The completed action thus included the guard, thrust, recovery, the
leap forward past the swinging line of sacks, and a second thrust at
the figure prone upon the parapet, with a second recovery of the weapon,
this second recovery being effected by stamping the foot upon the
transfixed effigy, and jerking back the bayonet with a violent upward
movement.
This last recovery appeared to cause number five again some difficulty.
"Now then, number five, put a little aight (hate) into it. Stamp your
bleedin' 'obnyles (hobnails) on his fice, and fetch it hout! This wye!"
As he took the rifle from number five, the sergeant major's face seemed
to be transformed into a living embodiment of envenomed hate, his
attack, thrust, recovery, gathering in intensity until with unimaginable
fury he leaped upon the prostrate figure, drove his bayonet through to
the hilt, stamped his hobnails upon the transfixed enemy, jerked
his weapon out, and stood quivering, ready for any foe that dared to
approach. The savage ferocity of his face, the fierce energy in his
every movement, culminating in that last vicious leap and stamp,
altogether constituted such a dramatic and realistic representation of
actual fighting that the whole line burst into a very unsoldierly but
very hearty applause, which, however, the sergeant major immediately and
sternly checked.
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