rocks and scrub in search of the hidden Turk.

The smell of human blood soaking its way into the sand from those two
"stiffies" on the beach. The sullen silence, except for the distant
crackle and the occasional moan of a shell. The rain which came
pelting down in great cold blobs, splashing and soaking our thin drill
clothes till we were wet to the skin and shivering with cold.

We were all thinking: "Who will be the first to get plugged?" We moved
slowly along the ridge, searching every bush and rock for signs of
wounded men.

We wondered what the first case would be--and which squad would come
across it.

I worked up and down the line of squads trying to keep them in touch
with each other. We were carrying stretchers, haversacks, iron
rations, medical haversacks, medical water-bottles, our own private
water-bottles (filled on Lemnos Island), and three "monkey-boxes" or
field medical companions.

Those we had left on the beach were busy putting up the operating
marquee and other tents, and the cooks in getting a fire going and
making tea.

The stretcher-squads worked slowly forward. We passed an old Turkish
well with a stone-flagged front and a stone trough. Later on we came
upon the trenches and bivouacs of a Turkish sniping headquarters.
There were all kinds of articles lying about which had evidently
belonged to Turkish officers: tobacco in a heap on the ground near a