On duty at depot at 6 a.m. I find one shell has pitched in my Supply dump during the night, leaving a jagged splinter a foot long, and 4 inches in its widest part. Ugh! those naval shells. At eleven o’clock shelling starts again, and we have it hot and strong for an hour and a half. The transports get it as well from the hill, and one ship nearly gets holed. Moon, one of the Signal Officers, riding up the beach has his horse killed under him, and he himself is wounded in chest and leg. Not seriously, but he looks pale and frightened. Very few casualties, as people keep under cover pretty well. During the shelling, this morning, one of the hospital marquees catches fire, but not through the shelling, and is burnt to the ground. A Turkish prisoner had dropped a smoking cigarette on some muslin. The marquee contained Turkish wounded, but I think that they were all saved. Joy of joy! Allah be praised! and glory be to God! a real plum cake and chocolate just arrived from home. What joy to get your teeth into a slice! _Evening._ Since noon the day has been quiet, and Asia has left us alone. Over Imbros the golden sun is slowly setting, and above, the clouds are a lovely orange red. A strong wind is blowing in from the sea, which is very rough, necessitating the suspension of the landing of supplies and ammunition. Casualties in Monday’s battle were 2,500, Australians and New Zealanders included. These, at Anzac, engaged enemy while the 29th Division attacked, in order to keep some of them away from us. They, however, made no progress their side, and were not expected to. Their casualties were 500. A Turkish officer who was captured said that if we had pressed forward all along the line we should have taken the hill, as reinforcements of one division that the Turks were expecting did not arrive. They have since arrived. However, this may have been a yarn. Last night was very quiet. _July 2nd._