We now hurry away to Beach W, between Cape Tekke and Cape Helles. Here a doubtful battle is raging. The beach consists of deep, powdery sand, and is 350 yards long, with steep ground on the flank and sand dunes in the centre. The Turks have turned this beach into a perfect death-trap. Close to the water's edge there is a broad wire entanglement running the whole length of the shore, and in front of it, in the shallow sea, there is another similar barricade. There are lines of trenches on the high ground; machine guns are tucked away into holes in the cliff; snipers lurk in the scrub, and there is not an inch of the shore which cannot be swept by deadly fire. On a hill overlooking the beach there are two redoubts, and elsewhere in the line of possible advance there are other formidable obstacles. Land mines and sea mines have been laid, and the Turks may well boast that no invader will ever remain alive on this terrible beach. Lancashire men are now about to perform one of the finest feats of arms ever achieved by British soldiers or by any other soldiers. They are about to storm this death-trap from open boats! Hereafter, as a tribute to their splendid valour, Beach W will be known as Lancashire Landing. At six in the morning of the 25th eight picket boats, in line abreast, each boat towing four ship's cutters packed with men of the 1st Battalion Lancashire Fusiliers, approach the shore. As soon as shallow water is reached the tows are cast off, and oars are plied. The first boat touches the shore, and out spring the Fusiliers, to be met by a hurricane of lead from the Turkish trenches. Many a man receives his death-wound while waist-deep in the water, but the unfaltering Fusiliers rush ashore, and though fired at from the right, the left, and the centre, begin hacking their way through the wire. A long line of men is at once mown down as by a scythe; but the remainder, now covered by the guns of the warships, and helped by the flanking fire of a party which has secured a foothold on a small ledge of rock under the cliff, break through the entanglements, and, rapidly re-forming, hurl themselves on the Turkish trenches. Several land mines are exploded, but nothing can stem the torrent of the British advance. By ten o'clock three lines of the enemy's trenches are in our hands. On the right some of the Fusiliers have come under the fire of a redoubt, and they can make but little headway in this direction. The edge of the wire entanglements is reached, but they can go no further. They are now lying under the scanty cover of a sandbank, cleaning their rifles, which have been wetted by sea-water and choked with sand.