On the way back we sit for a while in front of Hill 138 and have a long look at the beautiful country lying between us and Achi Baba. Through glasses we notice some precipitous slopes in front of Achi Baba, and wonder how long the day will be before our troops will be storming them. Not a sign of the enemy can be seen: just now and then little white puffs of shrapnel, now from our guns over their lines, and now from theirs over ours. Now and again the French “75’s” bark out, bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang—bang-bang. About as rapid as a machine gun. The F.O.O. (Forward Observation Officer) watches the enemy as a cat does a mouse. Any sign of life in an enemy trench, such as the sight of shovels appearing over the parapet and earth being thrown up, a body of Turks moving across the open behind their lines, or a new communication trench that appears in course of construction, is immediately telephoned to the battery commander at the guns, and before it is possible to count sixty seconds, half a dozen shells burst near or on the target. No target appears too small or too insignificant for them, and ammunition is plentiful. A great pile of shells in boxes is tidily stacked against the walls of Sed-el-Bahr fort, and the stack steadily grows. We are not in the same fortunate position with our ammunition. On April 27th, when I was at “V” Beach, I saw a “75” battery being hauled up from the shore. I was standing amongst some French soldiers, and one standing next to me turned to me and pointed to the guns, saying “Soixante-quinze, bon—eh?” He looked upon them with pleasure and almost awe. Then I did not appreciate their immense worth, but now I do. We strolled back in the evening, had a peaceful dinner, and at night, but for fitful bursts of rifle fire, all was quiet. Mowatt, my friend of Birmingham days, looks in to have a chat, but his conversation is rather depressing to us all. If his theories are right, then we are stuck here in front of Achi till the end of the war—or driven into the sea. A listener to one of his arguments puts forward the theory that if we had effected a landing at the Bulair Lines, the Peninsula, being cut off from Turkey in Europe, would automatically have fallen into our hands; but that theory is immediately exploded by the knowledge of the fact that at present Chanak, on the Asiatic side, is the main source of supply, via Maidos on the Peninsula separated as they are from each other by under a mile of the water of the Straits, easily crossed by regular ferries. From Chanak we believe that the enemy receives nearly all his ammunition, stores, supplies, and reinforcements, which are ferried to Maidos and transported from there by pack-mules to their army on the Hill. We have seen convoys of pack-mules now and again on the slopes of Achi Baba, but they seldom show themselves, for fear of the heavy shells from the guns of the Fleet. But they must swarm over each night.