The daring and resource of the
sharpshooters made them a deadly peril. One man caught in a tree wore
a head covering and cloak formed of leaves. Another was found in a
khaki uniform, stripped from a dead British soldier. The most
perplexing feature of the sniping was that shots often came from the
scrub behind. One of the victims of these tactics was Lieutenant E.M.
Harper, of the 7th Royal Munster Fusiliers, who, while advancing with
his company on August 9th, fell from a rifle shot fired from the rear.

The men of all the Irish battalions suffered from this game of
hide-and-seek with death as they lay in the trenches on Dublin Hill.
Relief came to them in the early hours of the morning of Friday,
August 13th. They left at 1.30, and marched seven miles to a rest camp
in a gully of Karakol Dagh running down to the Gulf of Saros, which
they reached at 4.30, and a footsore, sleepy, haggard, unkempt,
bedraggled, hairy, unwashed, and unshaven crowd they were. They owed
this bivouac to the success of the Munsters and Royal Irish Regiment
in expelling the Turks from part of the ridge. When dismissed in the
camp every man, officer and private alike, flung himself down in the
open where he was and as he was, and had his first undisturbed sleep
for a week. In the morning they had the luxurious experience of
getting out of their clothes and plunging into the sea. How they
revelled in it, after that awful week of forced marches, battle,
flies, smoke, stench, and sweat! What laughter and splashing! The
shouts and the merry jests and their accents made the scene just such
a one as might be witnessed at home in a swimming pool under Howth or
Bray Head.

Afterwards the chief desire of all was to write home. As the men lay
almost naked on the warm sands, under the scorching sun, many a letter
was written to loved ones in Ireland, each telling how he got safely
through his baptism of fire--the best news he could possibly send--and
what a grand name his battalion had made for itself. Words of comfort
and cheer are freely used in such of the letters as have been made
public. "I'm happier than ever I was; it's just the sort of life I
like." "You can't realise what high spirits I am in when I'm fighting.
I feel as if it were all one long exciting Rugger match." "Don't you
fret, I'll get through it all right; and even if I fall, sure we'll
all meet again in the next world after a few brief years."

To call the camp a "rest" camp is, perha