e were no troops to spare in
those days--the line was but thinly held, and, if the Turks broke
through anywhere, the whole position must be involved in disaster.

The day dragged slowly on to early afternoon. Then their troop was
stirred into animation and excitement by the information that they and
two other troops were to make a counter-attack "Light as possible,
fifty rounds of ammunition only... First and second trenches ... some
machine guns and a few Turks... Clear them out and come back," were
the orders.

They filed silently and with set faces to their assembly positions.
They were in for something serious. They had all seen the waves of
advancing Turks in the early morning dissolve away. Mac thought he
didn't mind how soon peace was declared, and felt a bit tired of the
war, but, still, here was their first real, live chance. A heavy
covering fire had been opened all round the Anzac lines, and the enemy
replied with equal force. His troop slipped over the parapet, and lay,
awaiting the word, among the many dead, Turkish and Australasian, of
last night, and of three weeks earlier. Minutes passed slowly, five,
ten, twenty, thirty--what on earth did this mean? The sun blazed
fiercely on the flattened figures, the smell was awful, and the fire
slackened not a bit. Mac had examined his breech a dozen times,
adjusted and readjusted his ammunition to facilitate its easy handling,
and had made certain several times of the firmness of his bayonet. He
had thrown away his bayonet scabbard. It was long and might trip him
up. If he came back he could recover it; if he didn't--it wouldn't
matter. He had heard it said that waiting was the worst time of all,
and he longed to be off, even into that hail of bullets which whizzed
low over his head.

More minutes marched funereally by, and then he heard in the trench
behind the sound of voices, and an order passed along the line to
clamber back into the trench. Surely there was some mistake, thought
Mac, but no, it was repeated, and they wormed themselves back over the
parapet, gathered hazily that the attack had been deemed inadvisable,
and sauntered tiredly back to their old place in the communication sap.
Talking it over later. Smoky and the Trooper came to the conclusion
that the cancelling of the attack was the best thing that had ever
happened for them. Theirs would have been the fate of the enemy in
their shattered attacks of the previous night, though,