We next climbed a hill near this, which we found rough and rugged, as every hill here is. It was scorched absolutely brown, thistles—especially yellow-flowered ones—alone showing signs of life, along with a pretty, dwarf Dianthus. The rocks are covered with an orange-coloured lichen which gives them a warm colour. When lying on the top I could almost imagine myself in Scotland, if I kept my eyes above the villages and valleys, and viewed the hill-tops only. Away to the north of us was a large, pure white lagoon, shut off from the sea by a sandbar. No doubt this was a layer of salt formed the same way as the inland lakes with their salt we were accustomed to at Mex, and it was likely from this the "old wifie" had got her salt.

Every village has its fig trees, the largest under 20 feet high, their large leaves rich green and luscious. Almost every house has one or more of these. There is but one pattern for their houses, a square box two storeys high, often with a bit of balcony covered with vines. The general colour of a village is grey, cold, and forbidding, but this is relieved by the fig trees, and the bright green and blue paint many use on their doors and windows. Everything is primitive, and long may it remain so; all seem happy and contented on the small pittance any of them can earn. There is no attempt at farming on anything but the smallest scale.

Was it in Lemnos, the AEgean Isle, Milton lands Satan when thrown out of Heaven?

We hear that Achi Baba was to be stormed to-day, but we do not believe it. Big gunfire is distinctly heard at this distance (over 40 miles) and we have heard but a very few shots. Last night the booming was constant for a time.

July 23rd.—To-day we had a route march of nearly twelve miles, the first since we left England. We went through Rosapool to the northern shore of Lemnos, where the men bathed and rested for an hour. We found a fine beach of silver sand. We reached camp a little after 2, with excellent appetites. By a little clever manoeuvring—and with the aid of Sergeant-Major Shaw—Kellas and I managed to reach Rosapool while the men rested outside, and we had a long, cooling drink of Pilsner.

July 24th.—Went over almost every street in Mudros this morning. There were five of us, and we made many purchases for our mess—white wine, plums, Turkish delight, preserved fruit, tomatoes, etc. In the evening Thomson and I inoculated every one in camp against cholera—my second dose.

July 25th.—When we landed at Lemnos we chanced to meet Padre Komlosy, who has looked us up in camp a time or two since. He had a service at 10 for us and the Welsh Fusiliers who are on their way to Gallipoli for the first time. These Welshmen wear a cockade of white feathers in their helmets and the officers three black ribbons down their backs, from below their coat collars. Padre Hardie also visited us in the evening.

H.Q. of the lines of communication is on the "Aragon," a magnificent ship lying in Lemnos harbour. The "Aragon" is notorious for its number of monocles. Up to now any officer has been allowed to go on board to any meal on payment, but evidently that privilege is about to be stopped. If anyone went in his grimy, war-worn garments, and many now have nothing else, he was glowered at by these toffs, as if he had no right to be there. Besides, many officers who were not sick enough to enter a hospital, but too ill to carry on at the Front, were sent there for a rest. These too were attacked by these fellows and told that if they were ill they should be on a hospital ship or if not ill they ought to be at the Front. These men have no intention themselves of going nearer the Front, they are all fat and sleek and live on the fat of the land, are faultlessly dressed, and strut about with their monocles, looking with contempt on all the poor devils who are doing the dirty work. Every one is now up in arms against them.

In the evening the CO., Kellas, and I climbed a rocky hill of about 800 feet, lying to the east. The view of the harbour with over 100 big ships, and about as many small craft was very fine in its setting of rugged hills. We watched the sun go down in all his glory on the distant side of the island.

July 27th.—Still in Lemnos. There has been nothing doing to-day. We lie about camp a good deal where we have an abundance of light literature, sheltering under two large, double-lined Indian tents we were lucky enough to secure the day after our arrival. Yesterday we had a mail, which of course had to go to Gallipoli first, and was delayed at least a week by this short double journey.

At 9 a.m. Fiddes and I took the men for a route march through the village of Romano and up a hill beyond.

July 28th.—Another slow day. I amused myself in the morning with a fine specimen of a tarantula which I caught crawling up a tent. I had seen three others in Gallipoli but this was the finest of all. Kellas and I had a praying mantis in a large tin box with gauze as a lid so that we might watch him at his devotions. The mantis reminds one of a small, green monkey, the fore pair of legs being well developed and used in prehension. A large number of the insects we have are of the grasshopper tribe with well-developed hind-legs. The tarantula was put beside the mantis and he pounced on him like a cat at a mouse, seized him round the middle and with his great mandibles chewed right along to his head, squeezing every drop of juice out of him. Nothing was left but a few dry pellets. Kellas next gave him about a dozen flies and he found room for the lot. These he sprawled at with his fore-legs, rarely missing a dart, keeping his mouth open till a fly was grabbed and forced between his jaws. He has had another meal of flies and looks well satisfied with the easy way in which he has been able to capture his prey to-day, and is much inclined to sleep.

An aeroplane crossed directly over us at 4.15 this morning, coming from the S.W., probably Smyrna. It was flying at a moderate height, and was quite visible in the dim light. After completely crossing the harbour and taking careful note of our shipping, it turned and dropped a bomb at something about the harbour entrance. And all this happened without a single shot being fired by us—like our watchful authorities!

July 29th.—To-day I had a very enjoyable tramp with Stephen to the top of a hill, then to Rosapool, which is the only place near where one can quench one's thirst with bitter beer, or even the local sweet wine. All shops are strictly forbidden to sell either, and military police are everywhere on the prowl. Still the trade goes on, a Greek can never refuse money, he will sell his soul rather than miss the chance of making a penny. Our usual place of call is kept by a very knowing and intelligent Greek, but he was from home to-day—gone to Varos, we were told, to buy beer. The son, a boy of eleven or twelve, was in sole charge, a keen little chap as ever lived, with a genuine Greek eye for business, but a fine and intelligent boy, and by taking a seat in the shop for fifteen minutes and threatening to spend the day if necessary, he was at last persuaded to produce a couple of bottles of beer from Salonika, which we found to be really good. The boy has a smattering of English and French, and says he has been at school. I have never seen any sign of a school in any of the villages so far. He says "the English soldier drink, drink, he no good," and shakes his head, as though the national curse would end in our losing the war. We discovered in a corner four barrels of mysterious looking stuff that attracted flies. These were full of cheese floating in water, little more than stiff curd, but palatable, and this along with biscuits and beer made an enjoyable little lunch. Then we set off for "home," Stephen carrying a kilo of cheese, I with a bottle of beer inside my shirt, as a very small treat for the other fellows.

July 30th.—Stephen, Dickie, and I set off at 9.30 to have a day's enjoyment at Varos, a village we had heard a good deal about. The day was scorching but we covered the 6 miles, via Lychkna, at about 3-1/2 miles an hour. In the last-mentioned village we were studying a notice on a house door when we discovered a nicely dressed woman beside us, evidently regarding us with some interest, and, what was most unusual, with a smile on her face. "Are you English?" said Stephen. "No," she replied, "but I have been in England." "What part?"—answer "America". She went for her husband, who, she said, would give us beer, although she admitted it was forbidden, but he was hard as adamant and absolutely refused, saying "He cared for the notice" we had been reading. This vowed dire punishment on all who dared to supply anyone with alcohol. We shortly afterwards reached Varos, with its twelve windmills all in a row. This being in French occupation there is no prohibition for the British, so we searched out a suitable place for a cooling drink, and chose a very interesting spot in the village square. All the shops are somewhat alike, bare, black rafters, with earth or stone floor, and in this particular one a flock of swallows had their nests in every niche in the ceiling. Each of us had a bottle of beer on the pavement, alongside a French sentry whose sole duty was to see that no Frenchman had a drink. He seemed to think that it was unfair that his countrymen were not allowed to quench their thirst, so he defied the law by having a drink with us, and allowing every Frenchman who made the request to enter and have his big water-bottle filled with water—but really with red wine, a whole litre of which they could buy for sixpence. Delicious wine it was, although rather sweet.

We had very interesting talks with several of the younger men, who had all been in America, but had been recalled by their Government lately, when there were signs of Greece taking the field, which, according to our informants, she would do in September. All we spoke to seemed very desirous to have a blow at Turkey, they wished the Turk turned out of Europe. I had an idea there were no schools here, but I was told every village had its two schools. Young children were taught together, but as they grew up the sexes went to different schools, and education is compulsory to the age of fifteen. All are taught to read and write English. This is due, our man told me, to Alexandria being their greatest mart.

We had coffee, real Turkish coffee, at another place, where we were attracted by a curious advertisement. It was an oil painting of a Scotch lassie in kilt and plaid, dancing with a jug of foaming beer above her head, and alongside her it was announced that they sold "tea, coffee, and milk". Stephen at once wished to buy it, but the terms were exorbitant. To make Turkish coffee you put a teaspoonful of ground coffee in a little pot with an equal quantity of sugar, then run in about two ounces of boiling water, and push this into smouldering charcoal until it boils. Along with this is served a large tumbler of ice-cold water, which you sip time about with the coffee.

Before we could get Dickie away from Varos he insisted on being photographed by Stephen, astride a huge cask in front of a shop, but the cask refused to keep steady—so Dicky asserted, although to all appearances it was most solidly fixed to a substantial stand. Plainly Dickie was feeling weak after his long walk.

