Among the leaders were Ken and Dave, who struggled along, side by side, still untouched amid the pelting storm of lead.

But although the ranks were sadly thinned, the attackers were not to be denied.  In a living torrent, they poured into the second trench.

There followed a grim five minutes.  The Turks who were in considerable force, made a strong effort to hold their ground, shortening their bayonets and stabbing upwards at the attackers.  It was useless.  The Australians and New Zealanders, savage at the loss of so many of their comrades, fought like furies.  Ken had a glimpse of a giant next him, literally pitchforking a Turk out of the trench, lifting him like a gaffed salmon on the end of his bayonet.

It was soon over, but this time there were very few prisoners.  Almost every man in the trench, with the exception of about a dozen who had bolted at the first onset, was killed.

‘That’s settled it,’ said Dave gleefully, as he plunged his bayonet into the earth to clean it from the ugly stains which darkened the steel.

‘That’s begun it,’ corrected Ken.

‘What do you mean?’

’That we’ve got to hold what we’ve won.  You don’t suppose the Turks are going to leave us in peaceful possession, do you?’

‘I—­I thought we’d finished this little lot,’ said Dave rather ruefully.

’My dear chap, I’ve told you already that Enver Bey has at least a hundred thousand men on the Peninsula.  By this time the news of our landing has been telephoned all over the shop, and reinforcements are coming up full tilt.  There’ll be a couple of battalions or more on the top of the cliff in an hour or two’s time.’

‘Then why don’t we shove along and take up our position on the top?’

’We’re not strong enough yet.  We must wait for reinforcements.  If I’m not mistaken the next orders will be to dig ourselves in.’

‘But we are dug in.  We hold the trench.’

’Fat lot of use that is in its present condition.  All the earthworks are on the seaward side.  We have little or no protection on the land side.

‘Ah, I thought so,’ he continued, as the voice of Sergeant O’Brien made itself heard.

’Dig, lads! dig!  Make yourselves some head cover.  They’ll be turning guns on us an’ blowing blazes out of us as soon as the day dawns.’

Blown and weary as they were, the men set to work at once with their entrenching spades.  It was in Egypt they had learnt the art of trench-making, but they found this rocky clay very different stuff to shift from desert sand.

The order came none too soon, for in a very few minutes snipers got to work again.  There were scores of them.  Every little patch of scrub held its sharpshooter, and although the darkness was still against accurate shooting there were many casualties.

‘They’re enfilading us,’ said Ken.  ’They’ve got men posted up on the cliff to the left who can fire right down this trench.  It’s going to be awkward when daylight comes.’