"Sheer murder," said Hawk.

No sooner had he spoken than a high explosive from the Turkish
positions on the Sari Bair range came screaming over the Salt Lake:
"Z-z-z-e-e-e-o-o-o-p--Crash!"

They lay there like a little group of dead beetles, and the wounded
were crawling away like ants into the dead yellow grass and the sage
bushes to die. A whole platoon was smashed.

It was not yet daylight. We could see the flicker of rifle-fire, and
the crackle sounded first on one part of the bay, and then another.
Among the dark rocks and bushes it looked as if people were striking
thousands of matches.

Mechanical Death went steadily on. Four Turkish batteries on the
Kislar Dargh were blown up one after the other by our battleships. We
watched the thick rolling smoke of the explosions, and saw bits of
wheels, and the arms and legs of gunners blown up in little black
fragments against that pearl-pink sunrise.

The noise of Mechanical Battle went surging from one side of the bay
to the other--it swept round suddenly with an angry rattle of maxims
and the hard echoing crackle of rifle-fire.

Now and then our battle-ships crashed forth, and their shells went
hurtling and screaming over the mountains to burst with a muffled roar
somewhere out of sight.