A strong, dominant personality was Tresilian, one of the very best troop sergeants that ever joined the Light Horse. He seemed to love the firing-line like home. He was quite fearless. Somehow he seemed to revel in the roar of battle. On one occasion the Turks sent a dozen shells at our little section of the trenches, smashing down the parapets, making the place a wreck, wounding two men, and half blinding, half deafening, half choking, half burying six of us. When I could see and hear and breathe again I saw Tresilian laughing merrily. "Hello, Bluegum," he said, "not killed yet?" He came from Humula, near Wagga, where his people were well-known farmers. Till a young man he remained on the farm, and was known throughout the district as a good "sport"--a good cricketer and footballer, and a fine rider and shot, just the typical Australian Light Horseman, though more sturdily built than the average. He tired, however, of the farm, and yearned for the freer life of the Western plains. So he tackled station life, became a station manager, rode over the whole of the north-west, went to the Northern Territory in search of pastoral lands, and when the war broke out was managing a station in the Boggabri district. He had seen service in South Africa, and he once more volunteered to serve the King. On Gallipoli his scouting and patrol work were excellent. He seemed to have a charmed life, for he had many narrow escapes in the open and in the trenches. On the day he was killed a bullet whizzed past his head, just wounding his cheek slightly. Later on he and Sergeant Paddy Ryan were putting barbed wire entanglements in front of our trenches. A sniper's rifle cracked. Ryan escaped. Tresilian fell dead. CHAPTER XXIII MAIL DAY RUM AND MAILS--"BATTLE OF MAIL RUM"--LETTERS FROM HOME--MARRIAGE NO FAILURE--AN UNFORGIVABLE LOSS--THE CLERGYMAN'S "LANGUAGE"--PAPER SCARCE--FAMINE IN ENVELOPES--"NO STAMPS"--FOOLING THE TURKS--"WELL OUT OF IT" "Serves 'em right, for sinking our mails and spilling our rum!" This remark broke from the angry lips of one of our Light Horsemen as our artillery inflicted a terrific bombardment on the enemy. The Turks replied vigorously, and the result was an inferno; shells bursting everywhere, gaping holes torn in the inoffensive earth, trench parapets levelled, soldiers slaughtered. Then, as our warships steamed up and added their quota to the conflict, the trooper reiterated, "Serve 'em right!" For a moment we wondered what he was driving at. Then we remembered that a few days ago some unlucky Turkish shells had landed on a barge coming from one of the supply ships to Anzac, and had sunk it. This caused us but slight concern till we found out that several casks of rum were spilled, and 250 bags of mails from Australia were sent to the bottom of the sea. Then, as our ships' guns sent another salvo, we too exclaimed, "Serve 'em right."