nly think of him whom we had left on Hunter Weston Hill, with his
feet toward the sea, lying out there in the cold and the quiet. O
God, when should I get used to it?

CHAPTER XVII

THE END OF GALLIPOLI

Sec.1

Wandering down the Gully Ravine one morning, I encountered a long
line of men marching up it in single file. I passed as close to them
as possible, so that, by a glance at their shoulder-straps, I might
ascertain their regiment. No sooner had I learned who they were than
I turned about and hurried back to Monty's dug-out. This life holds
few pleasures so agreeable as that of conveying startling news.

"Who do you think's marching up the Gully?" I demanded.

"I don't know. Who?" asked Monty.

"The Munster Fusiliers!"

"What? The immortal 29th Division? From Suvla. The dickens! What
does it mean?"

Before we could decide what it meant my batman came back from a
visit to the French canteen at Seddel Bahr.

"They're landing hundreds of troops at V Beach, sir," said he. "The
Worcesters are here, and the Warwicks."

"The 13th Division," exclaimed Monty. "Also from Suvla."

"They're reinforcements," said I. "It's all in accordance with the
Special Order of the Day that we are to 'hold Helles for the
Empire.'"

Monty was just about to pulverise me with a particularly rude
rejoinder, when a voice outside called "Hostile aircraft overhead,"
and we were drawn at a run to the door by the unmistakable sound of
anti-aircraft guns, followed by the bursting out of rifle and
machine-gun fire, which grew and grew till it sounded like a mighty
forest crackling and spluttering in flames. We glanced into the sky
at the shrapnel puffs, and immediately discovered two enemy
aeroplanes flying lower than they had ever done before. We could
almost see the observers leaning over the fuselage to spy out if the
British on Helles were up to the monkey tricks they had played at
Suvla. So low were they that all men with rifles--the infantry in
their trenches, the A.S.C. drivers from their dumps, the transport
men from their horse-lines--were firing a rapid-fire at the
aeroplanes and waiting to see them fall.

"Cheeky brutes!" I shouted, and, observing that our batmen were
hastily loading their rifles, ran for my revolver, determined to
fire something into the air.

"It's like us," growled Monty, "to land reinforcements under the
very eyes of the enemy aeroplanes--" He paused, as though a new idea
had struck him. "Ru