Up the deres, great wire gates had been erected so that if the force was attacked the gates would be shut down and the garrison left to its own resource--to fight where it stood and cover the retirement until 2 a.m., and then retire down the ridges to the beach. It would not be possible to come down the ordinary communication trenches in the deres, for on the sign of an attack, the great barbed gates were to be dropped into place in the entanglements and the deres themselves heavily shelled by the warships. The "last ditchers" were to be sacrificed for the army. There was no lack of volunteers. Australians and New Zealanders; New Army men and Yeomanry; men who had been there since the landing, and men who had recently arrived as reinforcements; men of Anzac and Suvla alike--vied with each other in the endeavour to become included in the "Diehards." These men--whether they came from Midlothian or Yorkshire, Queensland or far Taranaki--were all volunteers, proud of their race and the Empire, and convinced of their personal superiority over the seemingly victorious foe. Messages were left warning the Turk he was on the wrong side, exhorting him to look after our scattered graves and the unburied dead of No Man's Land, and promising to return again and punish all the allies of the Germans. A rear party of the No. 1 Field Ambulance was detailed to look after the wounded should disaster overtake the rearguard. They were each equipped with a surgical haversack containing field dressing and morphia. The dressing stations were left equipped with the necessary instruments, so that if the Turk did appreciate the situation and come over in force, the wounded might be tended by our own men. It was thought that life-boats from the Hospital Ships might be allowed to approach the shore and take away the serious cases. Luckily there were no casualties in the division, nor, in fact, in the Army Corps. [Illustration: WATCHING FOR THE TURK.] The day was fairly quiet, but at about 11 o'clock in the morning the kinema actors had so impressed the Turks that much heavy shell was dropped into the communication trenches leading from the beach, and into the gullies where the reserves usually bivouacked. Thanks to the great dugouts constructed for the winter, there were no casualties. At 4 o'clock that afternoon, the Turkish shelling increased very much in intensity. Was this a preliminary bombardment before the attack? But the shelling ceased with the sunset, and everything became normal once more. The Last Night. The sun went down that evening on a wondrously peaceful scene. The peaks of Samothrace and Imbros were bathed in the glow of a glorious golden sunset. The sea was unruffled by the faintest breeze. Faint wisps of clouds floated lazily across the sky, fitfully obscuring the moon. As soon as it was dark men became very busy.