The German fire was so hot that the British were brought to a standstill. Shortly afterwards the Northamptons appeared on the east, and began moving towards the hills. Very slowly they gained ground, but all attempts to oust the Germans from the factory failed. The darkness, the mist, and the sodden ground prevented our artillery from lending effective aid.
The eastern sky began to pale; the shadows slowly fled from the woods, and dawn was at hand. The thin British line could not be expected to hold its own when the full light of day revealed them to the German marksmen and gunners, so reinforcements were hurried up, and a desperate attempt was made to advance. But little headway was made until the Guards' Brigade arrived. The Grenadier, Coldstream, and Scots Guards, as you probably know, rejoice in a long and proud record of military glory. For two hundred and fifty years they have played a leading part in our wars, and on their colours are blazoned some of the most glorious victories in British annals. Every man of the Guards' Brigade who advanced in the gray of that September morning was eager to prove himself worthy of the name and fame of his regiment. "Fix bayonets!" was now the order, and away swept the British, unsupported by artillery, towards the enemy's trenches. There was fierce hand-to-hand fighting for a few minutes. Then the Germans, unable to stand the fierce onset and the thrust of cold steel, broke and fled, leaving five guns and more than three hundred prisoners in the hands of the victors.
The factory, however, still held out. It was a solid stone building, with every door bolted and barred, and every window lined with rifles. The Loyal North Lancashires, who lay before it, heard the shouts of their victorious comrades to the right and left, and now strained every effort to win a like success. Towards midday some of them rushed a door of the factory, battered it down, and forced their way in over barricades and the piled corpses of the slain. In a few minutes the factory was in British hands. The Loyal North Lancashires poured into it, and held it throughout the day.
In the full light of that cold and windy morning, the British saw clearly that the task before them was enough to make the stoutest heart quail. The Germans had retreated to a line of trenches on a stretch of rising open ground. To carry these trenches meant an advance through a tornado of lead from rifles and machine guns. Behind the trenches was concealed German artillery, which was dropping shells on them so fast and furiously that advance was impossible. There was a great sigh of relief when, about nine o'clock, British shells began to whistle over the heads of the infantry. At last the artillery had come to their aid.