ps, a misnomer. It certainly
afforded no refuge from the flies. "There is a fellow near me doing
nothing but killing them in millions," writes one of the Dublins. "I
had ten in a mug of tea as soon as it was handed to me," says another.
This place of shelter was not safe even from the Turkish guns. As many
as twenty-five men were knocked out by a shell. But such as the camp
was, the stay of the Irish in it was very brief indeed. On the morning
of Sunday, August 15th, they were ordered to take up positions on the
ridge above them, and wait for the word to go forward and attack.
Though "burned like a red herring, and just as thin and thirsty," as
one of the officers of the 7th Dublins said, describing himself and
giving a comic picture of them all, they were again in good physical
condition. And they had need to be. For they were now assigned a task
that was to demand of them more fortitude and resolution and a bigger
toll of life than even the taking of Dublin Hill.

It was fortunate, then, that on that very Sunday, August 15th, the
great Irish Catholic festival of Our Lady's Day, the Catholic members
of the forces were able to reinforce themselves with that sustaining
power which the Mass and Holy Communion impart. The services were held
by Father W. Murphy, one of the chaplains, under the sheltering hill,
in the open air, not only within sound of the guns, but within sight
of the bursting shells. It was a rudely improvised altar--a stone laid
on trestles, a crucifix, and two candles--and the priest in his khaki
service uniform under the vestments. Many of the men thought of the
village chapel at home on that fine Sunday morning. They saw the
congregation, all in their Sunday best, gathered outside, and while
waiting for the bell to stop, exchanging gossip about the war, and
inquiring of one another what was the latest from the Dardanelles,
about Tom, and Mike, and Joe. The familiar scene was distinct to their
mind's eye, and their beating hearts kept time to the measured tones
of the chapel bell. After the Mass they were given the General
Absolution. "It was very impressive," says Sergeant Losty, of the 6th
Dublins, "to see Father Murphy standing out on the side of the hill,
and all the battalions, with their helmets off and holding up their
right hands, saying the Act of Contrition and he absolving them."

At this point it is appropriate that I should refer to the cordial and
intimate relations which existed between