And on the same date was received from the Secretary of State for War by Sir Charles Monro and duly posted: December 21st, 1915. His Majesty’s Government received your news with the greatest pleasure and wishes immediately to express to you and all under your command their high appreciation of the excellence of the arrangements for the withdrawal from “Anzac” and “Suvla,” and their warm admiration for the conduct of the troops in carrying out the most difficult operation of the war. They appreciate as fully the effective help which Admiral Wemyss and the navy as well as General Birdwood and the Corps and other commanders afforded you. The thanks of the government for this fine achievement are due to you and to all concerned, and I wish also to congratulate you personally. To these documents may be added not inappropriately perhaps the tribute of Edgar Wallace, an English poet, to the Anzacs. It reads: ANZACS. The Children unborn shall acclaim The standard the Anzacs unfurled, When they made Australasia’s fame The wonder and pride of the world. Some of you got a V. C., Some “the Gallipoli trot,” And all of you got it damned hot, And I see you go limping through town, In the faded old hospital blue, And driving abroad--lying down, And Lord! but I wish I were you! I envy you beggars I meet, From the dirty old hats on your head To the rusty old boots on your feet-- I envy you living or dead. A knighthood is fine in its way, A peerage gives splendor and fame, But I’d rather have tacked any day That word to the end of my name. I’d count it the greatest reward That ever a man could attain; I’d sooner be “Anzac” than “lord,” I’d rather be “Anzac” than “thane.” Here’s a bar to the medal you’ll wear, There’s a word that will glitter and glow, And an honor a king cannot share, When you’re back in the cities you know. The children unborn shall acclaim The standard the Anzacs unfurled When they made Australasia’s fame The wonder and pride of the world. EDGAR WALLACE. CHAPTER VIII AN INTERMISSION In the evacuation of “Anzac,” I had the honor, reserved for the men who had first landed, of being with those who left the tragic strip of territory the last. I was not a passenger on the very last barge, but if I recall correctly, about the third from the last. We went aboard the transport, _Andrines_.