At one o’clock the men on the battleships were silently roused and were served with a hot meal. They were very quiet and steady but cheery, and quite confident that they could give a good account of themselves in the coming fight. It was, indeed, a severe trial of strength, skill, and nerve power which lay before these brave colonials. They were not like the Germans or even the British regulars who had been trained for fighting over a long period. Yet these men from the farms and pastures as well as from the towns of the Southern Land had been selected for the post of honour on that great day. As soon as the meal was finished, orders were given to lower the boats. These included not only the cutters but also the steam picket boats which were to tow them to the beach. In a very short time the men had embarked to the number of 1500 and the boats were towed towards the shore. The battleships were cleared for action and steamed closer in. It was a few minutes before five o’clock when the first boats drew near to the shore above which towered a lofty cliff with a winding pathway leading from the beach to its right flank. At that moment a light was seen on shore which proved to be a signal, for a few minutes later a rifle volley rang out followed by the sound of a machine-gun, and a number of men in the leading boats fell dead or wounded. The landing of the Anzacs was to be disputed. This reception was exactly what the men needed to nerve them to their attack. A body of Turkish soldiers was seen advancing to meet them. Without waiting for the word of command they sprang from the boats into the shallow water, and ran to meet the foe. “Their magazines were not even charged,” we read, “so they just went in with cold steel, and I believe I am right in saying that the first Ottoman Turk since the Last Crusade received an Anglo-Saxon bayonet in him at five minutes after five a.m. on April 25. It was over in a minute. The Turks in the first trench were bayoneted or ran away and a Maxim gun was captured. Then the Australians found themselves facing an almost perpendicular cliff of loose sandstone.”[4] [4] From _Despatches from the Dardanelles_, by Mr. Ashmead-Bartlett (Newnes), with acknowledgments. Half-way up the face of this cliff was a second trench, from which a steady fire was now pouring from rifle and machine-gun. The face of the precipice was dotted with short bushes and behind each of these pieces of scrub a marksman was concealed. The fire from the enemy was directed not only upon those men who had already landed but also upon those who were now being brought from the transports.