July 31st.—Dickie much stronger to-day. I accompanied him to H.M.M.P. "Aragon" to get some money from the army cashier. We lunched on board and had a glorious meal, everything to eat good, excellent cider with ice, and comfortable lounges in which to smoke. Such things are almost unthinkable after our simple—very simple—fare on Gallipoli. I sat between two New Zealanders who had come over from Anzac last night. One of them said they were only 10 yards from the Turks' trench in one part of their line. The other day a New Zealander shouted across, "Do you want any jam this morning?" "Yes," said the Turks from the depths of their trench. "How many of you are there?" "Eight," was the reply. "All right, here's one pot of jam," and a pot of real jam was thrown over. The next morning the same proceedings were gone through, and the eight got together to get their jam. But this time the pot was filled with nitroglycerine and the Turks were blown to pieces. We are now using hand grenades from home, but till just lately when we had to retaliate on the Turks, who took to using deadly grenades, ours were made hurriedly of empty jam tins. These were filled with nitroglycerine mixed with pieces of old iron, such as shrapnel bullets and pieces of burst shells which we all collected—and most deadly weapons they proved, if a Turk got one in the stomach it simply blew him in two.

Word came in the early hours of last night that we had to prepare for our return to Gallipoli on Monday August 2. No one seems actually sorry, we feel that we have got all the good out of this place that is to be had, and the sooner we are all in our places the sooner will the war be over. We had much wind and dust in the morning, the wind falling later when it became uncomfortably warm. We had few flies in our camp at first, but they soon found us out and became as trying a plague as in Gallipoli. The Kaffirs say God made the bees, and the Devil made the flies.

August 2nd.—We left our camp in Lemnos at 12.15 and marched in a solid cloud of dust to Australian Pier, where we had to wait in the grilling sun for another hour before we got off to the "Abessiah," of the Khedivial Line, which sailed at 4.15, taking a long time to manoeuvre before she got her head towards the entrance of the harbour. We had a good afternoon tea of crisp toast and real butter, likely our last respectable meal for many a day.

As we passed through the shipping the old familiar cry of "Are we downhearted?" came from some of the shiploads of fresh troops. There was but a feeble reply from our men, very unlike their shouts as we passed through Malta on the way out. We could not raise a cheer now-a-days, we are still too tired in spite of our rest. We feel a lot of desperate men, prepared to go back and face the worst if need be. We passed a British and French submarine just inside the boom guarding the harbour.

Before midnight our ambulance was transferred to a mine-sweeper and landed at V. Beach, leaving myself and twenty-one men behind to look after the baggage, which is always landed at W. We had a weary night of it, the trans-shipping of our heavy goods with fifteen mail bags which we picked up just as we were leaving Lemnos, being a big job. On coming round to W. Beach we were told we would have to remain where we were till 7 o'clock, or perhaps later.

August 3rd.—It is now 6.30 a.m. and the captain and crew are still sound asleep, at any rate not a soul is stirring.

We overlook our old Beach, which looks as forbidding from the sea as it is in reality. A few minutes ago I watched a Taube drop a bomb beside our Ordnance Stores, another near the C.C.S., and a third a little further on. What has come of that French monoplane whose purpose was to chase such visitors? At 7 we transferred to a pinnace, and after much bother about baggage we reached our familiar dug-outs about 8. On our way up from the Beach, we passed the Signal Station which was a heap of ruins. A shell fell on the roof two days ago, killed six men outright, and wounded ten, one of these afterwards dying. The numerous recent shell holes in the road and elsewhere showed that the Turks had not been idle in our absence. The 88th F.A. beside us had several casualties, one day losing ten mules and three another, with one man wounded.

August 4th.—It is twelve months to-day since war was declared by England on Germany. The number of men slaughtered in that time should be an easy record in the whole history of the world.

We are ordered to relieve the 88th F.A. at their dressing station near Pink Farm on the West Krithia road, and I walked out in the morning to view the place and to see what extras it would be necessary for us to take with us. I found Whitaker there with thirty men. Towards evening Fiddes and I came out with thirty-two men, and we are now in our dug-outs, which are really part of an old trench. It is a narrow bedroom but airy. We have a stretcher or two as a roof to keep the sun out, but with their huge blood stains they do not form an artistic ceiling.

It is now 10 p.m. and having come 2 miles nearer Achi Baba I had to go out and study what was doing. The usual all-night rifle fire goes on; roars occasionally from the batteries near us; Asiatic shells I can hear exploding over at V. Beach; star shells are going up from our lines, and the French, but theirs are superior to ours. Ours are merely rockets, theirs have parachutes which open when the rocket reaches its highest point, and they remain practically stationary for a considerable time.

We are in a very exposed position and have been warned that we will be sniped at once if we show a light. A few stray bullets have come about us, and I could wish that my parapet was a trifle higher, and I am, moreover, doubtful whether my candle light is not reflected through the roof stretchers which have a wrong tilt. But I will risk both dangers to-night, and will heighten my wall by daylight.

The Achi Baba guns shelled W. Beach rather furiously to-day, and in the afternoon a large number of shells fell in the harbour.

August 5th.—Had a quiet day at Pink Farm (in some of our maps this is called Saliri Farm). In the forenoon, our water-cart not arriving when expected, I had a long hunt for a well where we could draw a small quantity of water, but it was with great difficulty we got it, every well being reserved for some particular unit.

We are on the eve of a big battle. To-morrow the front of Krithia is to be captured at any cost. We must get on and the cost must no longer be counted. In preparation for this there has been much ranging by all the batteries, to which the Turks feebly replied. We have no right to have our dressing station where it is, we have dumped ourselves down, and have erected our largest Red Cross flag, in front of several closely packed lines of reserve trenches, which is contrary to the rules of warfare, and if we get shelled it is our own lookout. To-day these trenches swarmed with men, and four shells were fired at them, the first just grazing the trench we are in. In the same way two submarines lie off the coast, close to the C.C.S. on one side and the hospital ships on the other, hence shells are continuously dropping in the former, but for this we cannot blame the Turk. So far, all are agreed that the Turk has not only put up a valiant fight, but a straight one, and if he continues as he is doing it will be better for him when the day of reckoning comes round.

August 6th.—When sitting at dinner with Fiddes word reached us that Kellas had been killed. Such a blow to us and to all who knew good and gentle Kellas. Curiosity had frequently led us both into positions of danger where we ought not to have been, and I always noted how fearless he was. To-day he had been along a deep communication trench, along which wounded were to be carried in the action we knew was about to take place, and he had been viewing the ground, and while standing at the extreme end of this trench a sniper had caught sight of the group he was standing in and a shot laid him low. About an hour after this sad event I had orders to take his place in The Gully. As the fight was to begin at 2 p.m. I had little time to get into my place, at least three miles distant. I set off at once to our advanced dressing station at the Zigzag, three-quarters of a mile up The Gully from Aberdeen Gully.

To-day's battle has been a most bloody affair, wounded beginning to drop in at once. As often happens, out of our four first cases three were wounds in the left hand—one a bullet through the centre of the palm, another was minus the first phalanx of his fore finger, the third minus another finger. All these were undoubtedly self-inflicted. We are bound to notify all these suspicious cases to their C.O.'s and until a guard is sent for them we retain them under a guard of our own men. If a hand is found blackened it of course shows that it was done at very close quarters, but to avoid this a glove or bandage is applied before firing.

I was kept very busy and had no time for food during the rest of the day. The wounds were particularly severe, and very few had single wounds, many having four to six.

August 7th.—The Turks failed to make their usual counter-attack last night, though firing never ceased. I worked for nine hours without one minute's halt, and by night felt very tired. I lay down on a stretcher and tried to get a little sleep, but got none. The snores of my neighbours, the groans of a few wounded we had retained over-night, and the death rattle of two dying men beside me were sufficient to banish sleep.

Two of our battalions have each lost 700 out of the 900 they went into action with. We have gained very little ground; we took trenches and lost them. The long interval from the last fight to the present gave the Turks time to dig trenches almost proof against shell fire, so that when the bombardment began they retired back to these, knowing there could be no assault on their front trenches by the infantry while this lasted.

Yesterday our army made a fresh landing which we hear was most successful, one Division landing at Anzac, the other a short way beyond on fresh ground. Our casualties we are told were two, another report says five, so that it was practically unopposed. Our attack yesterday and during the night kept the whole of the Turkish army concentrated here. Looking at it in this light some think our losses were not excessive.

Yesterday I spoke about three cases we suspected to be self-inflicted. A guard took these away to-day, and they are to be court-martialled to-morrow. Our fourth case also came in just as the action was beginning. A zigzag path comes down a steep cliff behind us, and down this came a man at full gallop, and I thought he was coming to warn us that the Turks were using gas, but, instead, he threw himself on the ground and yelled and kicked like an infant, and for about an hour nothing could calm him. It was a simple case of funk, quite a common ailment. A Tommy was sympathising to-day with another who was severely wounded and he replied, "I don't care a damn, I did for the bloke who shot me". That is the sort of men we want in the army.

August 8th.—Two Divisions were landed at Suvla Bay, beyond Anzac, and it is said a third Division will also land there. They are said to have made good progress inland, on their way to Maidos, and if they succeed in cutting the Turkish line of communication Achi Baba is likely to be evacuated—so it is said, but the Turk has already given us more than one surprise—we shall see.

On my hurry round from Pink Farm two days ago an orderly dumped my pack at the Zigzag among a pile of packs belonging to the wounded, and since then it has not been seen. I set off to-day for Gully Beach half expecting to find it there as it was from here the wounded were transferred to the hospital ships. I next went on to W. Beach and inquired at Ordnance and the C.C.S. but all to no purpose; however, I was able to pick up a few necessities from each of these places. I dined at our base, the C.O. and Dickie being the only officers present.

