His Platoon Sergeant behaved with an intrepid bravery that gave him a moral right to the Victoria Cross.  He stayed in the fire-swept area to carry two wounded men into safety, and tended several others as they lay.  He received no recognition—­but those who were near him will never forget.

The bank reached, safety was achieved for the moment, at any rate.  They pushed on for another half-mile or so, and were then halted under cover of the bank.  They had not long to wait before the purpose of the whole manoeuvre was revealed to them.  In their capacity of Local Reserve they had been hurried to the point of the line where the next attack in force was expected.

The whole thing was ridiculous in its mechanical exactitude.  In about five minutes the artillery bombardment died down.  Hard upon its heels arose a most lively rifle-fire, which showed clearly enough that the preparatory bombardment was over, and the real attack about to begin.  Higher and higher rose the note struck by the rifle-fire, as the contest thickened.  Never had they heard such intensity of concentration before.  Now up, now down, it rocked on in one sweeping, continuous note for nearly half-an-hour.  Then it died down, almost to silence.  The attack had failed, and the Local Reserve would not be needed.

It does not require much imagination to picture the state of mind of the men in reserve—­cowering behind the bank.  They could almost see the whole thing—­the grey dots crawling over the crest of the hill, the shots that announced their detection, the uprising of them in a solid mass, sweeping towards the trenches; the withering fire, reaping in its victims like a scythe.  They were wondering every second of the time, “How far have the Germans got?  Have they pushed us out?” But no order came to advance to re-capture the trenches, so they presumed all was well.

As the crossing of the open ground had been so rough, they were allowed to postpone their return journey until it was dark.  But even then they were not safe.

The Colonel led the Battalion a clear two hundred yards away from the road.  The darkness was so intense that they could not be seen, but in the silence of the night they were sure to be heard, and, on hearing them, the Germans would certainly plaster the road with shells in the hope of “getting” them as they returned.

The Colonel was right.  The German observation-posts must have heard them, for the old, familiar whizz came whistling through the darkness.  The first shells seemed incredibly long in the air.  One’s heart was in one’s mouth, as one listened to hear if they were going “to fall short,” or “go over.”  Then the crash came, in front, on the road, and they knew that the Colonel had saved them once more.  Even as it was, their Company Quartermaster-Sergeant was hit in the foot.

The shelling in the darkness must have affected the nerves of the leading Company.  They struck out at a tremendous pace.  The Subaltern was dropping further and further behind.  He could not keep up, and the prospect of losing touch in the darkness was extremely serious.