If there was one thing that showed our unpreparedness for war on a large scale, it was the neglect to anticipate accommodation for wounded. This did not apply only to the New Zealanders--British, French, Colonial and Indian suffered alike. The regimental medical officers and stretcher bearers did more than mortal men could be expected to do. But a man hit up on Walker's Ridge or at the head of Monash Gully, after receiving his field dressing at a sheltered corner of a trench or in the regimental aid post, had to be carried in the heat, down bullet-swept valleys and along the dangerous beach. Here the surgeons and orderlies of the Field Ambulances redressed the wounds, gave the men something to eat and drink, and placed them out of the sun, away from the torturing flies. Even in these Field Ambulance dressing stations men were not immune from the shrapnel which swept the beach. The Turk could not be blamed for this, as we had, of necessity, to place our hospitals wherever there was room. Streams of men constantly arrived, some walking, many on stretchers--Zionists with tears streaming down their faces, determined Colonials and pathetic-looking Indians--wounded in our cause, now separated from their fellows, and miserable because they could not understand the sahibs' language. [Illustration: [_Lent by Capt. Boxer, N.Z.M.C._ THE TRAGEDY OF THE ANZAC WOUNDED. Men, sick unto death, lying in the scuppers; tired, suffering, uncomplaining men with bloodstained kits, and wounds that became septic before Alexandria was reached.] When night came, the picket boats would move into the little Red Cross wharves, and the wounded men were carried to the barges. When a tow was ready, the picket boat started on its journey for the hospital ship or transport. The high ground surrounding Anzac Cove ensured that bullets clearing the crest went many hundred yards out to sea. Some days, when Turkish firing was brisk, the sea was whipped into a white foaming line where the bullets splashed angrily into the water. Through this barrage of singing bullets the Red Cross barge must go. Picket boats or trawlers could not dodge from place to place like soldiers in Monash Gully, so they had to risk it, and take it in their course. [Illustration: [_Lent by Capt. Boxer, N.Z.M.C._ HOSPITAL SHIP AND HOSPITAL CARRIER IN MUDROS.]