I afterwards attended Kellas's funeral. We buried him in the little cemetery inland from our Beach, to the music of flying shells, one landing at the entrance as the ambulance wagon with his body drew up, and several others followed. The padre who officiated said this was the first time he had seen a funeral shelled. During the service we all stood in the big grave for safety, and, I am afraid, were forced to think more of our own protection than the solemnity of the occasion. The whole company consisted of four officers and eight men, all that we could muster. Poor Kellas we left sewn in a blanket of the usual military type and covered with a Union Jack. I never met a man I respected more than Kellas, he was most gentle and brave, and in every way a good sort. If a man really deserved to be "sat upon" no one could squash him better than Kellas.

August 9th.—Fiddes and I came to Aberdeen Gully last night with most of the men, leaving twelve and an N.C.O. to act as bearers in the Zigzag track, these to be relieved every twelve hours. A few wounded stragglers reached us, but there was little doing to-day. We had one cowardly chap, who had had his fill of fighting and tried to do away with himself by taking a draught from a cresol tin. He is now under close arrest and will be handed over to the tender mercies of a court-martial.

August 10th.—Walked up to our advanced dressing station at the Zigzag, and found some unknown persons had dumped there, during the night, a body in an advanced state of decomposition. I managed to unearth his recent history. He had been killed on the 7th, being wounded by the Turks, and when crawling back to our lines, along with some others in the same condition, he shouted in the dark, "Don't fire, we are English". Thinking this was a ruse so often practised by the Turks an officer ordered his men to fire, and this poor fellow was killed.

In the afternoon a well-known lion hunter looked in and had a shrapnel bullet removed from his shoulder. He was a most interesting man, and gave us all his views about the conduct of the war. Every mistake that it is possible to make has been made, he thinks. Once more we are hung up for want of ammunition. He is no optimist with regard to the duration of the war. Unless the new landing pushes on and keeps hitting he fails to see how they will do much. Even though Austria and Turkey are knocked out, Germany is one vast fort, with everything within herself, and will hold out for long. He condemns our statesmen for even now not initiating conscription, and making every unmarried man serve. He severely criticises the quality of our shells, half per cent. of which burst prematurely. The fuses of all those available, where this has happened, have been picked up and examined and all have been correctly set. A French battery of 75's is stationed behind this man's battery, firing its shells just 8 feet above his head, and since it took up its position it has only had two premature bursts, and one of these was caused by the shell striking the branch of a tree. We have been buying shells everywhere, and he says those supplied by America are far and away the worst.

August 11th.—While we were at tea this afternoon de Boer rushed into our mess in Aberdeen Gully to say that he had brought down, by our bearers at the Zigzag, Captain O'Hara, whom I have spoken about before as the only officer of the 86th Brigade left alive and unwounded. He had lately been sent to Egypt to look after prisoners, and I was unaware that he had again joined the firing line, but I fancy he had found the other job much too slow. He was full of pluck, it was not from attempts to save his skin that O'Hara had escaped so long. To-day he and a Turk were sniping each other, and after a time O'Hara had such a poor opinion of his opponent's firing that he got upright to walk away when the Turk hit him through the back. When I went up to him I said, "Hullo! O'Hara, I haven't seen you for ages". "No," he answered, "and perhaps you'll never see me again." He was one of our greatest heroes, and a most likeable fellow. (Long afterwards I heard that he progressed well for three weeks when he suddenly grew worse, and died on his way home.)

Twenty-four K.O.S.B.'s came in between 2 and 4 a.m. to-day. They had blown up a Turkish sap, and on rushing forward to seize and hold it they found themselves greatly outnumbered. Most of them were very badly wounded, and four died in our station before morning.

August 12th.—Feeling lazy I rode from Aberdeen Gully to W. Beach, where I spend the next four days. This is only about the fourth time I have been on horseback since I left Mex, the reason for my walking is that I require exercise—and a lot of it—and besides you cannot dodge a shell when mounted.

August 13th.—We had a big mail to-day. The papers of July 21 announce that all lieutenants in the R.A.M.C., T.F., become captains after six months' service. My captaincy will thus date from April 16 last. The Turks made an attack on the French and our centre last night. We replied with a furious cannonade, then rifle fire continued for the remainder of the night.

August 14th.—W. Beach. Beautiful, still morning, as most mornings are, but to-day is unusually calm. The sea without a ripple, and a heat haze hangs over all. Our harbour at W. Beach is full of ships, and just beyond it, at anchor, with their smoke rising lazily, are two hospital ships, white to their mast heads except for their surrounding belt of green broken by three large Red Crosses, all dazzling in the sunlight. The harbour is a busy place, and is now a good and commodious one, formed by a pier which it has taken months to build from the rocks of Tekke Burnu. As the work proceeded slowly, the water it was desired to enclose was further shut in by sinking two large steamers, a costly method of pier building perhaps, but here I believe it may be the cheapest, as Greek labour which built the stonework is dear, and the Greeks poor workmen. They are so nervous that when a shell comes their way from "Asiatic Annie" they bolt like a lot of rabbits to their holes, where they cannot be unearthed for the next half-hour. They were not engaged, they rightly say, to work under shell fire, and this often happening several times a day the pier made little progress. We have also put the Turkish prisoners on this job, and this morning I watched two bodies of these being marched down under French guards with fixed bayonets—a capital idea this to put the Turks under their own fire.

10 p.m.—Tremendous blasts came floating in from the sea about 5 o'clock, so I went over to the lighthouse ruins to find out what was doing. One of our monitors lay beside Rabbit Island and was throwing her 14-inch shells at a ridge on the Dardanelles beyond Kum Kale, where we know "Asiatic Annie" and her sisters live. These had been firing at V. Beach and the French lines just before. All very well, I thought, the monitor can do no harm, but she will stir up these guns to give us a lively time at W., and I was not many minutes back when they started, the shells coming in fours, just to prove to us that their guns were all there. We received about fifty shots in all. We had seven destroyers all afternoon at the mouth of the Dardanelles, which looked as if they intended something unusual. Now again after a pause these guns are firing at their hardest at V. Beach—aye, and here too.

August 15th.—I wrote the last clause (aye, and here too) just before a shell burst behind me. It was one of a group of four, and was two seconds at most in front of the other three, which were simultaneous absolutely. Howls and cries for help at once came from a tent 15 yards in front of my dugout. A shell had crashed into this tent where five men were lying, exploding at the feet of one, and shattering his leg at the ankle. The other four were untouched. Some of the fuses of yesterday's shells have been dug up to-day, and we find from the brilliant orange colour on these that lydite had been used, in some of the shells at least.

To-day a snake 38 inches long was caught in our camp. About twenty men armed themselves with sticks, axes, etc., and surrounded it, but kept a most respectful distance away, having great faith in its springing powers. Sergeant Gavin Greig, who has been in Ceylon and knows otherwise, got it by the neck and put it in a bottle which he filled up with methylated spirit much to the poor brute's dislike as was witnessed by its contortions.

An order came yesterday from the A.D.M.S. asking if we could move off with our present equipment on a sudden call. This has stimulated all those responsible to overhaul all our material, which, though deficient in some points, is adequate. Our greatest deficiency is in personnel; we are short of our original number by three officers and thirty-eight men, this being due to casualties and sickness. Kellas was killed nine days ago, Whyte and Morris are home on sick leave.

August 16th.—At 8 a.m. as Fiddes and I were preparing to go out to Pink Farm, a message came that we were to embark any time after 17 o'clock (i.e. 5 p.m.). We withdrew all men and equipment from our two advanced dressing stations, and had a busy day in camp packing up all we possessed. We left at 8.30 after a supper of chicken and champagne—something very unusual—and got on board the "Ermine," a Glasgow boat. The officers made themselves as comfortable as possible for the night in the smoke room, where several K.O.S.B. officers had already deposited themselves. I managed to sleep a little at first, but my nearest companion, a K.O.S.B., being unable to persuade me to put my legs over his, placed his over mine while I was in an awkward position, and rather than disturb him, I lay still. My friend was less considerate, he next planked his big, dirty boots alongside my face, which were anything but pleasant, they smelt as if their owner kept cows.

We only steamed about one and a half hours when the anchor was let go with the usual rattle, and we heard some one from another boat shouting that the troops were to remain on board till morning. No one took the trouble to look out to see where we were, such a thing seemed to be of no interest.

August 17th.—Suvla Bay. Tuesday, 2 p.m. We landed at Suvla Bay about 5 a.m. and marched to the point of the projecting piece of land on the north side. The bay is entirely closed by a boom, and inside we have a fairly large fleet of battleships and transports, and a large number of smaller boats, while three hospital ships lie outside. The Turks have been shelling these rather furiously, but I have seen no hits. Our troops on land are also having their share. All our equipment was sent off on a lighter, which has not yet arrived, and as all our rations are with it we are in dire straits. Luckily another ambulance took pity on us and gave us tea and hard ration biscuits, but there is no sign of further meals, nor do we expect any.

I am sitting on the side of a rocky slope, and just in front, in a dip of the hill, are crowded the whole of the 87th Brigade to which we are for the present attached. All arrived this morning and there is nothing but confusion. The heat is terrific, and is intensified by the large amount of bare rocks, which are so hot that it is impossible to lay your hand on them. The surrounding hills, especially hill 972, S.E. of the Salt Lake which glistens in the distance, are barren and rugged, with no sign of cultivation, except about the foot of that hill, where there is said to be a village, but it is invisible. Round the Salt Lake a good many trees are dotted about, likely olives and figs, and a good deal of bright green scrub exists on the lower hill slopes. This scrub Ashmead-Bartlett calls furze in his articles, but I have never seen furze in Gallipoli. This plant is generally 2 to 3 feet high, is in very solid bushes of a stiff, fibrey nature, with an ovate, dark green glaucous leaf. Thyme and numerous other plants abound. I have been interested in the weathering of the rocks beside the sea, this reminding me of the Brig at Filey. This follows a most peculiar pattern, like a number of leopard skins spread out on the rocks.

