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The Attack at Dawn.

For miles around, the country was in a state of war—mimic war. The bivouac was astir early. Smoke from the cooks' fires mingled with the morning mist, for the wind had died down during the night and the rain-soaked landscape was all that remained to tell of the storm of yesterday. The A.S.C.'s wagons rattled away, a noisy and imposing train of vehicles, to make for the scene of the mid-day bivouac, ten miles away, and prepare the soldiers' mid-day meal. There was stern work ahead of the troop during the coming twenty-four hours: they were to march and manoeuvre, spend the night in outpost positions, and end their realistic field work with an attack at dawn. When the sun began to struggle through the mists, the first company was wheeling out into the roadway, and the others were ready to follow. The blithe music of the band, as it led the column up the hill, came floating through the clear air. Advance guards were thrown out and rear guards, too; they were marching through enemy country.

"Never know when a machine-gun mightn't open fire from the blackberry bushes," said Curly the corporal.

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At mid-day the troops reached Upper Hutt, and, no resistance being offered them, they rested and had lunch at Maidstone Park, in the heart of the township. After lunch the troops moved on again, but they were in two factions now, attackers and defenders. Until the next day dawned each party would treat the other as a deadly enemy, with a wide semicircular plain as the No Man's Land between them, which would have to be crossed by the attackers. The scene of the operations was between Wallaceville township, the railway tunnel, the road bridge, and the township of Mangaroa. It was as though each party occupied a quarter of a huge circle, with a quarter of the circle between them on each side. Two companies established an outpost line on Emerald Hill—one to guard the road leading from Akatarawa, and the other the road from Kaitoke. A third company was to protect the railway tunnel above Upper Hutt, and a fourth the Mangaroa Road. The four remaining companies were the attacking force; they marched away to Wallaceville to wait for night to come. It is just as well to mention where all the companies were posted, because, after dark, it would be impossible to find any of them. Bear in mind the wide flat circle and add a river that is supposed to be unfordable, flowing between the two forces.

Country over which night manoeuvres are being carried out is no place for a civilian—not even a newspaper reporter who has a war correspondent's instincts. Wherever he goes, dim shapes will rise by the roadside or on the hillsides and say,

"Halt! Who goes there?"

These are the sentries of either side, who are looking out for patrols of the other side. It is much the wisest plan to go out with the attackers and spend a peaceful evening at Wallaceville.

The little hamlet looked as though it had had greatness thrust upon it; even the railway hadn't dared to disturb its repose when the line was built.

But it was a good strategic position, like that of Lens and Rheims, and in real war Wallaceville would be a ruin by now.

Night came, and for a long time there was only the roar of passing trains to disturb the quiet; they raced across the bridge over the unfordable river and plunged with a yell into the tunnel that was to be captured at dawn.

"It's a sure thing this time," said Curly. "We've got a battery of guns to help us."

"Where are they?"

"They're coming—never fret, my son."

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About midnight the guns came. They could be heard afar off, bumping and grinding over the hill road from Trentham. The jingle of linch-pins, the banging of the trail-eyes, the horses' hoofs and the wheels, made a perceptible noise in the still amphitheatre of imminent battle. The piquets stopped drinking the hot coffee—which fatigue parties had made over concealed fires and carried to them—and listened. And when a belated farmer's cart rumbled past, the defenders thought he was the battery coming and halted him at the rifle's point. The guns rested awhile and then moved on to take up a position at a point in the direction of the dimly - lighted place in the dark landscape which marked where the camp of May Morn was situated. A motor-car with the Colonel, who was chief umpire, traversed the roads and inspected the positions. At four o'clock the attacking infantry moved off, too, to prepare for their assault on the bridges across the unfordable river and the tunnel. Two companies were to attack the railway and two the road. The guns were to search the hills with shrapnel.

The attack began at a quarter to five, when the dawn was breaking. A vivid flash of scarlet flame leaped out of the blackness, and a golden aura of brilliant light flared from a gun-muzzle. A second's pause, and a stunning crash roared and echoed. The first shot had been fired. Gun after gun took up the burden of the fight. Under cover of their fire the infantry was moving forward. Presently the thunder of the guns was matched by the rolling, flogging sound of the rifles. The defenders had opened fire. Yet there was the river between—the unfordable river.

The guns ceased fire, the infantry streamed across the flats towards the bridges, and many eager men, forgetting that the river was too deep to ford, waded across and surged up the hill in a wave. The defenders were hard pressed; urgent messages were speeding to ask for reinforcements; the companies that guarded the Akatarawa and Kaitoke roads were hurrying along to assist in repelling these amphibious fighters who could wade across unfordable rivers. Sixteen hundred rifles made the echoes ring, and, just as the fight finished, with a terrifying scream an early goods train sprang out of the tunnel, around and above which the battle raged, and leaped across the bridge. It was a fine finale, and the honours of the fight were declared to be even when "Cease fire" sounded.

It was six o'clock. The artillery limbered up and went clattering over the hill to Trentham, while the infantry breakfasted in the field. Afterwards they, too, marched to Trentham, over the hills and down to Upper Hutt, where the Camp Band met them and put fresh vim into their marching with light-stepping music.

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Sang the marching men to the music—

There's a long, long trail a-winding
Into the land of my dreams,
Where the nightingales are singing
And the white moon beams.
There's a long, long night of waiting,
Until my dreams all come true;
To the day when I'll be going down
That long, long trail with you.

The night of waiting had been theirs, and a hard, wet trip, yet they sang and were still singing when the Chief of Staff and the Camp Commandant met them a mile out of camp.

At the Camp gates the medical officers were standing at each side of the road. As the soldiers approached each man tilted his hat back and opened the throat of his shirt; and the keen professional eyes were bent upon every individual in the column. One youth was detained and hastily examined. Then he was told to run after his platoon.

The music of the band was brisker; the men in camp had gathered to cheer. All weariness had vanished from these men fresh from battle.

"Well done, Wooden-legs!" a disrespectful soldier hailed them. "We heard you were blown off the hill. Stuck to it, though, like flies, didn't you?"

They were back in Trentham, and it was good to be back. Huts were ready for them, the drying-room had been in full blast for two hours, and their damp clothing was soon hung in rows above the coke-fed braziers, while the men, in dry clothes taken from their kits, which had arrived before them, sat on the steps of their huts or rested inside, and the thought that was in their minds would have fitted the words,

"Good old Trentham!"

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