bullets in his side and young Brooks, also wounded, were helping each 
other along. 
As night fell, a Company of Spaniards attached themselves to us. 
Their machine-guns and ours kept vigil, occasionally stabbing the night 
with spurts of red flame. Along the sunken road we gathered what 
we could of our men — many had got lost in the olive groves and had 
attached themselves to whatever units they contacted; they were return- 
ing to us in groups for two days afterwards. Our food wagon came up 
the road, and we had our first meal since morning coffee. 
So ended the first day. Out of our 600 odd men there were less than 
200 with us now; another 100 refound us during the next two days. The 
remainder were either dead or wounded. It had been terrific slaugh- 
ter; and what had we achieved to compensate for it? There had been 
mistakes — the absence all day of our machine-guns, the bungling of 
the ammunition belts, the bad communications with our front-line. 
Yet it was our very failure to follow the laws of military text-books 
that was our glory that day. The stubborn, not-an-inch stand of our 
men, their holding out against overwhelming fire-superiority, their cou- 
rage in untenable positions, their refusal to realise when they were 
beaten — these were the factors that halted the Fascists for the first 
time in a drive that had been victorious for six successive days. 
They were to deliver us staggering blows on the following two days. 
But, never again were they to sweep forward, as they had been doing. 
That was our achievement — we broke the momentum of their offensive. 
We halted them, and held them. 

Second Day: Fry’s Trench 

During the night the remnants of the Battalion rested in the sunken 
road, while Fry’s machine-gun Company, relatively fresh, kept watch. 
The Spaniards who had attached themselves to us were all youths; 
they wore rope sandals, and were without blankets. But, they 
starved with us, froze with us, and fought by our side during the gruell- 
ing days that followed. Our interpreter, Manuel Lizarraga, a Filipino, 
was our link with them. They regarded him as their Commander, and 
did unquestioningly and unwaveringly what he ordered. 
During the night the Battalion Commander tried to contact any 
friendly forces that might be on the right or left, but without success. 
We knew the cavalry was doing a mounted patrol on our left. (The Span- 
ish Brigade commanded by Lister covered this sector next day). On the 

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