see them slow suddenly as they get into protected territory. The sniping (they will tell you) is, curiously enough, worst at night; the Turk creeps forth into advanced sniping-positions, and even brings up his machine-gun within striking distance, and directs his aim by the horse's clatter. Despatch-riding, day or night, is known as "the dinkum thing." CHAPTER VI THE BLIZZARD One knows little of the times and the seasons at which the early Gallipoli winter plays its pranks. It is fairly gymnastic in its turns of temperature. Still, we never expected a snow-blizzard in November. For thus spoke the official weather-god (through the _Peninsula Press_) regarding that fair month: "November generally comes in fine, with a lovely first ten-days or so. It, however, becomes rather sharp at night, and there may be expected a cold snap in the second or third week of the month. This lasts a few days, after which the weather gets fine and warm until the end of the month. November is, in fact, considered by many to be the most glorious month of the year." ... Thus had it been a month to mark with a white stone. Instead, it marked itself with white stones that were many. The halting autumn was full of vagaries, but there was a persistent bitterness creeping in the wake of the fitful November gales: And all around me ev'ry bush and tree Says autumn's here, and winter soon will be-- That snows his soft white silence over all. We had foreseen the snow-drift no nearer than that. But on the Sabbath morning of the 28th of November we woke to find a Peninsula of snow, with snow-men bearing snow-rifles walking over the snow-ridges. This was the introduction of most of us to a fall. The nearest we had yet come to the meeting was at the "movies" which had shown Cossacks ploughing through their native drifts for the Front. Here was our first touch with reality in utter cold. The Australian has a reputation for adaptability of which not even cold can rob him. He moved about like any Esquimau. This was true, literally; for the first time he donned his rabbit-skin jacket and his Balaclava cap and peaked field-service. The resemblance to an Esquimau in his bear-skin coat and hood was remarkable. His curiosity worked complementarily to his adaptability. This was like seeing a new country for the first time. The snow made a new world, and no excess of cold was to keep him from examining and wandering. He sloshed about the gullies scrutinising the flakes as they lodged on his clothes; he climbed the ridges to see something more of the general effect. The Englishman regarded him from the stronghold of his snowy tradition with superior commiseration, as who should say: "This'll make the beggar hop!" The ill-starred Egyptians, never previously out of Lower-Egypt, literally and piteously wailed with the cold. The Australians mostly grinned and sky-larked.