The battalion was barely half its strength when it reached the trench, and it had all happened just as the dusk drew down on the land.
When they called the roll the voices of the company sergeants were hoarse and shook with an odd quiver.
"Abbot, Anstey, Ashwell?" No answer. "Bellingham?"—"Here." "Burton?"—"Just died, sergeant," somebody else replied. And so it went on alphabetically from A to Z, and of the A's there were very few, and of the Z's there were none.
A senior captain took over command, and word was sent back to the brigadier.
"It's bad enough as it is, sergeant-major," said the senior captain. "He'd better not be told just now that both his sons are among the missing."
Later on there came to the young lieutenant, who was the only officer left in A company, two dusty, fierce-eyed little men who had gone through the burden and heat of the day without a scratch, although their bayonets were red enough.
And they had begged leave to go and search for Captain Dashwood and Dennis, and the young lieutenant had choked audibly as he refused the permission.
"Yes, I know, Hawke," he had replied to their earnestly repeated entreaties. "But I'm acting under strict orders. Not a man is to cross the parapet on any consideration whatever. If we're counter-attacked before reinforcements arrive, Heaven help us!"
Then the two fierce-eyed little men had gone away,having apparently accepted the inevitable, and neither had said a word until they reached the far end of the trench.
"Tiddler?"
"I should bloomin' well think so, 'Arry!"
That was all, but it was enough; and that was how Harry Hawke and his bosom pal came to be wandering under the eastern wall of the deserted brewery after a fruitless search among those khaki heaps that lay so still in front of the German wire.
For three hours they had crawled backwards and forwards, questioning the wounded and giving a hand where they could with the field dressing, but always receiving the same reply.
At length one man told them that the German stretcher-bearers had come out and carried some bodies away, but they had been recalled before they reached him, and there had been a great skedaddling from the building in front. He had heard them removing machine-guns; he could swear to that.
"Come on, Tid!" said Harry Hawke. "We may find them in there. It is our last chance."
They were working their way very carefully along the wall when a star-shell of unusual brilliancy burst, and Hawke jumped forward, gripping his rifle.
"Swop my goodness! Tiddler!" he cried, with a fierce chuckle, "here's a bloomin' Allemong trying to escape! You've left it a bit too late, sonny!" And he lunged upwards at the dangling figure in the light of the star-shell!
It was not a moment in which to mince matters, and Dennis drew up his legs with a yell.
"Don't play the giddy ox, Hawke. Where are your eyes?" he shouted, as the point of the bayonet grazed his brown gaiter; and then, in spite of the terrible danger overhanging them all, Dennis laughed oddly as his sworn admirer recovered his weapon, and the star-shell went out.
"You don't mean to say it's you, Mr. Dashwood!" came up a tremulous voice very unlike Hawke's own. "Drop, sir, your toes ain't above seven feet from the ground. Tiddler and me's been looking for you and the Captain for the last three hours."
"Well, you've found us," said Dennis, still clinging where he was; "and I hope you're in time. My brother should be up in the building by now, but he can only hobble on one leg, and the whole caboodle may be blown up any minute. What's to be done?"
Harry Hawke did not hesitate, but, slipping off his pack, handed his rifle to Tiddler, who stood speechless with amazement.
"Give us a back, Cockie," said Hawke. "Can you hold on, sir, if I climb up yer? Will the ladder bear?"
"It'll bear, and I can stick it if you're not too long," replied Dennis, twining his fingers tighter round the ironwork and bracing his arms for the strain.
The German shells had ceased to hum past the eastern end of the brewery, although they were falling rapidly about the captured trench, where the Reedshires were ensconced five hundred yards to the south.
"For Heaven's sake look sharp, man!" urged Dennis, and then he felt Hawke grasp his knees, pass a hand over his shoulder, hang there a moment, and grab at the broken step overhead.
"Sorry if I 'urt you, sir," muttered the Pride of Shoreditch, planting his hobnailed boot where his hand had been the moment before; and, active as a cat, he gained the iron ladder which had so nearly meant a broken neck for Dennis Dashwood.
"Now, sir!" panted Harry Hawke, seizing his officer's right wrist, "let go yer 'old while I give yer a 'aul. Up we come!"
Dennis gave a spring at the same time, and his fingers clutched the banister that supported the rail. The rest was easy, and between them he scrambled to his feet as a curious stumping made the iron gallery ring above them, and Bob's voice was heard calling, "Where have you got to, Den?"
