The banker's son and Pilzer dropped back in their places, in the reaction of men who had spent their strength in defiance. "The thick of it last night, I heard, was still at Engadir, where Westerling is determined to break through," the judge's son proceeded. "At one point they sent in a regiment with a regiment covering it from the rear, and the fellows ahead were told that they wouldn't be allowed to come back alive--just what occurred at Port Arthur, you know--so they had better take the position." "What happened?" asked the very tired voice. "Those who reached the enemy's works alive were taken prisoner." Further talk was interrupted by a volume of voices singing, which seemed to issue from a cellar not far away. It had the swell of a hymn of resolute purpose. "The Browns' song--something new since you were with us," explained the barber's son to the judge's son. "Yes, their whole line sung it in the silence of dawn following last night's repulse," said the banker's son. "Notice the hammer beat to it and then the earth rumble, like pounding nails in a coffin box and rattling the earth on top of the box after it is lowered." "Yes, and I get the words," said the judge's son, who knew the language of the Browns: "'God with us, not to take what is theirs, but to keep what is ours! God with us!'" "They say some private--Stransky, I believe his name is--composed the words from a saying of Partow, their chief of staff, and it spread," put in the very tired voice. "As it would at a time of high pressure like this, when all humanity's nerves form an electric circuit," said the judge's son. "'God with us!' What a power they put into that!" "But God is with us, not with them!" put in Peterkin earnestly. "Let's have our song to answer them," he added, striking up the tune. So they sung the song they had sung as they started off to the war--a song about camping in the squares of the Browns' capital and dining in the Browns' government palace; a hurrahing, marchy song, but without exactly the snap in keeping with its character. "The trouble is that they lie at the mouths of their burrows and get us naked to their fire," said the banker's son. "We have to take their positions--they don't try to take ours." "But we must go on! We can't give up now!" said the barber's son. "Yes, we must go on!" agreed some of the others stubbornly. "Yes, yes," came faintly from the very tired voice. "We shall win! The aggressive always wins!" declared Peterkin. Then the redoubt shook with an explosion and their eyes were blinded with dust. "I thought it was about time!" said the barber's son. "Yes, the--!" snarled Pilzer. The shell had struck some distance away from where they sat, and as the dust settled they heard the news of the result: "One fellow had his arm broken and another had his head crushed." "It'll keep us from working on the mine while we mend the breach," said the barber's son.