I wish night was here, even though we are to go supperless to bed; one would give anything for the cool air one can be sure of after sundown.

It was here that a landing was made by Kitchener's army ten days ago. They are said to have put up a very poor fight. Trained and steady troops, it is said, would have had practically a walk over, as the opposition was slight, little more than a brigade of Turks having checked two divisions of our men. A few shells fell on the top of a ridge where they were advancing. This made a number of the men bolt, others were seized with panic, and all seem to have got out of hand. A splendid opportunity of turning the Turks' flank, joining up with the Australians, and seizing Achi Baba from the north, has been lost, and the difficulties in front of us are much increased. There is nothing for it now but to land troops in such numbers that defeat is out of the question, and it must be done quickly before the wet season sets in. I am afraid we must be content to hold the Germans in check in France, and withdraw the necessary troops from there.

August 18th.—Yesterday and to-day have been the warmest days we have experienced in Gallipoli. The reason that our present station is warmer than the point (Helles) is the attraction and retention of heat by the rocks, and our camp is on the south face of a high ridge, where we have absolutely no shade. Last evening a Taube sailed over us and discharged four bombs at the warships, all missing, but one was within a few yards of its mark. This evening two came over together, but were fired at before they got overhead, and bore off to the left, unharmed although numerous shots from the ships followed them.

After breakfast I went to Brigade H.Q. to announce that the ship ("Manitou"—B.12) which brought our baggage came in yesterday, and after discharging about a third of our belongings set sail for Lemnos, as she had to be there by a given hour. I had to explain that we could not open a clearing station with our shortage of equipment, but that by afternoon we would be prepared to put patients into improvised blanket shelters. The Brigadier for the time being is Colonel Lucas, who was absent on a visit to his regiments, and I had an interview with Major Brand of his staff. He gave me orders that our unit had to dig itself in before night. This is very necessary as we are still under shell fire in every part we hold here, and are just as exposed as in Helles. Another ambulance is encamped beside us, and two shells bursting among them this morning killed two men and wounded two. A big piece of shell hurtled over my head last night, hitting a rock about two yards away.

Three rumours have come to us this evening, which have put us all into the best of spirits, although we know one is a story, and we are so accustomed to rumours that we doubt the truth of the other two:—

1. Achi Baba has been captured!—certainly not true. The ships in the bay were well bombarded this afternoon, and we saw two shells hit a big transport. A section of an ambulance was on board this ship, and, on their landing in the evening, their comrades gave them a rousing cheer, and when this was heard in other parts the only interpretation that could be put on it was the capture of this troublesome hill.

2. Warsaw we could guess had to fall to the German army, but we hear they soon had the worst of it and fled with enormous casualties.

3. We hear we have advanced 26 miles in France. We try to believe there is some truth in this, but it must be a great exaggeration.

The Turks are supposed to have a number of big guns mounted on rails behind one of the higher ridges overlooking us, and rumour says this railway was taken this afternoon, but I do not believe it. Ugly ridges they are, and certainly we can never capture some of them except by turning, many having a sheer, rocky face of 400 or 500 feet. We know extremely little about what is going on within a few miles of us. I have seen eleven sour-looking Turks marched in as prisoners to-day, which shows we are doing something at any rate. Constant fire goes on, and the ships strike in several times a day for half an hour or so, but naval guns are not well suited for this work. Down about Helles—15 miles off—we can hear much booming too.

August 19th.—Two days ago I spoke about the scrub Ashmead-Bartlett calls furze. I now find it is almost certainly the plant from which our briar pipes are made. The stem is slender, but the root expands to a considerable extent, and I have seen parts of these, which our men have dug up when clearing the ground, about 4 to 6 inches thick. The fibres are twisted in all directions, giving the wood the well-known bird's eye appearance. What is exposed to the weather seems quickly to darken.

The geology is interesting. I have spoken about the strange weathering of the rocks at the Beach. All the rock on this point of land dips at an angle of 45 degrees, and points northwards. I put it all down as Devonian, it is almost exactly like Hugh Miller's old red sandstone, as seen in Ross-shire, the matrix of a paler red, but the mass of water-worn pebbles embedded in it is the same. The matrix contains lime as is seen in the large amount of calcite that exists. A vein, perhaps 5 feet thick, of a slatey substance runs across just in front of us, and contains a well, which is the only sign of fresh water I have seen so far. The Engineers have sunk a well in a marly part near this, but the earth they are throwing up is perfectly dry, and they might as well give it up.

Later.—Some one now tells me that the rocks are Tertiary and not Devonian, and that my slatey vein is cobalt. Much of the stone peels readily into large flat slabs which we find useful in building our dug-outs.

There was much rifle and big gunfire last night. The ships have displayed about a normal amount of activity to which the Turk has replied, but his marksmanship is worse than it was yesterday.

We had rain this morning, which was heavy enough to be disagreeable, and it was with difficulty we kept ourselves and our belongings dry. It gives us a foretaste of what to expect soon. But before then we must get on. About Helles the naval guns are very busy.

This morning we had sixty-nine cases of sick and wounded in our hospital. We are expected to keep all minor cases of wounds, and cases of sickness likely to return to duty in a few days, while the more severe cases we send to the hospital ships for the various bases. We saw besides about fifty walking cases, all belonging to our 86th Brigade.

August 20th.—Last night was very chilly, and for the first time for weeks we had to put on our tunics and unroll our shirt sleeves. But the weather has again changed and to-day is uncomfortably warm.

On landing on the 17th a man I chanced to speak to told me that a rumour is afloat that the Kaiser was suing for peace through the Pope. This I give no heed to, but to-day we have it on better authority, and it is said he is prepared to give up Belgium, Poland, and Alsace-Lorraine. He will have to give these up and a great deal more, nothing but unconditional surrender will be listened to, with partition of his fleet among the Allies. The Emperor of Austria is also said to have declared that he will not allow his people to endure another winter campaign.

7 p.m.—The bearers of our Ambulance have been ordered to proceed to the foot of a hill 3 miles off, beside the Salt Lake, and to take up their position before dawn. I for one will have to go too. I know the spot well in the distance, and know it is a favourite dumping ground for Turkish shells. At present it is pitch dark at night, and we have no idea what we have to encounter on the way.

August 21st.—Last night we were all busy preparing for our start at 3 a.m. We got off punctually at that hour, and marched in the dark for nearly 3 miles, by an unknown road, which was only a rough twisting track with many off-shoots. We were bound for "Chocolate Hill," east of the Salt Lake, but we have not got there yet. We floundered, and squabbled about what should be done so that daylight was on us before we passed the bar between the bay and the lake, where the main Clearing Station is, also three or four Ambulances. One of these took pity on us, and gave us breakfast, and the use of their ground until we should hear from the A.D.M.S. to whom we have sent a message for instructions. The A.D.M.S. Lt.-Col. J.G. Bell, appeared about 10, and we were planted by him in the middle of the bar, facing the bay, where we can get no shelter from the sun or shells, the bank behind us rising after much digging to less than 5 feet. Our orders are to form an Aid Post here, catching all the wounded that come our way.

We have an attack at 3 p.m., and apparently a very big one is expected, and we are waiting for its commencement. I have explored the bar which is about a mile long, and 300 yards wide, and have studied its flora. There is a large lily with a bunch of sweet-smelling flowers, not unlike the Madonna lily, but the flower is more notched and less of a funnel. It has enormous bulbs, some of which I scraped out of pure sand at a depth of 2 feet. Other bulbous plants are common, and huge downy reeds.

It is now 2 p.m. I am sitting in a juniper bush in the middle of the bar, scribbling, all the country in a scorching haze, the shells from the ships screeching over our heads, searching all the ridges and hollows in front of us. The Turks' guns have been silent for the last hour, no doubt in anticipation of giving us something warm; our bearers are off and have just passed in twos and threes across the north side of the lake, which at this period of the year is dry, except in the middle. On our side all is ready to give the Turk a good hiding, but every time at Helles we were just as prepared and the result always a practical failure. Now for the battle, and little chance of concluding my notes to-day.

6.50 p.m.—Ever since the appointed hour a very big fight has been in progress. To me the most exciting part was the advance of the 11th Division from the south side of Lala Baba, over a mile of absolutely unprotected country, where our men could not fire a shot in return to the perfect hail of shrapnel to which they were subjected, shells coming in fours and fives at a time right in their midst. There was the breadth of the lake between us, but with our glasses we had a good view of the whole proceedings. The number bowled over seemed small, considering that the last half-mile had to be crossed at the double, in a dense cloud of smoke from bursting shells. Whenever the cloud cleared off we saw distinctly that many dead and wounded lay about the field.

What I admired most was the plucky way the bearers did their work, all round the north and east side of the lake, while all the time they were subjected to fire, and towards the end of the day, when the Turk, apparently desperate, sent shell after shell among the bearers and ambulance wagons, at a time when there were no other troops near.

We have tried to dig ourselves into the banks of soft sea sand for the night, but the constant stream of fine sand fills up our excavations as fast as we dig. Four ships still keep firing—"Lord Nelson," "Swiftsure," "Agamemnon" (?) and "Euryalus"—and every shot brings down more sand.

