So, worrying anxiously, I gave the order “D Company—­march!” and led the way up Artillery Road, while the men, observing that the other companies were proceeding in comparative safety along the Gully, began to sing quietly:  “I’ll take the high road, and you’ll take the low road ... and we shall never meet again,” and to titter and to laugh.

“Silence!” I commanded.

Hearing only the padding of our feet as they marched in step, and keeping our eyes on the ground that we might not miss the beaten track and wander into the heather, we tramped along the trail which I had taken on my wild ride to Doe’s bedside.  We passed Pink Farm Cemetery, barely distinguishing the outline of its solitary tree.  We left the “White City” on our right.  It was brilliantly lit, that the Turk might think everything was as usual on Helles.  We reached the summit of Hunter Weston Hill, and looked down upon a still grey plain, which was the sea.

On the slope of the hill, not fifty yards from where Doe was lying, I had halted my men and was making them sit down, when a voice out of the darkness asked: 

“Who’s that?”

My heart bounded with fright.  A sense of the eerie was upon me, and for a second I thought it was Doe’s voice.

“D Company,” I called hollowly, “10th East Cheshires.”

“Ah, good!” repeated the voice, which was Monty’s.  And he stepped out of the night, giving me another nasty turn, for it was like some unexpected presence coming from the darkest corner of a room.  He sat down beside me, and began to talk.

“The moon is due up about midnight.  They want to get us off before moonrise, so that the Turk may not shell us by its light.  His aviators are expected to try night-flying.”

“Oh!” said I. I was thinking of other things.

“But they’ve been shelling us pretty effectively in the dark.  Asiatic Annie is very busy troubling the beaches.”

“Oh?” I said again.

And at that moment a flash illuminated the eastern sky like lightning.

“There you are,” said Monty.  “She’s fired.”

No sound of a gun firing or a shell rushing had accompanied the flash.  Only alarm whistles began blowing from different points on the hillside.

“They’re blown by special sentries,” explained Monty, “who are posted to watch the hills of Asia for this flash, and warn the troops to take cover.”

“Take cover,” I said to my men.

The shell was on its way, but, as it had a journey of seven miles to make across the Dardanelles, a certain time must elapse before we should hear the shriek of the shell as it raced towards us.  It seemed an extraordinary time.  We knew the shell was coming with its destiny, involving our life or death, irrevocably determined, and yet we heard nothing.  The men, under such cover as they could find, were silent in their suspense.  Then the shell roared over our heads, seeming so low that we cowered to avoid it.  It exploded a score of yards away.  A shower of earth rained upon us, but no splinter touched anyone.  The men whistled in their relief and laughed.