Then came others, and there could be no mistake about the direction—­followed by a burst of machine-gun fire from the same quarter.  We ran in cover to a point from which we could see the north bank of the river, and I got my glass on it.  There was a lift of land from behind which the fire was coming.  We looked at each other, and the same conviction stood in both faces.  The Boche had pushed down the northern bank, and we were no longer in line with our neighbours.  The enemy was in a situation to catch us with his fire on our flank and left rear.  We couldn’t retire to conform, for to retire meant giving up our prepared position.

It was the last straw to all our anxieties, and for a moment I was at the end of my wits.  I turned to Wake, and his calm eyes pulled me together.

‘If they can’t retake that ground, we’re fairly carted,’ I said.

‘We are.  Therefore they must retake it.’

‘I must get on to Mitchinson.’  But as I spoke I realized the futility of a telephone message to a man who was pretty hard up against it himself.  Only an urgent appeal could effect anything . . .  I must go myself . . .  No, that was impossible.  I must send Lefroy . . .  But he couldn’t be spared.  And all my staff officers were up to their necks in the battle.  Besides, none of them knew the position as I knew it . . .  And how to get there?  It was a long way round by the bridge at Loisy.

Suddenly I was aware of Wake’s voice.  ‘You had better send me,’ he was saying.  ‘There’s only one way—­to swim the river a little lower down.’

’That’s too damnably dangerous.  I won’t send any man to certain death.’

‘But I volunteer,’ he said.  ’That, I believe, is always allowed in war.’

‘But you’ll be killed before you can cross.’

’Send a man with me to watch.  If I get over, you may be sure I’ll get to General Mitchinson.  If not, send somebody else by Loisy.  There’s desperate need for hurry, and you see yourself it’s the only way.’

The time was past for argument.  I scribbled a line to Mitchinson as his credentials.  No more was needed, for Wake knew the position as well as I did.  I sent an orderly to accompany him to his starting-place on the bank.

‘Goodbye,’ he said, as we shook hands.  ’You’ll see, I’ll come back all right.’  His face, I remember, looked singularly happy.  Five minutes later the Boche guns opened for the final attack.

I believe I kept a cool head; at least so Lefroy and the others reported.  They said I went about all afternoon grinning as if I liked it, and that I never raised my voice once. (It’s rather a fault of mine that I bellow in a scrap.) But I know I was feeling anything but calm, for the problem was ghastly.  It all depended on Wake and Mitchinson.  The flanking fire was so bad that I had to give up the left of the forward zone, which caught it fairly, and retire the men there to the battle-zone.  The latter was better protected, for between it and the river was a small wood and the bank rose into a bluff which sloped inwards towards us.  This withdrawal meant a switch, and a switch isn’t a pretty thing when it has to be improvised in the middle of a battle.