They helped him down the broken ladder, Dennis explaining the position as he hopped between them.
"Can't say I fancy that drop you speak of, with this gammy leg of mine," said Bob ruefully; "but I must chance it. I suppose you haven't got a coil of rope concealed about your valuable person, Hawke?"
"Not arf, I 'aven't, sir," grinned the practical one, unfastening one end of the Mauser sling and tying the other round the last rung. "I reckon this'll do us."
"Bravo, Hawke," said Dennis gratefully. "Now then, Bob."
"No, you go first, old man."
"See you hanged before I do," was Dennis's blunt response, and with an "Oh, very well," Bob Dashwood grabbed the leather sling, and, lowering himself to the ground, was caught by Tiddler in his outstretched arms.
The other two dropped at the same moment, Dennis smothering a groan as his head seemed to open and shut from the jar.
"It'll save time, sir, if you'll carry my pack," said Harry Hawke, with a backward glance at the brewery. "Make a chair, Tid, and look slippy"; and before he quite knew what was happening the two privates had joined hands, and Bob Dashwood was being carried forward at a run across that deadly No Man's Land.
"First stop, British trench, Tiddler!" sang out the irrepressible Hawke, as they blundered along the side of a crater. "We'd given you up as a bad job, sir. Lord! You ought to see A Company. Don't believe there's more than thirty of us left." And a strain of gloomy seriousness vibrated in the speaker's voice.
"Yes, I know," said Captain Bob savagely, adding sharply, "Bear away to the left here."
"Beg pardon, sir, but that's our trench yonder," expostulated his bearers.
"Quite so," said Bob Dashwood. "But do you hear that?"
Under the perpetual thunder of the guns a sudden low roar came out of the darkness at right angles to the trench for which they had been making—the eager clamouring of hoarse voices, and many of them.
"That's the Australian Division on its way to storm that infernal brewery, and we must stop them at any cost."
"Lumme! They'll want a bit of stopping," muttered Tiddler through his nose. "They're more likely to stop us. Them Anzac blokes don't let much grass grow in front of their bayonets."
"Dennis," sang out the Captain, "get on ahead and see what you can do with them; and you, lads, put me down and go forward with my brother. I'm only an incubus."
"No, sir," replied Harry Hawke firmly. "You ain't no nincompoop. It's only an orficer's voice those chaps will listen to. We'll carry you right enough."
The trench from which the Australian Division was advancing branched off northward, and as Dennis sprinted forward to meet them he could make out the first rush tearing across the broken ground, yelling like fiends.
Still running, he shrilled out the order to halt on his whistle again and again, without result, and then as a hand gripped his throat, he felt the cold barrel of a revolver clapped to his throbbing forehead, and an angry voice with a colonial twang in it cried, "Who are you, blowing calls on our front? Is this another German wheeze?"
"I am an officer of the Reedshires, and we've had itbadly!" shouted Dennis, as he clutched his opponent in his turn. "We're pretty well wiped out, but it's nothing to what you'll get if you don't stop your men. That building you're making for is mined. The moment you reach it they'll blow the whole show sky high."
"Nonsense, you're pulling my leg," said the voice incredulously. "Don't you know we're making history?"
"History be blowed! You're making fools of yourselves!" cried the lad. "Loose my throat, or I'll let you have it!"
"Hallo, that sounds like Dennis Dashwood!" said another voice out of the surge that raced by them, and a broad-shouldered corporal pulled up short.
"What, Dunn—do you know this man?" said the Australian Captain, releasing his grip.
"Yes, sir, he's my cousin," said Dan Dunn. "What's wrong, Dennis?"
Dennis hurriedly repeated his warning, and as three rockets sailing up from the German lines showed Bob and his bearers shouldering their way perilously forward within an ace of being bayoneted at every step, Captain Dashwood lifted up his voice, and the two privates joined in.
The testimony was overwhelming, and although the fire-eating Anzacker was only half convinced, he reluctantly blew a call, and told Corporal Dunn to find the C.O.
"If you've made a fool of us you'll have to go through the hoop," said the Australian savagely, as the call was taken up along the charging line, which flattened out and said things loudly.
And then the angry Captain suddenly thrust out his hand.
"Sorry, old man," he said. "You were right, and I take it all back."
There was no malice in the hearty squeeze with which Dennis met the proffered fingers as they all flung themselves on their faces.
Von Dussel, half blinded by a British shell which dropped close beside him as he knelt, knew that to stay any longer was to court death. Something had happened to delay the expected division, but he had a little matter of private revenge which must not be neglected.
