Yet steadily, methodically, with many a pause for consolidation of the ground gained, and for the bringing up of the heavy guns, the British advance goes forward—­toward Bapaume and Lille; while the French press brilliantly on toward Peronne—­both movements aimed at the vital German communications through France and Belgium.  Every step of ground, as the Allies gain it, “is wrecked with mines, torn with shell, and watered with the blood of brave men.”  The wood-fighting, amid the stripped and gaunt trunks rising from labyrinths of wire, is specially terrible; and below the ground everywhere are the deep pits and dugouts, which have not only sheltered the enemy from our fire, but concealed the machine-guns, which often when our men have passed over, emerge and take them in the rear.  The German machine-guns seem to be endless; they are skilfully concealed, and worked with the utmost ability and courage.

But nothing daunts the troops attacking day and night, in the name of patriotism, of liberty, of civilisation.  Men from Yorkshire and Lancashire, from Northumberland, Westmoreland and Cumberland, the heart of England’s sturdy north; men from Sussex and Kent, from Somerset and Devon; the Scotch regiments; the Ulster Division, once the Ulster Volunteers; the men of Munster and Connaught; the town-lads of Manchester; the youths of Cockney London:—­all their names are in the great story.  “There were no stragglers—­none!” says an officer, describing in a kind of wonder one of the fierce wood-attacks.  And these are not the seasoned troops of a Continental Army.  They belong to regiments and corps which did not exist, except in name, eighteen months ago; they are units from the four-million army that Great Britain raised for this struggle, before she passed her Military Service Law.  The “Old Army,” the Expeditionary Force, which the nation owed to the organising genius of Lord Haldane and his General Staff, has passed away, passed into history, with the retreat from Mons, the first victory of Ypres, the saving of the Channel ports; but its spirit remains, and its traditions are firmly planted in the new attackers.  I think of the men I saw in March, during that long and weary wait; of the desire—­and the patience—­in their eyes.

And of patience they and the nations behind them will still have ample need.  Since surprise on the Somme front was no longer possible, the great advance has gone surely indeed, but more slowly.  On July 14, after delay caused by extraordinarily heavy rains, the German second line was breached, and their trenches carried, on a front of four miles and held against counter attacks.  Longueval, the wood of Bazentin-le-Grand, and the village, Bazentin-le-Petit, were attacked and captured with an elan that nothing could resist.  “The enemy losses in guns,” said the British Headquarters, “are now over 100.  We have not lost one.”  On July 17, Ovillers was cleared, Waterlot Farm taken, and 1,500 more yards of the German line.