But the few minutes of oral instruction upon charging, given in the church, proved inadequate. Three or four—those who had come in closest contact with Roberts's persuasion—started out convulsively, took a few steps, and suddenly flopped back into the ditch like frogs into a puddle.
The Dios-Dios lines were stiffening now. With the Maestro's rifle quiet, their immunity from punishment was encouraging. Back of them, upright on a mound, the pseudo-sainted form of Papa Isio stood with arms stretched to heaven in fervent exhortation. The more valiant began to prevail. The lines began to move forward again.
"Oh, Lord," groaned Roberts, "if the little skunks would only charge."
And then from the depths of the trench there slowly emerged a strange, inchoate, human thing. As it rose it segregated; one half of it fell off in a big black, limp body. The rest continued unfolding, up and up, till finally it stood in full view, a weird, bloody, red-haired, dishevelled spectre. It tottered unsteadily on the talus and then a shrill, unearthly voice quavered:
"Five, twenty-four, six X!"
There was a movement in the trench.
"Five, twenty-four, six X!" again wailed the lamentable voice.
