Before dawn word came that the whole force had been safely taken off, together with many of the mules and horses and guns which it was thought would have to be abandoned. At dawn the Turkish batteries opened a wild bombardment of our trenches, all along the line. Marvellous to relate the enemy had not yet ascertained what had happened. But the silence soon told them the truth. Then they charged in irregular lines over the skyline at our empty trenches. The warships fired a few salvoes at the enemy swarming over the hills, and they hurriedly took cover in our old trenches. These were the last shots fired over Anzac at the Turks. Then the flotilla turned its back on Gallipoli and swung slowly and sadly westward. So ended the great "get-away"; a feat quite unparalleled in the annals of war. Historians will pay tribute to Sir Charles Munro and the Fleet. We only take our hats off to General Birdwood and his staff and the staffs of the Australasian divisions. But deep down we know the wonderful work our navy did during the eight months of the Gallipoli campaign. The army may make mistakes, but the navy is all right. As we swing off our last thought is not concerned with the bitterness of defeat. We think of our comrades quietly sleeping on Anzac. They gave their lives gladly, proudly, for Australia and the Empire. They showed the world that Australians could live and fight and die like Britishers. There are many sad hearts on the transports to-night. And there are very many breaking hearts back in dear old Australia. But old England has showered so many good gifts on her Colonies. The Colonies will not grudge this sacrifice for Empire. Maybe our feelings are best expressed in the words of "Argent," written at the end of the most glorious failure in history:-- ANZAC Ah, well! we're gone! We're out of it now. We've something else to do. But we all look back from the transport deck to the land-line far and blue: Shore and valley are faded; fading are cliff and hill; The land-line we called "Anzac" ... and we'll call it "Anzac" still! This last six months, I reckon, 'll be most of my life to me: Trenches, and shells, and snipers, and the morning light on the sea, Thirst in the broiling mid-day, shouts and gasping cries, Big guns' talk from the water, and ... flies, flies, flies, flies, flies! And all of our trouble wasted! all of it gone for nix! Still ... we kept our end up--and some of the story sticks. Fifty years on in Sydney they'll talk of our first big fight, And even in little old, blind old England possibly some one might. But, seeing we had to clear, for we couldn't get on no more, I wish that, instead of last night, it had been the night before. Yesterday poor Jim stopped one. Three of us buried Jim-- I know a woman in Sydney that thought the world of him.