The Turks cannot see the gully, but know that men are collecting there by the procession of them streaming over the skyline of the promontory. As we walk on towards the 88th Field Ambulance, about four more shells scream over the hill to the gully, which by this time is deserted; and as we sit in the ambulance waiting for a friend who is walking up with us to Brigade H.Q., the Turks increase their range and send a few nice fat, juicy ones over to the beaches. Leaving the ambulance, we walk down the slope to the Gibraltar road and meet Grant, our G.S.O.3, who has just come back from the trenches. He is in shorts, caked with mud up to his knees and thickly bespattered over the rest of his body, which gives evidence of the present state of the trenches, even though it is over ten days since the storm. He tells us that in fifteen minutes we are going to open fire with all guns on to the unfortunate Pimple. We continue our way up the Gibraltar road, when at four o’clock precisely the ships’ guns—with a roar that makes me jump, for I am again walking in a direct line from which they are firing—fire, and the great shells screaming overhead can be seen bursting with great violence on the insignificant geographical formation. Almost at once all shore batteries pour shells in rapid succession on to the small target of the Pimple, which disappears from sight under a great cloud of drifting dust and smoke of all colours. Arriving at Brigade H.Q., we find McLaughlin on the roof of his dugout looking at the show through glasses, and we join him. As is always the case when John Turk is being bombarded, the bullets become free and frequent, and “overs” begin to fly about us. We have tea with McLaughlin and sit around the nice brick open hearth, in which a log fire is burning, and chat. The General and Brigade Major are up at Gun Hill observing the show. Heavy gunning is heard in the south all the afternoon; at night the Turk sends a shell over our way at odd intervals, but in our gully we are practically safe, for his targets are usually the beaches. _December 9th._ Yes; the evacuation of Suvla is now a reality. I hear to-day that we have now begun the intermediate stage of the evacuation. It has been a reality for some days. The storm only delayed it. We have just completed the preliminary stage. We hear that it will be but a few days now when not a British subject will be left alive here unless as a prisoner. The shelling to-day is in fits and starts. High explosive shells are searching the beach, bursting well and with a louder explosion than in past days. But West Beach is well protected, and the steady shipment of vehicles and ordnance goes on all day. At night, empty ration carts go up to the line to bring back men’s surplus kits, blankets, surplus ammunition, and the surplus part of the usual accumulation of baggage that a regiment takes with it to the trenches and to dumps just behind.