page 169

Bayonet Fighting

"High Port! Go!" shouted the bayonet-fighting instructor. The six men, with bared bayonets shining like silver, bounded towards the stuffed sacks that swung on the gallows in imitation of the enemy.

But they did not bound fast enough to please the instructor.

"Back!" he ordered, "I expect you to move like lightning. A man's life depends on his quickness. Again, now, High port!"

Each man held his rifle with bayonet pointing upward. "At the word 'Go!' lower the point," said the breathless instructor, "and go like the devil! Go!"

This time the rifles came to the "on guard" position and the men bounded forward at the high port, the instructor running and urging them for several yards.

"Long point, short point!"

The bright blades flickered into the straw-filled sacks, out again and in again. At each point the men made hoarse guttural noises, like football war-cries, and when the enemy was presumed to be dealt with they charged on for a line of trenches. The instructor had overtaken them. He was page 170dancing along what would be the touchline on a football held and shouting. But he scarcely could be heard for the yelling of his men, mingled with the war-cries of other squads.

"A running jump and point—go for 'em!"

"Yah-whoo-ooo! Hi-yi! Ugh! Ugh! Hurroo! Yah!"

The six leaped, almost as one man, across the wide trench, on to a ledge where lay more stuffed sacks. As they leaped the men lowered their rifles, and with the alighting of feet on the ledge the bayonets sank into the sacks.

"Put your foot on him, hard up, pull out—now, on!"

With another yell the six scrambled out of the trench and raced for another line of stuffed sacks on gallows, still shouting.

"Ugh! Ugh!"—the stabbing bayonets ripped the straw out of the holes in the centre of the sacks. The men dodged past again. Their charge was over. But the instructor's voice made them jump again.

"Out of the way!" he shouted. "Now, next lot. High port! GO! Go like lightning! Don't stand and look silly! Back! Now, again, Go!"

It was a spectacle of strenuous effort, and the noise of it sounded, in the distance, like a disturbance with shillalies. A dozen squads were engaged in bayonet-fighting, some at the gallows and sacks and others at class work. A dark-eyed Maori was one of a squad of n.c.o.'s engaged in mutual instruction. For the moment he was the instructor, and made a picture of muscular grace as he poised himself on feet correctly and firmly planted on the ground and swung his rifle and bayonet into position with the fiercely-uttered words,

"On guard!"

Determination is the quality that is encouraged in the bayonet-fighting at Trentham. Fierce eyes, fixed faces, are the accompaniments of the many exercises; while the hoarse, sharp cries at each point and jab are indications of what the New Zealanders' bayonet charge is like in actual battle.

As the first squad of six charging men lined up again, the instructor said,

"I want you to jump at the word, pause three feet from the swinging sack, a long point for the right groin, withdraw, short point for the left, withdraw, and pass on. High port! Go!"

Curly bounded away like a deer. Long Mac's foot ripped up the earth as he drove it in to make speed. The instructor tore along with them, yelling profuse advice and swinging his pole. Long Mac slew his standing enemy, pushed him roughly aside, and led the rank in the awesome charge.