To-night is “X” night. The order from the beach arrives. All are called to attention. We march off, through the Main Supply depot, down into the trench, over the open space of West Beach, along the pier. A short pause here, of ten minutes, and then in single file we pass up the gangway over the sunken ships which act as a breakwater to the little harbour, and so on board a paddle-steamer. In half an hour she is full. It is a lovely moonlight night. We steam out into the bay, come alongside a small steamer, and file on board her. I go up on deck and view the scene of Suvla Bay by moonlight. I can hear the crack of the rifles from inland—and also voices from the beaches; now and again a torch is flashed as a lighter crunches upon the beach. With a soft swishing sound, a lighter glides past us to some other ship. The whole bay and foreshore is bathed in moonlight, and as I look, all those eight months of hardships, gloom, and danger pass in review before me. A feeling as of a great burden being lifted off my mind comes over me, and a sense of extreme gladness that at last the long-drawn horror is past—and what horror! “Never again!” I think to myself. “Never again!” I look towards Anzac and notice that the whole sky is aflame—the stores are alight. Probably a stack of supplies which has caught fire by mistake. And then, as I look, a curious mist arises, low at first, off the sea—as if with an invisible hand, a cloudy cloak is slowly draped over the whole Peninsula. First Suvla, then Anzac and the coast line become blotted out, and I see now nothing but a grey mist. Suvla Bay and its horrors, its hopes, and disappointments are lost to my sight for ever—for by the time the mist has dispersed the ship has moved away. _December 18th._