ing to save the ammunition in my revolver for the hand-to-hand
scuffle which seemed imminent, I seized the rifle of Arnold and fired.
I missed all three; my hand was shaky.

What was I to do next? The company on my left had disappeared; the
trench just in front of me was occupied by the Boches. I had with me
three runners, one of whom was helpless, and in the next shell-hole
about six men, the sole survivors of my company.

Where were the supports? Anxiously I glanced back toward the wood; why
did they not come?

Poor fellows, I did not know it at the time, but the hand of death had
dealt with them even more heavily in the wood than it had with us.

My position was desperate. I could not retire. My orders were
imperative: "You must reach your objective at any cost." I must get
there somehow. But even if we got there, how long could I hope to hold
out with such a handful of men?

Immediate support I must have; I must take risks. I turned to brave
Dobson and Wilkinson:

"Message to the supports: 'Send me two platoons quickly; position
critical.'"

Without a moment's hesitation they jumped up and darted off with the
message which might save the day.

Dobson fell before he had gone two yards; three paces farther on I saw
Wilkinson, the pet of the company, turn suddenly round and fall on the
ground, clutching at his breast. All hope for the supports was gone.

At this moment the bombing section, which by this time had cleared the
mystery trench, arrived on the right of the objective; and to my
delirious joy, I noticed the Germans in the trench in front of me
running away along the trench.

It was now, or never! We must charge over that strip of land and
finish them with the bayonet. A moment's hesitation and the tables
might again be turned, and all would be lost. The trench in front must
be taken by assault; it must be done. There were six or seven of us
left, and we must do it.

I yelled to the men:

"Get ready to charge, they are running. Come on! Come on!"

I jumped out of the shell-hole, and they followed me. Once again I was
mad. I saw nothing, I heard nothing; I wanted to kill! kill!

Pf--ung!

Oh! My God! I was hit in the head! I was blind!

CHAPTER XVIII

LEFT ON THE FIELD

THE MYSTERY OF DEATH. THE SECRET CODE. TWO TERRIBLE DAYS

I was wounded! I was blind! But the moments that followed are clear in
my memory. The brain shocked by a blow works quickly and actively in
its excited ef