Pear-tree Gully was a piece of ground which neither we nor the Turks
could hold. It was a gap in both lines, swept by machine-gun fire and
haunted by snipers and sharp-shooters.

We had advanced right up behind the machine-gun section, which was
hidden in a dense clump of bushes on the top of a steep rise.

The sun was blazing hot and the sweat was dripping from our faces. We
were continually on the look-out for wounded, and always alert for the
agonised cry of "Stretcher-bearers!" away on some distant knoll or
down below in the thickets. Looking back the bay shimmered a silver-
white streak with grey battleships lying out.

In front the fighting broke out in fierce gusts.

"Pop-pop-pop-pop!--Pop-pop!" went the machine-gun. We could see one
man getting another belt of ammunition ready to "feed." Bullets from
the Turkish quick-firers went singing with an angry "ssss-ooooo! zzz-
z-eeee! . . . whheee-ooo-o-o! zz-ing!"

"D'you know where Brigade Headquarters is?" asked the adjutant.

"I'll find it, sir."

"Very well, go up with this message, and I shall be here when you come
back."

I took the message, saluted and went off, plunging down into the
thickets, and at last along my old water-course where I had crawled
away from the sniper some days before.