“Keep your eyes on that strip of woods. Squad on the right, take the sector from the ravine to the top of the knoll. Next squad, the sector from the top of the knoll to that tree that stands out in front of the woods. Next squad, the sector from that tree to the big rock. Fourth squad, the sector from the big rock to the road. If anyone comes out of the woods in your sector, fire on him.” “No one will come,” murmured Morrison. “Not for five or six hours yet.” But they all stood peering intently over the low ridge of earth that protected the top of the trench and on which their rifles rested. Without cessation the searchlights swept back and forth along the belt of woods; for only the briefest interval was any section left in darkness. Time passed, and still the only sound was the steady drumming of the rain. Then suddenly out of the belt of woods broke a line of men and charged forward. Instantly all along the advance trenches burst jets of flame and the vicious crackle and bang of the rifles. After the wearisome and uncomfortable vigil, Kennedy felt warmed into excitement; he got off three shots before the enemy dropped to the ground and began shooting in their turn. Then an enemy platoon on the right made a short rush forward and dropped, and immediately resumed firing. By platoon rushes the line advanced, and its fire seemed to grow steadier and stronger as it drew nearer. In contrast, the fire of the defenders of the trenches weakened. Only three men in Wheeler’s squad were maintaining a steady fire; the other squads displayed a corresponding feebleness of resistance. “Fire faster, men!” cried Captain Hughes. But fire faster they did not—and could not. More than half of them were now having the trouble in loading their rifles that Kennedy had experienced—and was having again. Fumbling in the darkness with the wet, slippery mechanism, trying hurriedly to slide the cartridge clips into place, man after man had jammed his magazine, and with clumsy fingers was frantically trying to adjust it. Meanwhile, the fire of the enemy became more intense; they drew nearer and nearer by platoon rushes; and at last Captain Hughes gave the order to the defenders of the trenches, “Cease firing!” Then, a few yards away, up sprang the enemy and, with bayonets fixed and a wild yell that at the last fizzled out into laughter, charged down on the trenches. They stopped on the edge and greeted the defenders derisively: “Well, boys, all dead, ain’t you?” “Fired as if you were, anyway.” “How’d you have liked it if this had been a real attack?” “Any of you boys want to have a little bayonet practice?” Captain Hughes gave the command to unload. After “inspection arms” had been ordered, the captain pointed the moral of the evening’s experience: “You see, it’s not enough to be good daylight soldiers—important though that is. You have got to be able to use your rifles as well in the dark.”