Being off the direct track from the battlefield we have missed the wounded we expected. In spite of our tramping about all night in the dark we feel very fresh, and disappointed at having nothing to do, although in good spirits over our victory—for such we take it to be.

This is the first occasion on which we can find fault with the Turks' method of fighting, but to-day they have fired on all and sundry—bearers, ambulance wagons, Red Cross flags, and the C.C.S.

August 23rd.—I ended my notes two days ago by remarking that we were all in good spirits over what seemed to us to be a victory. Soon after that some of us had to change our tune. Two officers were ordered up to Chocolate Hill, so Agassiz and I went across the north side of the Salt Lake which we found dry and caked hard. Towards the far end, as we neared the terrible hill, bullets were flying in hundreds—one struck the ground practically under my left foot, another passed between Agassiz and myself when we certainly were not a foot apart. A few more hundred yards, at the double, took us to that absolute inferno, Hill 53. (The hills were named according to their height, 53 meaning 53 metres high.) We got to the top through dead and dying men lined out everywhere. We at once looked up the A.D.M.S. who, along with the heads of the 29th Division, was in a deep and strongly protected dug-out. Now came the terrible and most unexpected news—the Staff were in a state of hysterics—Hill 72, which is separated from Hill 53 by a small dip, had been fought for all day and captured at immense cost, and was now about to be given up, it was impossible for us to hold it. The 11th Division had sent word that they were at a certain point which was their objective, but they were actually some distance behind that, and never did reach that point. But this piece of information, which the line had been eagerly waiting for, now allowed our centre to advance, thinking they had the 11th Division protecting their flank. They soon got too far forward and were at once enfiladed. This was the beginning of what was a catastrophe and which will cost us thousands of lives to rectify. "We are to give up Hill 72," said the A.D.M.S., "and if the Turks make a night attack, as they always do after an engagement, we'll be pushed off this Hill (53) into the valley, and it is hard to say where it will end. In that case we want every stretcher-bearer we can lay our hands on to work with might and main to get the wounded back from the trenches, or they will fall into the hands of the Turks." This sounded terrible, but we had to face it, so we sent back for all our men who could be spared, and many regimental men had to help to carry the wounded back, which was a most difficult piece of work.

In making communication trenches along which the wounded have to be carried from the firing trench, the carrying of stretchers is never considered. Traverses must be made certainly, and the narrower the trenches the better while fighting, but they should be made wide enough to let stretchers along, and the corners of the traverses should be rounded. As it was the stretchers could only be carried along the straight parts with the stretcher traverses "kicked in," and even then the backs of all the men's hands were peeled to the bone. Being impossible to get round the corners the stretchers had to be raised above the top of the trench, and as a rule the bearers soon tired of doing this at every few yards, and got right over the parapets and carried in the open.

We had a terrible night, and next morning as soon as the day began to break, although we were on the opposite side of the Hill from the enemy, they knew the range so thoroughly that they dropped their shells at the exact angle of the Hill, which was but a gentle slope, and raked it from top to bottom time after time.

Those of us who escaped were lucky, but it was a bit trying to one's nerves. The Turks had made great preparations for this battle, which of course had to come off, and they fired as much ammunition as we did, and everything was to their advantage. Their snipers, often armed with machine-guns, played the very devil with our men. By good luck the Turks had had enough and did not attack at night, and we were glad when daylight came, although with it came again the terrible, raking fire.

Through the day our troops deliberately and slowly evacuated part of Hill 72, but most of it we unexpectedly managed to hold, and are likely now to stick to. Had we thoroughly defeated the Turks, as we should have done had there been no bungling, the end of this part of the campaign might have been in sight, but now we are held up, and how we are to get out of the fix will sadly baffle our Staff.

The men of the 89th F.A. behaved with admirable pluck, and worked hard, and up to evening we had eight men more or less badly wounded—one at least fatally, poor Adams. The 21st and 22nd were spent practically without food, and hardly a drop of water was to be had, and all suffered badly from thirst—more bungling.

In the afternoon of the second day it was rumoured that the whole of our Division was to be withdrawn to the reserve lines, and that our 86th Brigade, to which we had been again attached, were to march off as soon as it was dark, and we were to follow and take up our position behind the Infantry. Good news indeed! The G.O.C. in C. had done a wise thing in bringing two Brigades of the 29th Division round from Helles to stiffen Kitchener's Army. Our Royal Fusiliers were in reserve all the time, and although they never fired a shot were in such a position that they were badly exposed to shell fire, and were within view of snipers, and lost no fewer than 150 men.

In the dark we set off over the N.W. corner of the lake making for a certain point at the foot of a ridge. It was difficult to strike the exact spot, the night being dark, but we got wonderfully near it, and after spending a bitterly cold and cheerless night at the back of a low stone wall, across which bullets whistled all night we rectified our position before the sun rose. As we came across the lake three more of our men were hit, bullets flying about for the first mile or so. To-day, after reaching our destination, and while in a shelter, a bullet hit another in the thigh, bringing our casualty list for this fight up to sixteen. All are agreed that it has been a very bloody affair, and the difficulty of seeing a way out of our present position has made all despondent, and a number of those in high positions are being torn to shreds. Our men are not grumbling, and look as if they could go through it again, but it was a very trying two days and nights.

Fires broke out in the thick scrub almost at the very start of the battle, and after a few hours many acres were ablaze, and as it was largely from such places the men of both sides were firing many wounded were burned to death.

August 24th.—Last night we got orders to move as we were certain to be shelled, lying as we were behind the Infantry of our Brigade. We accordingly moved after dark to a gully, which is really a dry watercourse entering the middle of the north side of the Salt Lake. Agassiz and I, followed at a short distance by a few men, had no difficulty in striking the desired spot, but the others, following in small lots, got lost, only one lot reaching its destination that night. Others lay behind bushes till daylight, while Stephen and his men returned for the night to their starting-point. It showed the difficulty of moving about in the dark in a strange country. The 86th Brigade, which left Chocolate Hill the same time as ourselves got lost and wandered about for six hours. Our new site is no safer than the last, we are beside a well where men congregate from the various battalions encamped near us, and this was shelled furiously on two occasions yesterday.

August 25th.—Four calendar months since we landed on Gallipoli. And not much progress made yet.

The Royal Fusiliers, who had watched our men at work in the "Battle of Chocolate Hill," are giving them great praise for their daring. Pirie, who was waiting for bearers for his wounded, on hearing that some men coming towards him belonged to the 89th F.A. replied, "Thank God, now we are all right". Several—two at least—high-placed officers also took note of them and promised that some would be mentioned in the next despatch.

Seeing some big black Arum lilies—known as the "Dead Turk" from its evil smell—with flowers about 2 feet long, I dug up two enormous bulbs this morning, one fully 6 inches in diameter. These, with other bulbs, I will send home. (They were not an acceptable gift, they were allowed to die owing to their horrible smell.) These were growing beside a well which was shelled a couple of hours ago, but I sneaked out in safety when this had finished. I heard this evening that I had been "mentioned" in Sir Ian Hamilton's first despatch. Two other medical men of our Division are also mentioned—Col. Yarr, our A.D.M.S. at Helles, and Major Lindsay of the 87th F.A.

August 26th.—Pottered about in the morning after seeing some batches of sick sent in by the Regimental M.O.'s, then walked to our base on Suvla Bay Beach. Fiddes and McKenzie, who joined our Ambulance two days ago, walked out with me. They dilated to Agassiz and myself about a great discovery they had made, namely, that excellent rissoles could be made of bully beef and ground biscuits. On their departure we decided to have rissoles for supper, so Agassiz prepared a frying pan and a tin of bully, while I with a pick-shaft ground up a couple of our flinty biscuits. We had them done to a turn, and felt much better for a decent feed. We then smoked and watched big, threatening clouds scurrying over the moon, and away in the S.W. constant flashes of lightning. The weather is changing, and the rainy season is not far off. Then what on earth is to come of us? We'll be washed out of the gullies, to be shot down in the open.

August 27th.—Agassiz and I returned to the base at 7.30 p.m. and were relieved by Fiddes and McKenzie. Plenty of firing by both sides, but nothing worth noting.

August 28th.—A day at the Beach—a weary place and I wish I was back in The Gully. Here we are encamped at the top of Suvla Bay, at the edge of a wide stretch of soft sand, which is dotted all over with men and their shallow dug-outs in the sand. We are protected by a number of Red Cross flags, several Ambulances and the C.C.S. These have never been shelled by the Turks, and one feels absolutely safe, but I miss the healthy excitement of our little Gully. As I watched the bearers and wagons being shelled during the last fight it struck me at the time that all the shrapnel might be coming from a single battery, and I now think there can be no doubt about this. It must have been a battery of four or five guns in command of a beastly German.

August 29th.—Sunday. Nothing doing—except that the usual artillery duel goes on, and a Taube crossed over us. These we occasionally fire at but never hit.

August 30th.—Feeling bored to death I took a pleasure walk out to our dressing station in The Gully, where Stephen and Thomson are at present on duty. After dark I returned alone, trudging first down The Gully almost to the Salt Lake, then cutting off to the right towards our base. It is very different from the great Gully at Helles (The Gully), being but a watercourse, averaging 8 to 10 yards in width and most of it not over 6 feet deep. It has huge clumps of rushes and lofty, graceful reeds which give it a tropical appearance, and in a few places are pools of dirty, green water that has not dried up since the last rainy season, and in these water tortoises and big green frogs live in hundreds. To-night it was rather weird as I came along, with the bull frogs croaking, and several other nocturnal animals making loud cries, down past the "Turk's grave," where a pile of dead had been collected in The Gully and a little earth thrown over them, and now the odour is so strong that one has to pass at the double, holding one's breath. The very earth over them looks wet and greasy as I noticed to-day. The whole Gully is full of dug-outs from end to end. These had been made on the first days of the landing and are now untenanted. Lying about unheeded is equipment of all sorts, which had belonged to our dead and wounded.

