Keeping his body as close as he could to the ground, he crawled forward. When he had been a boy, he, like thousands of other English boys, had played at fighting Indians, and the old trick of crawling close to the ground served him well now; but it was painfully slow, and every yard he took he expected to hear the whistle of bullets--to feel the baptism of fire. When he had crawled perhaps one hundred yards, a rifle shot rang out, and he heard a bullet cut its way through the leaves of the trees in the near distance. Was it aimed at him? He didn't know, but he did know that the nearer he went to the enemies' lines, the greater chance they would have of seeing him. "Why should I go any further?" he asked himself. "It is a madman's trick I am playing. No one but an idiot would take such a risk; besides, it is useless--I can never reach him. Even if I get to the spot Beel described, I may not find him, and then I shall have simply thrown away my life for nothing." Then for the first time that day he really felt what fear meant. Since early morning he had been in the midst of the fray, now directing his soldiers, now fighting hand-to-hand battles, but never once had he felt fear; even when his comrades on his right hand and on his left had fallen, he had not felt even a tremor. His nerves had been wrought up to such a pitch that fear was almost impossible; rather he had known a kind of mad joy in fighting. When in answer to the German charge the English soldiers had rushed forward, bayonets fixed, to meet them, he knew he had become almost a savage in his lust for blood. More than once he had laughed aloud as slowly, amidst cries of pain, savage yells of joy, and feverish passion, they had fought their way, inch by inch, and driven the Germans back; but now he felt fear. It was one thing to rush forward amidst the clash of arms and the cheers of his comrades; it was another to crawl along like an Indian savage, in the silence of the dying day. And for what purpose? To save a man who, half an hour before, he had wished dead. But he knew he could not go back. Something, he could not explain what, urged him forward. How could he go back with his purpose unfulfilled? What would the others say? In spite of the fact that he had undertaken what every man of them had said was a madman's act, they would in their heart of hearts scorn him for having played the coward. Every muscle in his body ached; his hands were torn and bleeding; it seemed to him as if there were hammers striking his temples; sparks of fire were in his eyes,--still he struggled forward. He lifted his head and looked around. Yes, he was near the spot which Sergeant Beel had described. Daylight was now falling, and half an hour later darkness would be upon them. If his mission were not accomplished whilst the light lasted, the Captain would have to lie until the morning, and if he were wounded, he might during those hours die from loss of blood.