Did those grizzled old veterans hesitate? Not for a breathing space. Their much-loved countryman and commander was in front of them, so was the enemy, and with a yell wilder even than the Maori war-cries every man able to move rushed forward. At the double, howling for blood, the supporting companies rush past, a rush that the second smashing volley of the Maoris, although it sadly thinned their ranks, could not check, and in a few moments the whole storming party had launched itself against the pekerangi. Would they succeed, or was it to be another Rangiriri? Half mad, I jumped on to the stump that had sheltered me and glued my eyes on the proceedings. Mr Roach and all my comrades had done the same, and though the dense smoke hid most of the conflict from us, still we could hear the ferocious yells of the natives, the cheers and savage imprecations of our struggling men, while occasionally the ring of the axe-blades on the fence reached us, although deadened, as they well might be, by the continuous firing. All of a sudden I saw the long pole that the pioneers had carried launched over the fence, and my mind pictured the line of men swaying on the chain. What’s that? as a triumphant shout is raised, and with a rip, crash, down comes some fathoms of fence. Yell on yell goes up, the shots lessen, the bayonets flash, the smoke blows away, and we can see the wild Irish, cheering like mad, pour through the breach and into the trench. Did we cheer? You bet we did, and many a smasher hat was slung skyward and many a laudatory cuss was cussed. “Who dare say a word agin the Quane’s reglers now?” howled Tim. “God bless the boys from Ould Ireland. Wud to God I was wid thim.” But the pah is not taken yet, the earthworks and permanent fence still remain to be negotiated, and we see the Tommies swarm up the parapet, every inch of which we know to be flanked, and rush at the palisades, giving one another backs to surmount them. With his sword hanging to his wrist by the sword-knot, a young officer is the first man up. He is on the top, grasps his weapon, steadies himself for a moment, preparatory to leaping in, but throws up his arms and falls backwards, dead. Now there are two men up, their rifles hanging to their right shoulders by the slings, one falls back but the other, regaining the hold of his rifle, jumps in. Before he can have reached the ground three or four more are over, then a dozen, then a swarm, and then, as Tim remarks, “they are lepping over like crickets,” and the dust, smoke and yells float up to the bright blue sky. But we are called to order, for Mr Roach shouts, “By the Lord, they’ve taken it. On your right, close. Double!” and we rush to our right, forming into a column of fours as we close in.