Carver has just arrived from Helles on a mission quite apart from the scheme of evacuation. To our surprise he is unaware that we are evacuating, and tells us that all at Helles are also ignorant of the coming event. No preparation of any kind is being made to evacuate Helles. He leaves again to-night, back for Helles. The 86th Brigade and part of D.H.Q. are now moving off. I go to “Y” forming-up post, just at the foot of our gully, and view the scenes there. The beaches have been shelled this afternoon. If they but drop a few over this evening they cannot fail to claim many victims. Shadowy figures march up in perfect order and form up. Roll-calls are made, sharp commands issued: “Stand at ease!” “Stand easy!” whereupon the figures talk, lean on their rifles, or lie down resting on the ground. Elphinstone is going off with his Brigade, as he is their Supply Officer. I make him up a box of the plentiful medical comforts, including a few bottles of champagne for his Brigade H.Q. to feast on while on board. I say good-bye to many friends in the Brigade, as the order to move down is telephoned up from West Beach to the officer at the receiver attached to “Y” post. Troops are called to attention, and in two deep they march down towards the beach, entering the safety of the trench that has been dug there, pass in safety behind the mounds of earth and the small, rocky promontory, and file along the pier in single file up a gangway on to a small paddle-steamer, which sails out to the bay to the waiting ship. I listen to the chatter of the Dublin Fusiliers, to their philosophical comments on the situation, and feel glad for them that they are seeing the last of this damnable campaign. One of them has heard “on good authority,” and tells his friend, “that they are bound for Aldershot.” I leave them and walk back. No shells come over. Inland I hear the steady crack, crack, crack of the rifles. I turn into bed. Our Brigade, the old 88th, alone of the Division is left in the line. _December 15th._