The Company stood firm and silent as a rock, the shining bayonets still and level. Just as it seemed to Rupert that it must be swept away and every man share the fate of that mangled lump of clay in front (for there is no more nerve-shaking spectacle than cavalry charging down upon you like a living avalanche or flood) one word rang out from Lieutenant Roberte.
When the crashing rattle (like mingled, tearing thunder and the wild hammer of hail upon a corrugated iron roof), ceased as magazines were emptied almost simultaneously, the Arabs were in flight at top speed, leaving two-thirds of their number on the plain; and upon the fleeing harka the Company made very pretty shooting—for the Legion shoots as well as it marches.
When the "Cease Fire" whistle had blown, Rupert remarked to John Bull—
"No chance for a bayonet charge, then?" to which the old soldier replied—
"No, my son, that is a pleasure to which the Arab does not treat us, unless we surprise his sleeping douar at dawn…."
The Arabs having disappeared beyond the horizon, the Company camped and bivouacked on the battlefield, resuming its march at midnight. As Lieutenant Roberte feared and expected, the oasis which was surrounded and attacked at dawn, was found to be empty.
The Company marched back to Aïnargoula and, a few days later, returned to Sidi-bel-Abbès.
