This error was the result of one of those elements of chance that often win or lose battles. The telephone wires from the observer's post to the battery had been severed, and already three devoted linesmen had lost their lives in heroic efforts to repair the means of communication. A signaller mounted the parapet and attempted to convey the much-needed information to the gunners, but he fell almost immediately, pierced by a dozen machine-gun bullets. However well the advance was faring elsewhere the grim fact was patent that the Wheatshires were cut off. The men knew it. They were literally fighting with their backs to the wall--and it is said that a Briton never fights better than in such a position. "Stick it, men!" shouted the colonel. The Wheatshires responded with a cheer. "Reminds a fellow of the winning goal at Yatton Park," remarked Alderhame, as he shoved a fresh clip of cartridges into the magazine of his rifle. "It's getting a bit of a hot corner." "Garn! It don't beat my old woman on Saturday night," retorted Ginger contemptuously. The hurricane of hostile shells continued without intermission for the space of nearly ten minutes. The hastily constructed parapet of sand-bags disappeared in clouds of dust and noxious smoke. The men, gasping for breath, clung tenaciously to the side of the trench, except on the left flank where British and German bombers were hurling their missiles with deadly ferocity. Not only in the captured section of the trench, but along the outer lip of the huge mine-crater, the Wheatshires and their supporting battalion doggedly held their ground, despite the pounding of huge shells that several times blew half a dozen men into a state of unrecognizability. "What the deuce are our guns doing?" was the oft-repeated question, for, although the gigantic messengers of death were still hurtling through the air, the shells were not directed upon the dense columns of German infantry who were slowly following up the barrage set up by their guns. Then the crash of the exploding shells from the Hun batteries ceased. Only the distant roar of the artillery duel and the sharp bark of the bombs broke the silence. Compared with the titanic thunder of the bombardment the residue of sound was hardly noticeable. It was the signal for the Wheatshires to pull themselves together to withstand the counter-attack. In dense serried masses the columns of Bavarian infantry advanced. They came on without hesitation, yet in comparative silence, confident that their guns had so pulverized the trenches their Prussian comrades had lost that the charge would be little more than a "walk-over." "Five hundred yards! Fire!"