tralians, should on the stroke of 5.30 fix bayonets
and storm Krithia and Achi Baba. At 5.15 the men-of-war went at it hot
and strong with their big guns and fifteen minutes later the hour glass
of eternity dropped a tiny grain labelled 5.30 p.m. 8.5.1915 into the
lap of time.

As that moment befell, the wide plain before us became alive. Bayonets
sparkled all over the wide plain. Under our glasses this vague movement
took form and human shape: men rose, fell, ran, rushed on in waves,
broke, recoiled, crumbled away and disappeared.

At the speed of the minute hand of a watch the left of our line crept
forward.

On the right, at first nothing. Then suddenly, in the twinkling of an
eye, the whole of the Northern slopes of the Kereves Dere Ravine was
covered by bright coloured irregular surging crowds, moving in quite
another way to the khaki-clad figures on their left:--one moment pouring
over the debatable ground like a torrent, anon twisted and turning and
flying like multitudes of dead leaves before the pestilent breath of
the howitzers. No living man has ever seen so strange a vision as this:
in its disarray; in its rushing to and fro; in the martial music, shouts
and evolutions!

My glasses shook as I looked, though I _believe_ I seemed very calm. It
seemed; it truly seemed as if the tide of blue, grey, scarlet specks was
submerging the enemy's strongholds. A thousand of them converged and
rushed the redoubt at the head of the Kereves Dere. A few seconds later
into it--one! two!! three!!! fell from the clouds the Turkish six
inchers. Where the redoubt had been a huge column of smoke arose as from
the crater of a volcano. Then fast and furious the enemy guns opened on
us. For the first time they showed their full force of fire. Again, the
big howitzers led the infernal orchestra pitting the face of no man's
land with jet black blotches. The puppet figures we watched began to
waver; the Senegalese were torn and scattered. Once more these huge
explosions unloading their cargoes of midnight on to the evening gloom.
All along the Zouaves and Senegalese gave way. Another surge forward and
bayonets crossed with the Turks: yet a few moments of tension and back
they fell to their trenches followed by salvo upon salvo of shell
bursts. Night slid down into the smoke. The last thing--against the
skyline--a little column of French soldiers of the line charging back
upwards towards the lost redoubt. After that--darkness!

Th