Still the Turk did not know that we had left. He saw the tents of our hospitals standing, but the deserted appearance of the beaches must have made him wonder. The morning wore on. Puzzled, a few venturesome Turks peeped over the parapets of the trenches. Nothing happened. They climbed over the top, walked over No-man’s-land into the deserted trenches, and the secret was discovered. We had evacuated—lock, stock, and barrel—under their very noses. Down the roads they came in small parties. A few muffled noises were heard, by which the watchers of this strange drama from the battleships knew that the bombs that we had laid cunningly were claiming victims, fighting our battles for us without our being on the field. And so they came to Lala Baba, and some German officers, with a characteristic insult to their brave ally, hoisted the German flag as a token of a German “victory,” though the honours of the day were with the Turk. He, however, had won not by beating us, but by our being beaten by Nature—the impregnable fastnesses of the mountains of Suvla Bay and the Gallipoli winter storms. How a Turk could allow a German flag to be hoisted is beyond comprehension. One day Germany will fall shamefully to the dust in the eyes of her Oriental ally, and Turkey must beware of that day, on which she can expect no mercy. The last crowded ships arrive at Mudros Harbour. The shore becomes thronged with Australian troops, who, more fortunate than ourselves, are bound for Egypt, while we, after lunch, embark on the _Partridge_, and sail off with our General once more for the Peninsula. It is a chilling, depressing voyage to Helles, a journey made by me now for the third time. I hope it will be my luck to make it yet a fourth time, for that will be after the war. We have a meal off rations that we have brought with us. The boat is crowded with troops, and they do not seem very cheery. Night falls. At eight o’clock we see in the distance the starlights sailing up and down inland, on the Peninsula, though it is hard to discern the outline of the shore. Soon the lights of a hospital ship are discernible ahead. Suddenly, two flashes are seen, one after the other, from the Asiatic side; two booms of guns are heard, about fifteen seconds after, followed by two piercing shrieks, and the shells burst with a bright flash of flame on “W” Beach. And so we are in it once more. Shortly after, we see the dim outline of the shore. We heave to and anchor off “V” Beach. After a wait of half an hour, lighters come alongside, on which we get and are towed to a pier running out from “V” Beach, which now, in addition to being protected from the strong currents of the Dardanelles by the _River Clyde_, is protected from the outer sea by a sunken French battleship, the _Massena_. In consequence, the water inside the pier is like a millpond, while outside a heavy swell washes against the sides of the two ships. I am on “V” Beach once more. It does not seem to have altered much since I