“Damn the doctor!” I yelled, and disappeared.

Sec.3

It was quite dark in the fire-trenches by seven o’clock.  My men, with every stitch of equipment on their backs, stood on the firing-step and kept up a dilatory fire on the Turkish lines.

“Maintain an intermittent fire,” I ordered, as I walked among them.  “Not too much of it, or the Turk will think we’re nervy, and begin to suspect—­not too little, or he’ll wonder if we’re moving.”

In silence the relief of my company was effected.  The men of the 13th Division, who were taking over our line, replaced one after another my men on the firing-step, and kept the negligent fire unbroken.  With a whisper I officially handed over my sector to their company commander.

“You’ll follow us to-morrow, probably,” I said, to comfort myself rather than him.  I didn’t want the man who relieved me to be among the killed.

“What will happen, will happen,” he murmured.  “Good luck.”

“We shan’t be sure we’re really going,” I prattled on, lest silence became morbid.  “I simply can’t believe it.  Either we shall be killed, going from here to W Beach, or our orders will be cancelled at the last moment.”

“Pass the word to Captain Ray,” whispered a voice, “to march his men out.”

“Word passed to you, sir, to march,” said the sergeant-major.

“From whom?”

“Pass the word back—­who from?”

“From Commanding Officer.”

I walked to the head of my company.  “File out in absolute silence,” said I, not remembering at the moment that this was the great order of evacuation.  I watched my company file past me—­twenty-eight men.  Then I followed, wishing it were lighter, for man never quite outgrows his dislike of utter darkness—­and this was a nervous night.  We threaded guiltily through the old trench system, and emerged into the Gully Ravine, hardly realising that we had bidden the old lines good-bye.

Since dusk the Turk, as apprehensive as ourselves, had been shelling the Gully.  And now, as we splashed and floundered along it, shells screamed towards our column, making each of us wonder dreamily whether he would be left dead by the wayside.  We reached Artillery Road, and discerned the shadowy form of the remainder of the battalion.

A figure appeared from somewhere, and I recognised the voice as the C.O.’s.

“I shall take the other companies by the road under the cliffs.  Take your men over the tableland, and wait for me at W Beach.  We shall get there more quickly and less noisily that way.”

“Yes, sir,” said I, saluting.  But under my breath I swore.  I had no desire to take my men along the plateau, because, whereas the road under the cliffs was well sheltered, the tableland was exposed to all the guns on Achi Baba, every one of which—­so jumpy was the Turk—­seemed manned and firing.  And I had set my heart on getting my company—­all twenty-eight of them—­off the Peninsula without the loss of a single man.  The route, too, lay over Hunter Weston Hill, and I wanted to avoid seeing and thinking of Doe’s grave to-night.