A Taube dropped two bombs at our ships to-day, but missed as usual. And our not firing at the marauder showed that we had not much faith in our own shooting. The warships and a monitor were busy towards evening battering some unseen object away beyond the mountains—perhaps the forts of "The Narrows".

We have two Welsh Ambulances beside us. The men move very smartly and are evidently well drilled. They are great psalm singers, and always at it.

August 31st.—The Australians over at Anzac seem very busy to-day. So also are the Turks whose shells are falling thick on land and sea, and our ships are firing at some target beyond Sari Bair (Hill 972).

We had a curious plague of midges last night: they attacked the lamp and table in our mess in thousands, and made things so unpleasant that we had to hurry from the table. These have never bothered us before, and I doubt if I ever saw a midge on Gallipoli before.

September 1st.—Agassiz and I came out to the dressing station as it was getting dark last night.

Two new officers and twenty men joined us yesterday—Captains Wilson and Tawse.

Wiseley, M.O. to the Lancs., passed through our station this forenoon, badly wounded in the head by a sniper. It looks as if it was all up with him. (He died before he reached the C.C.S.) Tawse followed from our base to take his place. Pirie of the Royals looked us up, and told us he was down for "mention" in the next despatch. We have all admired, and often spoken about, the good work and earnest devotion of Pirie, and are delighted these are to be recognised, even in this small way. We were talking about the huge bungle of the landing at Suvla. It seems agreed had it not been that two Territorial Battalions turned tail when faced by a handful of Turks things here would have been totally different, and the ridges which are not yet ours should have been taken and held the first day. A distinguished General is said to have remarked: "Had there been more sweat on the part of the men there would have been less blood". We have one excellent General here now who pokes his nose into everything, says what he thinks, whether polite or otherwise, and swears at large. He says that without a good backing of swears people will never believe you are in earnest. Only men of blood and iron are of any use at the present moment for filling our high places.

Pirie was telling us that they had two Australian snipers attached to the Royals, and one of their own men who had done a good deal of jungle shooting was an excellent sniper. One night he was out and had crawled to within 30 yards of the Turks' trenches trying to get as much information as possible, when lo, and behold! he found by his watch it was 5.30 and broad daylight. He had fallen asleep. However, by careful crawling he succeeded in gaining his own lines in safety. It is always by night these men work, and the Australian snipers get two days off every week to go to the base for a rest. This time is usually spent in their going somewhere else to snipe. Fighting to the Australians is great sport and nothing else.

In the afternoon an East Kent officer paid us a visit. He tells us that rumours of peace with Turkey are again afloat. We have heard this sort of stuff before and don't believe it.

September 2nd.—Agassiz and I had attended the sick of our Brigade during the day, and spent a quiet time about the dressing station, gathering enough brambles to make an excellent dish for supper, when suddenly at 7.30 the scene changed. First two cannon shots, the well-known signal for a Turkish attack, a short pause then a general cannonade from the Turks which was fast and furious. I do not suppose anyone could have guessed they had so many guns in position, but for half an hour—twenty-three minutes to be exact—they simply deluged with shrapnel our trenches on the hill on our extreme left (Hizlar Dagh), and rifle fire from both sides was equally furious. The part of The Gully we occupy as a dressing station runs north and south, and I could not have believed it could possibly have been enfiladed, but bullets, after the first few minutes, got diverted our way, and came right along our position in a most alarming way. All lay low at once, except our servant, Wallace, who had just removed our supper things and was sitting on the edge of a low trench leading into our dug-out when he called out, "Oh!" I turned round and said, "What's up?" "I am struck," he said, and fell into my arms. We laid him down on the floor of the dug-out, and in a few minutes he breathed his last. So ended the days of an excellent fellow. Formerly a ship's steward he had seen the world, and was a splendid servant and much liked by the whole Ambulance. This only added to the alarm that had seized us all, which was due to the very insufficient protection we had on the side the bullets were coming from. Agassiz and I lay hard up against the north side of our dug-out—little more than a few dry lumps of clay—while Wallace's body was stretched alongside us. As I have said, this attack ended in twenty-three minutes, but at 8.30 there was a second and similar one. We had all made up our minds that the Turks were to break through and would be down on us, and all had secretly decided what they were to do, and how much of their equipment they would take in case we were forced to retreat. All this fighting was but a very short way to our left.

This morning we sent Wallace's body back to our base, where it lay till the return of C Section at 7.30 p.m., as we wished to be present at the last rites, and we could only turn out in a body after dark. The moon was not due for hours, but in the dark, with only the stars for light, and a brilliant planet in the east, we listened to Padre Campion's short service. He, being an Episcopal clergyman, had to accommodate himself to us Presbyterians, and he recited "Abide with me," then read the piece, "I am the Resurrection," and ended with "The Lord's Prayer". Then back again to camp, supper, and general conversation.

Rumours reach us that the Germans are still being pressed back about Warsaw, that the Austrians have been defeated in Galicia, and the Turks in the Caucasus.

The Australians at Anzac are making steady, though slow, progress, which appears to be the only point where we can press on at all. The Marquis of Tullibardine arrived here to-day with a body of Scottish Horse—unmounted of course. Padre Campion says he was at Eton with this brilliant soldier.

September 4th.—A very moderate S.W. breeze is blowing to-day, and our pontoon pier of about thirty boats has gone all to pieces and lies on the sand. Its sole use was to get patients away from the C.C.S. to the hospital ships. This shows us the difficulties we will have to face in winter with our patients and stores—if we are to be here, which heaven forbid! Padre Dennis Jones has just told me that the betting is that the war in Turkey will be over in a fortnight. He also says he was in the trenches last night when word was passed round to prepare to meet a big Turkish attack after dark. This did not come off, last night was quiet except for an occasional spurt of rifle fire.

September 5th.—Sir Ian Hamilton is reported to have said that the war will be over in ten days.

This morning we have been notified that we go to Imbros, probably for a week, on the night of the 8/9th. This does not seem to give pleasure to many. It means a night spent in crossing, and being tired all next day when we will have to work hard to provide shelter, then returning before we get really settled down. If this order takes effect we will besides miss the "grand finale" which will be held among the forts of "The Narrows" (!!!)

There was much artillery fire by both sides yesterday, and this morning they have been very busy—they even managed to send two shells after a Taube, these bursting many hundred yards behind their objective. But it let the Taube see that we were not asleep at 7.30 a.m.

My friend Pirie, M.O. to the Royals, passed through this in the afternoon, having been wounded in the back while he was holding his Sick Parade—only a "couchy wound," such as the Irish pray to the Virgin Mary to send them at the beginning of a fight, so that they might escape something worse. Pirie walked in with his usual smile, and pleaded with us, before we knew there was anything wrong, "not to make him laugh as it was sore". (To everyone's sorrow, Pirie was afterwards killed in France.)

September 7th.—It was the duty of Agassiz and myself to take over the dressing station last night, and there we now are. After the experience we had last time when we did not feel over comfortable after dark and the bullets began to fly, we were glad to occupy the same dug-out during the night, for the sake of company. It is a most unpleasant feeling to find you are fired at when alone. I have noticed this especially when out a walk just as it is getting dark. You ask yourself how long you may have to lie, if you get wounded, before anyone comes your way. But even in daylight if shells are dropping about they are doubly terrifying if you are alone.

This Gully has been a most uncomfortable place all along, its banks afford little protection from rifle fire; they are too low for cross-fire, and a few days ago we found it could be enfiladed. At ordinary times we have only occasional bullets during the day, but as soon as the shades of night begin to fall they come in a constant stream, and we are only safe when we retire to the depths of our dug-outs—if our shallow pits are worthy of the name.

We keep wondering what sort of a holiday we are to have in Imbros. Are there to be plagues of flies and dust as in Lemnos? However, it will break the monotony which is getting very oppressive, and some of ours keep up a constant grumble at everybody and everything.

The nights are now very cold, but the heat by day seems about as intense as ever.

September 9th.—We had orders yesterday to embark at Little West Beach, at the north point of Suvla Bay. We were there at 7.30 p.m. and were to embark at 8. It was a weary trudge, for we were heavily laden, along the very edge of the bay to take advantage of the narrow strip of firm sand that gets washed by the "tideless Mediterranean". Our four Battalions were present, and after some delay over our baggage, all which was finally got on board, the great lumbering barge, which had 400 men and all the regimental baggage on board, refused to budge. She was fast on the rocks where the water was very shallow. At last she moved, going out a few yards then returning and taking all the Dublins and so many Royals on board. Then she again stuck fast. It was now getting late; the ship this barge was taking us out to was booked to sail at 3.30 a.m., and this time had to be kept regardless of our convenience. As she was still aground at that hour the order was given to disembark. All this time we had been lying shivering on the dust and stones, waiting for our turn, and now, with our spirits at zero, we marched back to our base, reaching it at 4.45 as light was showing in the east, so that we got back none too soon. The long wait we had put in, with a cold wind blowing, had chilled us all thoroughly. All had some brandy on our return, we got to bed at 5.30, and I for one slept like a top and rose refreshed at 8.30, as also did Agassiz. He and I felt so famished that we ground up some ration biscuits and made porridge, which we enjoyed. None of the others got off their stretchers before mid-day, when they did not know whether to order breakfast or dinner. It ended in high tea.

