take that ground, we're fairly carted,' I said.

'We are. Therefore they must retake it.'

'I must get on to Mitchinson.' But as I spoke I realized the futility
of a telephone message to a man who was pretty hard up against it
himself. Only an urgent appeal could effect anything ... I must go
myself ... No, that was impossible. I must send Lefroy ... But he
couldn't be spared. And all my staff officers were up to their necks in
the battle. Besides, none of them knew the position as I knew it ...
And how to get there? It was a long way round by the bridge at Loisy.

Suddenly I was aware of Wake's voice. 'You had better send me,' he was
saying. 'There's only one way--to swim the river a little lower down.'

'That's too damnably dangerous. I won't send any man to certain death.'

'But I volunteer,' he said. 'That, I believe, is always allowed in war.'

'But you'll be killed before you can cross.'

'Send a man with me to watch. If I get over, you may be sure I'll get
to General Mitchinson. If not, send somebody else by Loisy. There's
desperate need for hurry, and you see yourself it's the only way.'

The time was past for argument. I scribbled a line to Mitchinson as his
credentials. No more was needed, for Wake knew the position as well as
I did. I sent an orderly to accompany him to his starting-place on the
bank.

'Goodbye,' he said, as we shook hands. 'You'll see, I'll come back all
right.' His face, I remember, looked singularly happy. Five minutes
later the Boche guns opened for the final attack.

I believe I kept a cool head; at least so Lefroy and the others
reported. They said I went about all afternoon grinning as if I liked
it, and that I never raised my voice once. (It's rather a fault of mine
that I bellow in a scrap.) But I know I was feeling anything but calm,
for the problem was ghastly. It all depended on Wake and Mitchinson.
The flanking fire was so bad that I had to give up the left of the
forward zone, which caught it fairly, and retire the men there to the
battle-zone. The latter was better protected, for between it and the
river was a small wood and the bank rose into a bluff which sloped
inwards towards us. This withdrawal meant a switch, and a switch isn't
a pretty thing when it has to be improvised in the middle of a battle.

The Boche had counted on that flanking fire. His plan was to break our
two wings--the old Boche plan which crops up in every fight. He left
our centre at first prett