Bless these M.L.O.’s!  Were we not indebted to them?  The mistake of one conceded us a visit to Suvla Bay, and the discourteous dismissal of another ensured that we should bear down upon Cape Helles, not, as normally, in a dead darkness, but in the bright light of an October morning.  I began to understand Monty’s unscrupulous opportunism.  It would be a wonderful trip, skirting by daylight the coastline of the Peninsula, till we rounded the point and looked upon the Helles Beaches, the sacred site of the first and most marvellous battle of the Dardanelles campaign.  It was a pilgrimage to a shrine that stretched before us on the morrow.  The pilgrim’s route was a path in the blue AEgean from Suvla Bay to Helles Point; and the shrine was the immortal battleground.  Enough; let us make the most of Suvla this day, for to-morrow we should see Helles.

Leaving the office, we sought out some shelter for the night.  We found a line of deserted dug-outs—­little cells cut in the sloping hillside, and scantily roofed by waterproof sheets.  It was now late in the afternoon, and no sooner had we thrown down our kit into these grave-like chambers than the Turk wiped his mouth after his tea and opened his Evening Hate.  There was the distant boom of a shell.  Before we could realise what the sound was, and say “Hallo! they’ve begun,” the missile had exploded among the stores on the beach.  That was my baptism of fire.  Without the least hesitation I copied Major Hardy and Monty, and went flat on my face behind some brushwood.  Only Doe, too proud to take cover, remained standing, and then blushed self-consciously lest he had appeared to be posing.

“Does this go on for long?” asked Monty of a man who, being near us, had hurled himself prone across my back.

“Don’t know, sir,” answered he, cheerily, as he picked himself up.  “Yesterday they sent down seventy shells, and killed six men and four mules....  Oh! there it is again.”

And our informant took up a position on his stomach, while a second shell shrieked into the stores.

“They’ve the range all right,” said Monty, as we all got up again.

“Yes, sir.  But they can’t have many shells left after yesterday’s effort.  They’re so starvation short that we reckon last night they had a surprise camel-load arrive.  But ain’t it plain, sir, that if the Germans could get through to the Turk with ammunition, they could send down ten thousand shells in a day and blow us into the sea?  That’s why the ’Uns are thundering along through Servia to Turkey now, sir.  They’re coming all right....  Oh! there it is again.”

Once more the soldier stretched his length on the ground, and a third shell tore towards us.

“As I was saying, sir,” continued our new friend, now on his hind legs again, and brushing dust from his clothes.  “This Suvla army, unless it can get to the top of Sari Bair, is faced with destruction, and they tell me the Helles army is just the same, unless it can get to the top of Achi Baba.  It never will now, sir.  And how can we quit without being seen from those hills?  The ’Uns know they’ve got us trapped.  That’s why they’re coming through Servia, ammunition and all.  They’ll be on us soon.”