Suddenly above the roar of the artillery came a bugle-call, followed by excited shouts of "Aux armes!" Instantly there was a wild rush to man the parapets on the inner face of the glacis. "Come along, old man!" exclaimed Kenneth. "We may as well have a look in." Snatching up a rifle and making sure that the magazine was charged, he dashed out of the gallery, Rollo following hard on his heels. A weird sight met their eyes. The blackness of the night was pierced by the dazzling rays of powerful searchlights and punctuated by the rapid flashes from the heavy ordnance. The thunder of the guns was ear-splitting, the crash of the exploding projectiles appalling, yet the attention of the two lads was directed towards the scene that lay before them. All along the parapet, protected by sandbags, were the Belgian infantry, ready, with their rifles sighted to 800 yards, to open fire at the word of command. Beyond the turf of the glacis, where almost every blade of grass stood up under the sweeping rays of the searchlights as if made of gleaming silver, were dense masses of grey-coated, spike-helmeted Germans. On they came as steadily as if on parade, while between the rapid crashes of the artillery could be distinguished the harsh voices of the men as they sang "Deutschland über Alles" and the "Wacht am Rhein". The only relief to those grey-clad battalions was the glitter of the forest of bayonets. If numbers could annihilate, the fate of the comparative handful of Belgians was sealed; but von Emmich had, like many another man, underrated the courage of the plucky little Belgians. The Germans were now within the danger-zone of shell-fire. Shrapnel tore ghastly lanes through their serried ranks, but other men were instantly forthcoming to fill up the gaps. On and on they came till they reached the outer edge of the glacis. Here the huge fortress-guns in the armoured cupolas could not be sufficiently depressed to do them harm. The crackle of the Belgian musketry added to the din. The men, firing steadily, swept away hundreds of their Teutonic foes, but the ant-like swarm of ferocious humanity still swept onwards. Kenneth and Rollo were firing away as hard as they could thrust home the bolts of the rifles and press trigger. The hostile gun-fire had now ceased, lest German should fall by German shell. The infantry, firing with the butts of their rifles at the hip, let loose a terrific volley. The air was torn by the _zipp_ of the bullets, but for the most part the hail of missiles either flew high or harmlessly expended itself in the soft earth. Now, in spite of the withering fire, the foremost of the German stormers were almost up to the parapet of the outer defences. Victory seemed within their grasp. Their shouts redoubled. Drunk with the apparent success of their suicidal tactics, they rushed to overwhelm the slender line of Belgian riflemen.