Captain Hardup had the first line. He took his men forward inch by inch. Trees, walls, holes, fence-posts, all sorts of cover were used by the men. Now and again a groan and curse was heard as men fell back wounded or dead. "Come on, lads!" roared Lieutenant Longlegs, who was Hardup’s subaltern. They gallantly replied and pushed forward to within one hundred yards of the barbed wire entanglements. Matters were serious here, and casualties heavy. Ten men were knocked out in twenty minutes. "Sergeant Brown, have a go with your cutters." "Right, sir," said the sturdy little fellow, crawling forward. He wriggled like a snake right up to the wires. Click! went his cutters through one strand, click! through another, and up went his arm to get a strand higher up. All the while he was under a terrible fire. Just as he cut the third strand a bullet struck his arm. It fell limp and shattered. With wonderful fortitude he adjusted his body and cut the fourth strand with his other hand. Zip! sang a bullet again. It went right through his head. He rolled over dead. Lieutenant Longlegs saw it all, and looked round for another man. But he had no need to shout. A young lance-corporal jumped over a wall and crawled up to the wires. Seizing the dead man’s cutters he coolly commenced to cut right and left. Bullets whizzed around,—they even passed through his cap and clothes,—but still he went on, making a great gap in the strands of wires. He was succeeding splendidly when a bullet struck the wire-cutters, smashed them, and pierced his right hand. At once he lay low, tore out his field dressing, bandaged his hand, then commenced to crawl back to his lines. He got half-way when a bullet struck him in the spine. A weird yell told all of his fate. "By God," muttered Longlegs, "that’s too brave a lad to leave out there." He jumped over the wall, and, heedless of the fire, ran forward, picked up his man and brought him into the shelter of his line. A great cheer went up as he returned. Longlegs had asserted his pluck. This success at cutting the wires inspired many more to go forward. In three hours five good gaps had been made, and the way paved for a final assault. Meantime Major Tartan had arrived in the firing line with the reserves. He opened a fierce fusilade and accounted for almost a hundred of the enemy. Having done all that was possible at that point he passed the word along, "Prepare to charge." Bayonets were fixed, and every eye centred on the tough figure of the old Highland Chief. Like a deer he rose, and, raising his arm, shouted, "Up, lads, and at them." What a din! Four hundred gallants running, yelling, cursing, and panting. Through the gaps in the wire they rushed, leaving many on the way. Things were going well till a bullet struck the old major in a vital part. He fell mortally wounded. The sight checked the whole advance. His eyes saw the pause.