After a bombardment by our artillery, at 5 p.m. our men jumped out to advance and were immediately under a terribly hot fire from machine guns and rifles. But they never wavered, and with men falling everywhere they continued in one long straight line, magnificent in their courage, on into the first trench where they disappeared for 10 or 15 minutes, amongst a nest of live Turks. Finishing these off, without more hesitation, they rose again and advanced under the same withering fire, fewer in numbers, but dauntless in determination, only to meet a new foe in the enemy's shrapnel. The casualties were fearful. But still they pressed on to the second trench, then the third. Men were falling more quickly now. Yet it was a charge to stir the heart and quicken the blood of a stoic, and so forlorn it looked against such dreadful odds. The little pink flanking flags were gradually moving forward as the artillery exploded their shells just in front of them. It was noticeable that the 4th Australian Infantry Brigade had not been able to make an advance on the right, and the troops on our left were making little headway. Our machine guns now hurried forward to take up a forward position and all hung on to the ground gained as darkness set in. Wounded, slightly and severely, now began to pour into the dressing stations. It then became a bomb duel for the remainder of the night. The trenches were choked with dead and wounded Turks and our own people, and were so narrow that no stretchers could be used to send them out. During the early hours of the morning the 18th Australians continued to improve and deepen their trenches. Up and down the trenches roamed the padres of the Mounted Rifles so that they might be near the men. Chaplain Grant, the beloved padre of the Wellington Mounted Rifles laboured with a comrade attending to the wounded. He heard a man crying out in the scrub, so he took the risk and went beyond the barricade erected to divide our line from the Turks. Bandaging friend and foe, the two chaplains pushed on, but on rounding a traverse, they came suddenly on a party of Turks, and Padre Grant was killed instantly. [Illustration: [_Photo by Rev. H. L. Blamires, C.F._ PADRE GRANT OUT AT HILL 60. This picture was taken about an hour before his death.] The enemy now began to enfilade with 75m. guns from the east. Their gunners knew the range to a yard, for these were his own captured trenches he was shelling. There seemed to be no escaping these terrible guns; man after man, group after group, was destroyed, but the survivors held stubbornly on. Up in the salient held by our fellows, the Turk attacked again and again, but the Mounted Rifles stood to it. New Zealanders have a tradition that they cannot be shifted out of reasonable trenches.