Were they to wait there, until that grey wave overwhelmed them, pouring into the trenches like a surging flood? The strain of waiting was becoming almost unbearable. The captain shouted a command, and up they scrambled like hounds freed from the leash. But just as their leader reached the top he fell headlong, stricken by a bullet. For a moment the men waited, uncertain, hardly knowing what to do. Frank sensed the hesitation and like lightning he acted. It was no time to consider rank with that grey mass surging on. Above the noise his voice rang out like a trumpet. "Come on, boys!" he shouted. "Over the top and at them!" At the same instant he leaped forward and his comrades followed. On they rushed like an avalanche let loose. They were at Yankee fighting pitch. All the pent-up rage that had been gathering for months leaped to the fore. The fire that had stirred their ancestors at Bunker Hill and Gettysburg burst into flame. Wounds? They scorned them. Death? They laughed at it! On they went like so many vikings. Faster, faster, rushing, pouring onward--until with tremendous force they fell like a thunderbolt upon the advancing ranks. Into that grey mass they forced their way, shooting, thrusting, stabbing. And when their guns were empty, or they could not use their bayonets, they grasped the weapons and swung them about their heads like flails. There was a red mist before their eyes and red patches on their tunics. Some of them fell but the others kept on stabbing, hacking, hewing their way into the solid mass until that mass, veteran, as it was, wavered and broke before the wild, irresistible charge. Slowly at first, then more swiftly, the enemy retreated, pursued to the very edge of their trenches by the American boys, who, having tasted blood, were not to be denied. They would have gone further but this was not in the plan of their commanders, for the enemy's guns had got the range and a murderous fire was being laid down. The enemy had had a trouncing that he would not soon forget. The recall sounded, and the American boys turned back, reluctantly, gathering up their wounded comrades as they came. Frank had been separated from his chums in the wild melee, and his first thought as he neared the home trench was for their safety. His relief was great when he found them, blackened, panting, their clothing riddled, but they themselves unharmed, except for a slight wound that Tom had received from a bullet that scarcely more than grazed his arm. Now that the reaction was upon them, they felt unspeakably weary, for nerve and brawn had been taxed to the utmost. But in their eyes glowed the light of victory. They had met the veteran troops of the Kaiser and given them a taste of Yankee mettle. It was their first battle and they had borne themselves like men.