There was an hour of it, first and last. It had its individual features, notably the tale of a squad which, after marching for some minutes under the point blank fire of our whole platoon, tried to outflank and attack us--but an umpire attended to them. Yet after all there must be sameness to my descriptions, and I will press on to the important matters. We were deployed between two highways, one the main road from Cadyville, one running south of it. On account of our coming, various motorists had set out to meet us, and on the northern road were a number of cars, full of fluttering females. On the southern road stood but one. Now we were supposed to be retiring before a superior force; but their disposition offering an excellent chance to give them a jolt, our company was sent through the southern fields against their flank. There was much standing stubble and high weeds in the field through which we stole silently by rushes, Kirby behind us and urging us on, using only short blasts of his whistle as signals, and the vibrant tones of his penetrating voice. We were less than a hundred yards from the enemy and he had not discovered us; every man of us kept low to the ground, and never before had the company worked so like a machine. Our squad was on the outer flank, coming along the broken roadside wall, when I heard someone say from the lone car that we were approaching. "Aren't they doing it magnificently?" I knew the voice. It was the old colonel, standing up in the car to watch us. With him were Vera, Frances, and their hosts the Chapmans. The captain came close up and spoke to us. "Corporal, has your flank guard seen any outposts?" Bann called across the road to Knudsen. "What have you seen?" He answered "Nothing." Said the captain, "After the next rush I shall send your whole squad across. Forward now to the line of that row of apple trees ahead." And at Barm's "Follow me!" we slipped ahead not merely to the line of three old trees, but also to the position of the waiting motor, which was just abreast of us. While the rest of the company slipped forward to our line, I took a satisfying look at the girls. Frances saw me, and we smiled. Vera was absolutely intent on something behind me, of course the captain. And still not a shot from the flank-guard in front, I think a sleepy platoon under a sergeant. We chuckled. But then a gun went off in our line somewhere on the right. We swore. Ahead of us the enemy broke into a crackle of gunfire, not very heavy. In it, so few were the guns that were firing, I clearly distinguished, among the short dull explosions of the blanks we know so well, a sharp and angry crack, followed by a tearing snap right over my head. Surprised, I yet recognized the noise of the passage of a bullet. A second time!--and then, familiar as I am with the legend of the clip of ball cartridges, I instantly knew it to be true. And again--Crack-snap! I heard the old colonel crying to the ladies, "Down!"