c. All traces
of the morning gloom had gone; and, to the troopers, accustomed so long
to the low, barren sand-dunes of Egypt, these high Gallipoli hills and
islands, bathed in the glory of an AEgean evening, brought memories of
other coast-lines, Cook Strait maybe, or the Great Barrier.

The fellows crowded along the landward rail, and, with or without
glasses, endeavoured to discover battle-signs and the positions of our
men. There were across the steep green hillsides several great scars,
where the scrub was withered and the bare earth showed; but surely our
main line was over that high ridge, for reports stated that the army
corps had penetrated several miles. The artillery was awakening to its
evening activity, field guns could be seen firing, and shells bursting
on high crests. Heavy shells, learned later to be those from the
_Goeben_ in the Dardanelles Channel, shrieked occasionally out of the
unknown, and sent up great geysers of water near a four-funnelled
cruiser to the right. A steady staccato of rifle fire floated faintly
from the heights.

The evening shadows deepened to darkness; the stars shone brightly, and
against them the land stood in a black, shapeless mass.

Many lights from the bivouacs on the seaward slope gleamed like a
miniature Wellington across the water. War seemed difficult to
reconcile with so serene and perfect a night.

Two destroyers came alongside, one on the port, the other on the
starboard. Struggling with their unwieldy equipment, the troopers
filed down the gangways on to them. Mac sat down by the engine-room
manhole and listened to great and wonderful stories from the leading
stoker of dashes up the Narrows, long patrols in winter storms, and
thrilling times during the landing.

They spun away shorewards. The hills loomed blacker overhead and the
dim staccato of rifle fire became a ceaseless rattle.

Spent bullets buzzed past and hit the water with a "plop." This was
interesting, and, with a thrill of pleasure, Mac felt at last he was
under hostile fire. For days--indeed, for months--he had been worried
internally by a great doubt. Would he be a funk? He was in a
frightful funk lest he should be one, and to him this was a matter of
great concern, though he mentioned it to no one, not even to Smoky. He
wondered whether his cobber was affected in the same way, but thought
not, as he was so keen to get to the front. So he had felt a little
ashamed. Well, anyhow,