waiting--for nothing. And every day we lost men. Men were killed by
snipers as they went up to the trenches. The Turkish snipers killed
them when they went down to the wells for water.

The whole thing had lost impetus. It came to a standstill. It kept on
"marking time," and nothing appeared to move it.

In the first three days of the landing it wanted but one thing to have
marched us right through to Constantinople--it wanted, dash!

It didn't want a careful, thoughtful man in command--it wanted dash
and bluff. It could have been done in those early days. The landing
WAS a success--a brilliant, blinding success--but it stuck at the very
moment when it should have rushed forward. It was no one's fault if
you understand. It was sheer luck. It just didn't "come off"--and only
just. But a man with dash, a devil-may-care sort of leader, could have
cut right across on Sunday, August the 8th, and brought off a
staggering victory.




CHAPTER XIX


THE RETREAT


It happened on the left of Pear-tree Gully.