At 8.30 a.m. the enemy counter-attacked this new line and also the positions on the left of the divisional front held by the New Zealand Division. The attack was beaten back all along the line, and again the machine-guns contributed conspicuously to the success. The four guns of the forward section of “B” M.G. Company took the enemy waves in enfilade and broke them up utterly, the section capturing a number of prisoners and forcing more than 200 to surrender to the New Zealanders, who expressed their appreciation of the good work and efficient assistance rendered by the section. During this counter-attack a body of the enemy got through a gap between the two brigades, and all of them were killed or captured by a support section of the M.G. Battalion. Information obtained from prisoners proved that the counter-attacks had been made by four battalions of an entirely fresh enemy division—the 52nd German Naval Division—brought down from Flanders. A third counter-attack was made later in the day, but this, too, was beaten off, and in the evening and throughout the night the troops worked hard to consolidate their new positions, and prepared to follow up their successes. There was to be no rest for them or for the enemy. The 21st and 22nd of August were days of extreme heat. Considerable movement had been made under a blazing sun, with heavy loads, over ground that had been badly gassed, and as fighting and work upon the new positions had been continuous for over forty hours there was a certain amount of exhaustion, and also some suffering from the heat. But there was none of the dejection and depression that usually accompany exhaustion. Instead, there was the consciousness of achievement, of triumph long deferred but now assured, and of buoyancy of spirit which could control the physical weariness and carry the tired body on and on to further and greater achievement. _Der Tag_—for years a subject of jest—had dawned at last, and its glorious opportunities were not to be thrown away because of a physical longing for rest and sleep. That the War must end some day every one knew; that it would end in victory for the Allies few of the soldiers doubted; but hope had been deferred so long, and disappointments had been so many and so great, that _après la guerre_ had become a joke, a half-cynical allusion to a period as inevitable as death but much more remote. Now all was changed; the war had taken on an entirely new complexion, and “next spring,” or even an earlier date, was spoken of with confidence, for at last, and for the first time, the Boche was on the run. His day was over and ours had dawned. Though his numbers were still equal or superior to ours, though his lines of defence were as formidable as the skill and ingenuity of the greatest masters of defensive warfare could make them, and though he would turn, snarling, and fight like a wolf at bay, our men had complete confidence in their skill with rifle and bayonet, their grit,