he fire fight was
raging. From the bridge we got a fine view as our guns were being
focused on and about the north-west coast. The cliff line and half a
mile inland is shrouded in a pall of yellow dust which, as it twirls,
twists and eddies, blots out Achi Baba himself. Through this curtain
appear, dozens at a time, little balls of white,--the shrapnel searching
out the communication trenches and cutting the wire entanglements. At
other times spouts of green or black vapour rise, mix and lose
themselves in the yellow cloud. The noise is like the rumbling of an
express train--continuous; no break at all. The Turks sitting there in
their trenches--our men 100 yards away sitting in _their_ trenches! What
a wonderful change in the art,--no not the art, in the mechanism--of
war. Fifteen years ago armies would have stood aghast at our display of
explosive energy; to-day we know that our shortage is pitiable and that
we are very short of stuff; perilously short.--(Written in the cabin of
the _Colne_.)

Jimmy Watson met me on the pier. He is Commandant Advance Base. Deedes
also met me and the whole band of us made our way inland to my battle
dugout. This is probably our last onslaught before the new troops and
new supplies of shell come to hand in about a month from now. We have
just enough stuff to deal with one narrow strip by the coast. Had it not
been for some help from the French, we could not have entered upon this
engagement at all, but must have continued to sit still and be shot
at--rather an expensive way of fighting if John Bull could only be told
the truth. Now, although the area is limited the battle is a big one,
fairly entitled to be called a general action. As I said, the French are
helping Simpson-Baikie in his bombardment; the Fleet are helping us with
the fire of the _Scorpion_, _Talbot_ and _Wolverine_, and Birdwood has
been asked to try and help us from Anzac by making a push there to hold
the enemy and prevent him sending reinforcements south. On their side
the Turks are making a very feeble reply. Looks as if we had caught them
with their ammunition parks empty.

I went into the dugout indescribably slack; hardly energy to struggle
against the heat and the myriads of flies. I came out of it radiant. The
Turks are beat. Five lines of their best trenches carried (or, at least,
four regular lines plus a bit extra); the Boomerang Redoubt rushed, and
in two successive attacks we have advanced 1,000 yards. Our