Then came the final order to fling themselves into a gap between a regiment of Hussars on the right and of Dragoons on the left, to dig themselves in as close to the enemy as possible, and hold them at all costs. There was an unprotected spot there, and the keen-eyed Germans had spied it and were heading for it in a torrential rush. “Forward, boys! And Steady! Scottish!--Strike sure!”--and they were into it up to the neck. It was a magnificent demonstration of mind over matter. These boys, who had never faced red hell before, went in, keen-faced, tight-lipped, tensely-tuned to Death and Duty. All their long training, all their hardening and hardships, all that mattered in this world and the next centred for every man of them into this mighty moment, this final fiery trying of their faith and courage. And neither failed them. It might have been Wimbledon Common with the canteen and lunch awaiting them in the hollow behind the old Windmill, so calm and steady was their advance, so admirably calculated their extended order. For a quarter of a mile or so the shells which were pulverising the village behind passed over their heads. Then came an open field swept by heavy rifle-fire and machine-guns. One of the machine-guns was in a farmhouse on the left. Ray ordered bayonets and they tore across the field to stop it, yelling like wild Highland rievers. It was hot work and men were falling thick. They got to a hedge and along it to the house, but the Germans had bolted, and shells were raining in. Back to the cover of the hedge, where a ditch gave them time to breathe. And as they lay there panting, with their hearts going like pumps, they found the bushes thick with blackberries and they were mighty cooling to parched throats. But, presently, shells and the devilish machine-guns discovered them again, so they crawled along till they saw a haystack and made a rush for it, and lay down flat behind it as tight as sardines in a tin. Then, a short distance ahead, they saw a trench, and took their lives in their hands and dived into it and for the time being were safe. The trench was being held by regulars--Carabineers--and they gave the kilts most hearty welcome. “Hot hole, sir,” said a Sergeant cheerfully--though he put it very much more picturesquely. “Bit warmish,” Ray agreed. “What’s next on the menu?” “Just sit tight till it’s dark, and if they come on biff ’em back and tell ’em to keep to their own side. ---- ---- ---- ’em! They don’t seem to care a ---- how they get wiped.” “Germans are cheap to-day,” grinned another. “I ---- well wish some o’ their ---- officers would come on. I’m ’bout fed up plugging privates.”