A wagon with six mules passed behind us this afternoon, and drew a hot shrapnel fire on all the Ambulances on the Beach. We had one man wounded, the 1st Welsh one killed (Capt. Clark) and three wounded, and the 3rd Welsh four wounded.

We again have orders to embark at 7.30.

September 10th.—The hour for embarking was afterwards changed to 8.30. Owing to the shelling we had just been subjected to this pleased us, as we could march down in the dark at this later hour. We got on board without any adventures and were taken out by two tow boats to our old friend, the "Abbassieh". The sea was choppy and our boat bumped unmercifully against the ship's side and ladder. We had supper on board, tea, bread and butter with cheese making a right royal feast, these articles never tasting half so good in all our lives before. Never till then did I fully appreciate how much we had roughed it since we came to Suvla Bay. Our bread has usually been vile, and often was not to be had at all, and everything has been unusually filthy and smelly. This was often due to our being unable to spare a drop of water to wash out our cooking utensils.

No doubt what has really taken it out of us most is the constant danger we are in from bullets and shells, and especially the former at our Advanced Dressing Station in The Gully (Azmac Dere). After supper and a glass of beer we went to bed, and found genuine spring mattresses, a tremendous luxury. The very ground at Suvla seems to be harder than at Helles, and I often get up in the morning feeling stiff and sore. However, I much prefer living on chunks of anything out at the dressing station, and sleeping on a few rushes spread on the bottom of a shallow hole, to the comforts and safety of our base in the sandbank of Suvla Bay.

When the anchor was raised, with the usual amount of rattle, it roused one of our men who was asleep on deck; he sprang to his feet and dashed over the ship's rail, and really never woke up till he found himself in the water. Cries of "man overboard" were raised, and with much scurrying the ladder was let down, and being a strong swimmer he was got on board none the worse for his early bath. He was sent down to the engine room to dry.

We landed at Imbros about 9 a.m.

Imbros is a busy place, and has a big natural harbour facing the north, dotted over with warships and transports, and a considerable number of monitors each armed with one or two huge guns, all 14-inch I believe.

Our camp is in a dusty spot, and the wind makes it disagreeable and ruffles our tempers. There are about a dozen canteens, run by Greeks whose prices I am glad to see are fixed for all articles. I bought two kilos (4-1/2 lbs.) of grapes and a few tomatoes, intending them for our mess, but I could not resist the grapes, I had an overpowering longing for fruit, and ate most of them, skins, stones and all, on my way back. I have tried to take up a bet to eat 2 lbs. against every lb. eaten by anyone in the mess.

The hills and valleys I have not yet visited, but these look inviting. We are encamped on an extensive dead level between the sea and the hills.

September 11th.—I had a walk with Stephen last night, just before dark, to a hill about a mile off. From the top we were able to get a good idea of the beauties of Imbros. Except for the stretch where we are encamped, the whole island is one mass of rough, volcanic mountains, with narrow, fertile flats, carefully cultivated and bearing healthy, looking fig, olive, and other trees. A large herd of goats, wending their way home down a narrow track between rugged hills, away down below us, all with their bells tinkling, made a fine picture of a peaceful evening scene. As we sat and smoked beside a towering pinnacle of volcanic rock a raven went sailing past us, with his croak, croak. I remember Professor McGillivray, in his "Natural History of Deeside," describes what was perhaps a not altogether dissimilar scene among the Cairngorms, and addressing a raven on a rock beside him calls him "poor fellow".

September 12th.—Did nothing in particular to-day. We had church parade in the afternoon, Padre Campion officiating, and a mail consisting almost entirely of parcels, every second one smashed up till it could not be delivered. Stephen and I have arranged to go to Panagheia to-morrow, and we walked out to a spot at the foot of the hills to order ponies, donkeys, or whatever they had, for our trip. When there an old Greek came riding in on a donkey with two panniers full of grapes, to which he asked us to help ourselves, they cost him nothing and he would make us welcome to as many as we liked at the same price. I ate a pound at least and still felt hungry. He said when this island was Turkish the taxes were very heavy, then the Greeks came along and they became worse, but he had been a sailor and a good deal in England, so he always swore to the tax collector that he was an Englishman and exempt from all taxes, so he has never paid a penny. We got more grapes from him, by purchase this time, big, luscious ones at 6d per kilo. We ate at our hardest while the Greek looked out big bunches that could be tied together, and for these he wanted, in Greek fashion, to charge an extra 3d. "Damn you for a greedy devil," says Stephen, we dived into his pannier and each had another big bunch, paid him, and returned to camp where we had a really good dinner—roast chicken stuffed with oatmeal and onions, beans, stewed pears, Vermouth, and three half bottles of champagne (from the Medical Comforts pannier!), then port and nuts (the former from ditto), and ended with cigars and Egyptian cigarettes. We had not dined so well since we left Alexandria.

I believe to-day is the first day since we left England on March 18 that we have not seen the sun. As we were leaving the pony depot we fell in with Atlee of the Munsters who had been at Panagheia, and he says a pony is no use except for a bit of "swank," you have to walk practically the whole way beside your animal.

Thomson went into hospital to-day. He has been ailing for some weeks, and looks thin and far from well.

September 13th.—A red letter day. Last night we had a few showers, and in the morning as the sky was overcast we at first decided not to go to Panagheia, but as the blue sky began to break through by 9 we set off and were mounted on our shelties by 10. These we picked up at the edge of the mountains, beyond the camping ground. A dozen or two of animals—ponies, donkeys, and mules—were ready saddled, the owner of each pushing his way forward when he saw a likely customer coming along, eager to display the good points of his animal. I got astride a pack saddle, a wonderful structure of substantial sticks and raw hide, with a big, comfortable cushion on the top, for stirrups a piece of rope, and bridle the same, without bit, the rope being merely twisted and knotted round the lower jaw.

We at once dipped into a deep valley, clothed on all sides in thick shrubbery, with plenty of trees in the lowest part, along which there was a tiny stream with occasional beautiful rocky pools. The trees here and all along were principally olives, figs, mulberry, and a few walnuts. The road was the merest track, littered with stones, and wound up hill and down dale. At first it was so bad that I thought it must surely lead soon to a better path, but little did I think what we were in for; we were soon among huge boulders, and nothing but boulders, up and down shelving rock, often 2 feet higher than the path, slithering over stretches of hard, bare rock, and all the time without a single stumble on the part of any one of our mounts. There were four of us—Stephen, Agassiz, Padre Campion, and myself—each with a guide dressed in blue material, and all sorts of head gear, and with the usual fold upon fold of cloth round the waist, shoes of raw hide with the hair outside, held on by twists of hide from the ankle to the knee, in proper brigand style.

The scenery soon became simply glorious, and my three companions, who all knew Switzerland, said it was exactly like that country, except for the absence of chalets. The hills rose on all sides, some to a height of 5000 feet, rough as possible, all volcanic of course, some looking as if they had belched out flames and smoke not so very long ago. One reminded me of Ben Sleoch as it rises out of Loch Maree, the same mass of rock atop, but here more rugged. Each mountain top and side was studded with enormous needle-like pinnacles and rough warty masses. It is strange how fertile these volcanic earths are, these high mountains were clothed with trees below, and had thick shrubbery almost to the top—mostly hollyoak, I fancy. The colouring of the rocks is very fine, the colours being warm reds, browns, purples, and yellows in one mingled mass.

By 11.30 we had crossed the highest part of our path, and a wide valley came in sight a mile or two off, great masses of olive trees, with a large village away ahead on a hillside, and after a little time our destination hove in sight, round the shoulder of a mountain on our right, nestling among trees of deep green colour. These turned out to be mostly mulberry which has a very luscious and cool looking leaf; no fruit unfortunately, its season was over. We passed along the picturesque streets of Panagheia, with their projecting windows and vine entwined balconies, to a place proudly labelled "Hotel Britannic, J. Christie, proprietor, a British subject". The Hotel London we had been warned to pass by, as the catering was not so good, and strange to say, when we returned to camp and the orders of the day were being read at supper, it was there announced that this hotel was out of bounds for the time being, the proprietor being of suspected nationality.

Stephen was at his best, and was the life of the party and of everyone we came across, and greatly amused our guides. One of the guides had his little son with him who was named Georgo by Stephen, who told the little chap that his own name was Stephanos. He mounted him behind his saddle, and when lifting him down at the first halt, he said, "You've done damnedo wello, Georgo". Georgo showed by a broad grin that he felt flattered.

Lunch was ordered in the fine hotel of J. Christie, which was upstairs over a cobbler's shop, and consisted of one very small room which we filled, with a larger one off it, and behind was the kitchen, only half of which was floored, and through the great gaping part you looked down to the back of the cobbler's premises, a place full of empty bottles and the abode of J. Christie's poultry. That was the whole establishment, but they could cook. J. Christie, being an Italian and not a Britisher, was an excellent chef, and soon prepared for us first-rate soup, then boiled partridge which was likely a chicken from the hole I have mentioned. Then came the dish of the day—honey omelettes, which were brought in one at a time, glorious creations over which we poured delicious drained honey. They were so good that Stephen gave the order that they were to go on turning them out till he told them to stop. Each had two big ones, and after each you felt hungrier than ever. The wine of the country we of course also had, one called Morea not unlike champagne. Then cheese and Turkish coffee, after which we set off to view the village. We landed at the school when it chanced to be play time, but we went through the rooms followed by all the scholars, fine bright boys and girls, and Stephen with a piece of chalk showed them some new method of multiplication, which was far more complicated than the old way we all know. In a hall they had two large pictures, one of Venezelos, who they declared was good, the other of Gunariz who was bad. One little chap was the son of the local doctor and spoke French well. He said his father was a graduate of Paris University.

