We continue our way, passing down another trench, and shortly after come out into the open in a lovely glade of grass and trees situated in dead ground, protected by a little hill in front called Gun Hill. On its slopes we once more enter a trench, which encircles the hill, very similar to the ramparts of an ancient castle. It is a little fortress on its own, standing aloof from the system of trenches situated behind our front line, but in front of our support line, yet blending in with the uneven lie of the land, thereby not making a conspicuous target. At intervals are machine gun emplacements, with machine guns in position, pointing through apertures in the sand-bagged breastwork. At the first that we come to we find the sentry not looking out. I shall never forget the frightened look on his face as it meets Morris’s suddenly appearing around the corner of the sand-bagged wall a few inches from him. He gets a stiff “strafing.” We continue our way, and at the next emplacement come upon a sentry who presents a unique object. For his head is covered by a sand-bag, through which are holes made for his eyes and mouth. To this headgear are fixed sprigs of gorse-bush, and as he stands stock-still, with his head and shoulders filling the gap in the breastwork, it must be impossible for an enemy observer to detect his presence from the background of gorse and trees. Yet if he is detected a sniper has him for a dead certainty. It is so far safe for such sentries, however, for up to now no casualties have occurred amongst them from a sniper’s rifle. Morris asks, “Is everything O.K.?” and the sentry, without looking round, replies, “All’s well, sir.” I stand beside the sentry and look at the view in front of me—a beautiful view of sloping hills up to the heights of the cliffs which overlook the sea; and on their slopes I see distinctly the irregular light-brown lines of thrown-up earth, denoting the Turks’ front-line trenches and ours, running opposite each other to the summit of the cliffs, about three hundred yards apart. We are six hundred yards from the enemy line, and can be certain victims for a Turkish sniper should he be aware of our presence. From this position at night sometimes the Turk receives the contents of belt after belt of machine gun ammunition poured on to his second and third line and communication trenches by indirect fire, ranged by day, causing him great inconvenience and to wonder from where the bullets come.