my view.  Next, a battalion from Suvla came across as supports.  The Turks meanwhile had got the range to a nicety; the shrapnel was bursting neatly and low and spreading beautifully—­it was the best Turkish shooting I had seen.  The battalion was rather badly cut up, but a second body came across in more open order than the others, and well under the control of their officers; they took advantage of cover, and did not lose so many men.  The fight was more like those one sees in the illustrated papers than any hitherto—­shells bursting, men falling, and bearers going out for the wounded.  The position was gained and held, but there was plenty of work for the Ambulance.

There were very few horses on the Peninsula, and those few belonged to the Artillery.  But at the time I speak of we had one attached to the New Zealand and Australian Headquarters, to be used by the despatch rider.  Anzac, the Headquarters of General Birdwood, was about two and a half miles away; and, being a true Australian, the despatch-carrier declined to walk when he could ride, so he rode every day with despatches.  Part of the journey had to be made across a position open to fire from Walker’s Ridge.  We used to watch for the man every day, and make bets whether he would be hit.  Directly he entered the fire zone, he started as if he were riding in the Melbourne Cup, sitting low in the saddle, while the bullets kicked up dust all round him.  One day the horse returned alone, and everyone thought the man had been hit at last; but in about an hour’s time he walked in.  The saddle had slipped, and he came off and rolled into a sap, whence he made his way to us on foot.

When going through the trenches it is not a disadvantage to be small of stature.  It is not good form to put one’s head over the sandbags; the Turks invariably objected, and even entered their protest against periscopes, which are very small in size.  Numbers of observers were cut about the face and a few lost their eyes through the mirror at the top being smashed by a bullet.  On one occasion I was in a trench which the men were making deeper.  A rise in the bottom of it just enabled me, by standing on it, to peer through the loophole.  On commending the man for leaving this lump, he replied, “That’s a dead Turk, sir!”

ARTILLERY

Watching the Field Artillery firing is very interesting.  I went one day with General Johnstone of the New Zealand Artillery to Major Standish’s Battery, some distance out on the left, and the observing station was reached through a long sap.  It was quite close to the Turk’s trenches, close enough to see the men’s faces.  All directions were given by telephone, and an observer placed on another hill gave the result of the shot—­whether under, over, or to the right or left.  Errors were corrected and the order to fire again given, the target meanwhile being quite out of sight of the battery commander.