It was altogether a most enjoyable day, the padre saying it was the day of his life. He was a good fellow the padre, and nothing delighted him more, he remarked, than to hear Stephen saying "damn," he put so much expression into the word.

We commenced the return journey at 4.45 when the colouring of the mountains was perfect, and the padre always insisted on dismounting to take a sketch of some particularly fine scene. He got ahead of us one time when we came upon him seated on a big stone in a rough watercourse, surrounded with oleanders and sketching a peep of a grand mountain between two nearer ridges.

When we returned we found Sir Ian Hamilton had inspected our Ambulance, and made himself pleasant all round.

September 14th.—A cold wind blew all day—from the north of course. Saw the sun only occasionally.

I took the Lancashire Fusiliers Sick Parade this morning, when 215 presented themselves as sick—every fourth man. I expect the order of the day had included a route march. There is nothing Tommy hates more than a route march.

September 15th.—The nights get still colder, and this forenoon was like an October day at home, but later it was bright and warm without a breath of wind. Our airmen made the most of the calm spell and took out the only airship we have here and circled about for at least two hours, with a fast monoplane scouting in case of reprisals. The sun is at present sinking in the west and the evening colouring among the mountains makes one long for everlasting peace, there is too much discord between such scenes and our errand out here.

September 16th.—Just as I got out of bed at 7 am some one called out that a Taube was dropping bombs. It dropped four a short way from us. It was at a great height and got a good peppering from our ships in the harbour. In about fifteen minutes it returned, or it may have been another aeroplane, and let loose five or six bombs at the G.O.C. in C.'s H.Q. where, I afterwards heard, five men were wounded. It was heading straight over us, but the fire again got too hot for it and it made off to the south, but it was most daring and persistent and put in a third appearance, when one of our monoplanes, a very fast machine, went up and we expected some fun. After ascending in large spirals they got on the same level when the Taube turned round and faced our machine, both now at a very great height, and both evidently firing at each other, when suddenly our machine dived down at a tremendous speed. We of course thought the airman or his plane had been disabled. We heard in the evening that his gun jammed, and being helpless he wisely cleared out.

Stephen and I were to take the whole Ambulance to Panagheia, and I went early to the Lancs. to get their Sick Parade over. Stephen promised to assist and was to be up early too, but he turned up last for breakfast, and I had inspected two companies before he arrived.

Nothing eventful happened on our 6 or 7 mile march across the mountains. Big, threatening thunderclouds, with rain on the high peaks before us, rather detracted from our enjoyment, and the Greeks we met pointed to the clouds and with a descending motion of their hands prophesied rain. However, it never did rain and the afternoon was perfect. The Greeks followed us with pony loads of grapes (Staphila, they call them), pomegranates, and figs, and we fared well. A pony in front of us tumbled down a steep incline and we straightway wished to buy its load which was scattered everywhere. I picked up a lot of figs which were dead ripe and delicious. The black grapes of these parts would be difficult to beat, and I must have eaten 3 lbs. of these on our way.

After halting the men beyond the village, and having lunch to which they were allowed beer, a luxury which few of them had tasted for many months, Stephen and I went to a small village half a mile further on. Many go from Panagheia to Castro, a fishing village, but our little place was off the beaten track and quite unspoiled. We entered a primitive cafe where we had a cup of good coffee, served as usual in a very tiny cup with a big tumbler of water. Two Greek policemen were sipping their coffee and playing cards, and we managed to enter into conversation with them and some other loafers. Many of the old women were spinning about their doors, and we saw some of their work. Their wool (goat's) when carded is very fine and fluffy, but the material when woven is hard and looks as if it would wear for ever.

Next we sat down in front of what we thought was a school and made a sketch of it. It turned out to be the church of Sainte Varvara. The school is alongside, and the dominie had eyed us and came over and took us through the church. We thought he was a verger, and Stephen wished to purchase every holy relic in it. Then we tipped him a few coppers, and tapers were accordingly lit and planted in a basin of sand. All the Greek churches we have seen are very ornate and tawdry, with a multitude of pictures and tall candlesticks. The pulpit towered till it almost touched the low ceiling. The centre of the churches is always vacant, and round this space there is always a row of high-backed seats. I fancy the difference between the Greek and Roman churches is not great. Both give much prominence to the Virgin and Child, but I am told that one of the differences is that the former does not regard the Virgin as a Saint. A number of saints were pictured here, including Sainte Varvara, to whom the building is dedicated.

We next looked into the school, a tumble down place, but clean and tidy, and with about forty bright, neatly dressed children. Stephen was delighted at the sight and beamed on them all, and yelled and laughed, gave a little chap a sum of multiplication on the blackboard which he did correctly, then he had to show him his new and more complicated way of getting the answer. This new method is very peculiar, but the two answers were identical, to the astonishment of the dominie, who was apparently able to follow the steps. "Now," says Stephen, "I want all the children to say 'Venezelos good' and to give him a cheer." This was done most heartily. "Now, say Gunariz bad." This time, I think, they did not understand what was wanted of them; however, with a little persuasion from Stephen and the dominie they got through it in a mild way. There was something refreshing and homelike in our visit to the kiddies. They all jumped smartly to their feet as we were leaving. The dominie accompanied us up the street, where we admired the trees laden with clusters of beautiful red-cheeked pomegranates. I had never seen this fruit growing before, but here every garden was full of it.

We next stopped to watch a woman spinning inside a doorway, with an instrument like a fiddle bow—either that or she was carding the wool with it, this being in fluffy billows about her on the floor. She asked us to enter—all by signs of course. We had a look round her kitchen which was very clean, the fireplace and articles about being mostly not unlike what one could see at home. In a corner was a broad, low divan on which she threw some cushions, on which we sat with our legs tucked under us, which we supposed was the correct fashion, and what was expected of us. She next got us two small glasses of brandy, a saucer with a few small biscuits and two tumblers of water, and placed all neatly on a small table with a cover. The brandy was strong and scented, and not much to my liking; however, I drank it and felt grateful to this good soul for her hospitality and showing us a little Grecian home life. At one side of the room there was a part shut off by a curtain which we concluded was a box-bed, but Stephen had a look in and found it full of shelves with blankets and articles of clothing. "But where do the devils sleep?" Stephen kept on saying, and by resting his head on his hands and snoring he tried to get the woman to understand that he was curious as to this point. Her demeanour at once changed, her temper was up, and we cleared off down the street.

September 20th.—There has been nothing to take note of during the last few days. The Lancs. Fusiliers have occupied a good deal of my time, their Sick Parades varying from 215 to fifty-seven. We have had a few visits from Taubes, mostly after dark, one dropping two bombs yesterday, and the night before we had six. The hangar seems to be their objective. Two others we heard approaching last night but they never came over us, they could see we were on the alert by the amount of our fire, and some red rockets went off high in the air.

To-day should end our holiday to Imbros, but as it blows a gale we have been notified that this has been postponed. In the afternoon Agassiz and I had a delightful walk up a valley that was new to us. It was a mass of huge rocks and boulders, with an attempt at a stream which would be a raging torrent in winter. We came on a curious geological formation, which we thought could be nothing but fossilised trees, but how a tree came to be in the middle of a lava rock was a puzzle. We soon found many others and saw that, however, this shape came about, trees were not the foundation. Each consisted of a large number of concentric circles exactly like the rings in a tree stump, some fully 3 feet in diameter.

On our way back we had a good view of Achi Baba—of unpleasant memory.

We had two padres to tea, Beardmore being one of them. They told us how Turkish snipers were paid—20 piastres for a lieutenant, 40 for a captain, 80 for a lieutenant-colonel, but if a Staff officer was shot the sniper got shot himself—not very flattering to our Staff.

If you meet a Greek on a fine day his usual greeting sounds like "kalumaera". It was only to-day that I discovered this was the modern pronunciation of kale hemera, and on greeting a man in the ancient form he stood up and wondered what I meant, then said, "No, no". He explained that all aspirates are dropped in modern Greek. They use the word "su" for water, but they also understand the ancient word hudor. Many of the accents also seem to have changed.

September 22nd.—We reached our old camp at Suvla about 9 p.m. yesterday, after a pleasant crossing, and a good meal of tea and coffee, ham and eggs before disembarking. We watched the usual Turkish "evening hate" from our place of safety on board, the shells bursting in places we could recognise. One fell in the sea not far from us as we marched from the Beach in the dark. To-day we had a large number of shells just round us.

I had an order early this morning to join the Lancs. Fusiliers, and after breakfast set off in search of their lines. I was directed to various places where the North, South, and Royal Lancashire Regiments lay, but it cost me a whole hour to find our Fusiliers. They are in reserve, with the supports and firing lines just in front of them, all on the steep slope of Hizlar Dagh. During Sick Parade we had to keep ducking from shells, the Turks evidently having discovered that the 86th Brigade was once more among them. As I was passing through the Dublin lines on my return to our base two shells fell just beyond them when de Boer shouted to me to take shelter under a projecting rock where all their officers had retired for safety, but before I got in another shell landed almost in the centre of their line, among some very thick scrub, which had prevented pieces from flying far. As I passed this spot when things had got a bit quieter I asked one of the men if none of them were hit. "No," said Paddy, "but we smelt the pouther."