was the Newfoundlanders' ally. When reinforcements
arrived, Donnelly's eight men were reduced to two. Dawn showed the havoc
wrought by the gallant little group. The ground in front of the post was
a shambles of piled-up Turkish corpses. But daylight showed something
more to the credit of the Newfoundlanders than the mere taking of the
ridge. It showed one of Donnelly's men, Jack Hynes, who had crawled away
from his companion to a point about two hundred yards to the left. From
here he had all alone kept up through the whole night a rapid fire on
the enemy's flank that duped them into believing that we had men there
in force. It showed Hynes purposely falling back over exposed ground to
draw the enemy's attention from Sergeant Greene, who was coolly making
trip after trip between the ridge and our lines, carrying a wounded man
in his arms every time until all our wounded were in safety. Hynes and
Greene were each given a distinguished-conduct medal. None was ever more
nobly earned.

One Saturday morning near the end of October, 1915, the brigade major
passed through our lines. Before we took over the trench the occupants
of the firing-line threw their refuse over the parapet into the short
underbrush. Since coming in we had made a dump for it. I was sent out
with five men to remove the rubbish from the underbrush to the dump, and
this despite the fact that a short distance to our right we had just
lost two men sent over the parapet in broad daylight to pick up some
cans.

[Sidenote: The writer is wounded.]

About nine in the morning we started. It was about half-an-hour's work.
There was no cover for men standing. The small bushes hid men lying or
sitting. Every little while I gave the men a rest, making them sit in
the shelter of the underbrush. We had almost finished when the snipers
somewhere on our left began to bang at us. I ordered the men to cover,
and was just pointing out a likely place to young Hynes when I felt a
dull thud in the left shoulder-blade and a sharp pain in my chest. Then
came a drowsy, languid feeling, and I sank down first on my knees, then
my head dropped over on my chest, and down I went like a Mohammedan
saying his prayers. Connecting the hit in the back with the pain in my
chest, I concluded that I was done for, and can distinctly remember
thinking quite calmly that I was indeed fortunate to be conscious long
enough to tell them what to do about my will and so forth. I tried to
say, "I'm h