Then an extraordinary thing took place. My rifle was tilted over and the bayonet stuck in the back of a Turk who was huddled up in the bottom of the trench. The first I saw of him was when my bayonet struck him. I looked to see if he was dead, but he never moved. I don’t know whether I killed him or not, but if he wasn’t dead he was a good actor. I had been about two minutes--it may have been longer--in getting my rifle clear of the wire, and all that time, for it seemed long, I was alone. When I pulled myself together and went on again in the trench I came face to face with a Turk who was coming from the opposite direction. He seemed to be mad, and made a lunge at me with his bayonet; but it was broken and no good to him. He saw that and turned to run away. As he did so I bayoneted him in the back, and he fell. I could have shot him, but my magazine was empty, for I had been firing a lot. I passed the Turk and then I found our chaps. It seemed a good distance from where I got into the trench to where I found them--I know I had to go round one or two bends. When we got together again--and it was a joy to be back with my chums--we were ordered to line the trench. I don’t know who gave the order, but it wasn’t an officer. I was the end man of the line, and we were firing hard when a bullet came, and all I knew was that I could not see and that I was lying on the floor of the trench, with one of our chaps bandaging me--I don’t know who it was. I was left there while they went on firing. I don’t know how long I was lying there; but I was terribly thirsty, and drank two bottles of water--my own and one I took from a dead man near me. I could not see him, but I felt by groping about his equipment that he was a British chap. There were not enough of our men to hold the trench, and they were forced to retire and leave me. The Turks came up in the trench, and I heard them shouting something like “Garrah! Garrah!” though it may have been “Allah! Allah!” They were fearfully excited, and I thought it was all up with me then. I never gave myself any hope. The Turks were running about the trench, looking for our chaps. They ran over me, no doubt thinking I was dead. I was lying on my side, with my hands covering my head, holding the bandages to stop the blood from coming out. I had to do that, because it was only a field-dressing. I knew then that I had lost my eyes. I felt as if all the bones in my body were broken with the Turks running over me and stepping on me. After some time had passed the Turks settled down a bit, not being so excited, and then they began to search the trench and examine the bodies and men in it. Seeing that I was not dead, they propped me up and began searching my pockets. They were talking away, but, of course, I could not understand them. They were not rough just then, but they were afterwards, when I was being led out. They took my pay-book and photographs and everything I had.