"Now, you Dashwoods, you! You have interfered with me too long," he muttered with a vindictive glitter in his grey eyes. "Up you go!" And he fired the fuse!
There was a dull boom. A strange shiver seemed to pass over all that shell-torn ground, and with an extraordinary roar the earth lifted skyward, thousands of tons of it rising in a weird black mass flecked with tongues of crimson flame. Higher and higher it mounted, preceded by dense black smoke that afterwards hung for an hour or more above the battlefield. Woods and trenches, men lying out dead in the open—the whole landscape was reddened by the glare, and as it faded out the debris from the explosion rained over a wide radius in a deadly shower.
Chimney, buildings, barbed wire, everything had disappeared, and where the brewery had stood the moment before a huge crater now yawned.
"You admit there was something in it, after all," saidDennis, unable to repress a ring of exultation in his voice.
"Gee-whiz! I'll admit anything you like," replied his new acquaintance. "There would have been some heavy hearts in Queensland if you hadn't come along to-night. But, say, there goes the order for us to occupy that hole. See you later on, I hope, Dashwood."
"I hope so," responded Dennis, as the Australian Division sprang up and bolted forward to dig themselves in.
"Now, lads, if you don't mind giving me another lift," said Bob. "It's about time we were getting home. What do you say, Dennis?"
Dennis said nothing. He was holding his head in both hands; that last explosion had left him more than ever convinced that it would fall into two halves if he were not very careful.
And meanwhile, Von Dussel, with an evil grin, was making his way to the German headquarters to report to General Von Bingenhammer that an English shell had exploded the mine before the Anzac Division had reached the brewery.
"Ah, you Dashwoods, you!" he murmured, rolling the name round his tongue as though it were a sweetmeat, "I should like to go to sleep, for I am very tired, but I should not like to be sleeping as sound as you. Himmel! You must have lived a lifetime in that last half-hour on earth!"
Somewhere about the moment when the scoundrel was indulging in those pleasant reflections, Bob's bearers had reached the British parapet, and, helping the Captainover, they set him down for a moment with a grunt of relief.
"I have no words for you, boys," he said. "But your devotion shall not be forgotten."
"'Arf a mo, sir," interrupted Harry Hawke, with an expressive wink at Tiddler, and they had him up again between them in the twinkle of an eye.
"No, no," expostulated Bob Dashwood. "I shall do very well now."
"Yus, sir, but we shan't!" said Hawke, with a sheepish grin. "We must carry you a bit farther to save our skins"; and a light began to dawn on their officer.
Farther along the trench, which spades and feverish hands were strengthening, two men stood, and the Senior Captain knew that the moment he dreaded had come.
Brigadier-General Dashwood, very set and stern, his heart struggling between pride at the fine fight his battalion had put up and sorrow at the heavy losses they had sustained, cleared his throat as he put a question to the other man.
With the Brigadier it was duty first and private interest afterwards, but now that everything had been done he spoke.
"By the way, Littlewood, I don't see either of my boys," he said; and a spasm crossed the face of the Senior Captain as he looked out over the parapet.
"Where are Bob and Dennis, Littlewood?" repeated the Brigadier.
"Here we are, sir!" said a laughing voice out of the darkness. "We're both a bit bent, but we're safe and sound for all that"; and Captain Littlewood echoedthe Brigadier's hearty "Thank God!" as Hawke and Tiddler dumped their burden down before them.
Hands met, and the lieutenant, who had taken over the command of the survivors of A Company, and who had come up at the moment, felt the muscles of his throat tighten, and became very duty-struck to cover his emotions.
"Is that you, Hawke?" he said sharply. "Do you mean to say you disobeyed my orders and left the trench?"
"Captain Dashwood—sir!" said Harry Hawke, with a ring of ill-used innocence in his husky voice, "didn't we pick you up at the other end of this trench when you tumbled over the sandbags? And didn't you say you was all right, sir, but we would carry you?"
"Perfectly true, Hawke, that's a fact," said Captain Bob, the light strong upon him now; and no one saw the grip that fell on Harry Hawke's wrist, a grip that cemented the friendship between officer and man for ever and a day.
"Very well," said the lieutenant. "Get back to your company now—or all that's left of it"; and as the two rascals hurried away he looked from Bob to Dennis, and said, with a laugh of immense relief in the words of Galileo of old, "All right, you beggars, 'but it moves for all that!'"