"Naw, then, number five, stick it hinto 'im. Ye ain't 'andin' a lidy an
unbreller!"
Another attempt by number five being still suggestive of the amenities
proper to a social function, the sergeant major stepped up to the
overgentle soldier.
"Naw, then," he said, "hobserve! There's my henemy. See 'is hugly mug.
Hn-gah! Pint!!!"
At the words of command, the sergeant major threw himself into his guard
and attacked with such appalling ferocity as must have paralysed an
ordinary foe, sending his bayonet clean through to his guard, and
recovering it with a clean, swift movement.
Having secured a fairly satisfactory thrust, the sergeant major devoted
his attention to the recovery of the bayonet.
"Fetch it hout!" he cried fiercely. "There's another man comin'. Fetch
it hout! Ye may fetch 'is spinial column with it. No matter, 'e won't
need it."
The final act in this gruesome drama was the attack upon the second line
represented by the sacks lying upon the parapet of the trench beyond.
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