Other officers arrived,
herding men. "They must have rushed the Ruts., Sir," Patrick panted;
"must be after those guns just behind us." "They'll get 'em too," said
the Colonel grimly. "We can't stop 'em," said the Senior Captain. "If we
counter at once we might give the Loamshires time to come up--they're in
support, Sir--but--but, if they attack us, they'll get those guns--run
right over us."
The Colonel nodded. "Man, I know, I know; but look at 'em"--he pointed
to the pathetic remnant of his battalion lying out behind the
crest--"they're dropping asleep where they lie--they're beat to a
finish--not another kick left in 'em."
He sat down and buried his face in his hands. The redoubtable Antrims
had come to the end.
Suddenly came a shout from the Senior Captain, "Good Lord, what's that
fellow after? Who the devil is it?"
They all turned and saw a tiny figure, clad only in underclothes,
marching deliberately over the ridge towards the Germans.
"Who is it?" the Colonel repeated. "Beggin' your pardon, the Reverend,
Sir," said the Padre's batman as he strode past the group of officers.
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