Brigadier-General Ryrie, the brigade-major, Major Foster, and the staff captain, Captain Pollok, were all wounded. Of the fifty New South Wales officers of the brigade who landed on Gallipoli, the orderly-officer, Lieutenant Hogue, and the adjutant of the 6th Light Horse, Captain Somerville, were the only two who had not been killed, wounded or sick. A great many officers who had been sick and wounded, after a month or two in hospital returned to duty. The landing of the 3rd Brigade, and the subsequent terrific three days' fighting on the heights of Gallipoli by the 1st, 2nd and 3rd Brigades made Wolfe's exploit on the Heights of Abraham sound like a picnic. The thrilling capture of Lone Pine by the 1st Brigade was one of the finest exploits of the war, while the splendid defence of that stronghold by the 2nd Infantry Brigade and the 2nd Light Horse Brigade against the repeated counter-attacks of the Turks was worthy of all praise. The magnificent charge of the 2nd Infantry Brigade down at Helles made the British and French troops thrill with pride. The charge of the 1st Light Horse Brigade at Walker's Ridge was a glorious sacrifice. Australians have every reason always to be proud of the first fights of her First Division. CHAPTER XXV SHELL GREEN THE NEW WARFARE--ALTOGETHER UTILITARIAN--ITS HUMOUR AND PATHOS--THE LUCK OF THE GAME--GOD'S ACRE--AERIAL WARFARE--GALLANT DEEDS--GENERAL RYRIE My dug-out overlooked Shell Green. From the comparative safety of this retreat I could sit and watch the pomp and circumstance of war, its pageantry and pathos. To be sure there was little that was picturesque in war as we saw it in Gallipoli. There was no martial music. The "thin red line" had given place to drab khaki. There were no fiery war-horses with tossing manes and champing bits, no dashing cavalrymen with flashing sabres. There were no gun teams, spanking bays and blacks, for we had to man-handle the guns up and down the hills into action. The nearest approach to a pageant was when the British fleet flew along the Ægean waterway, and fired some reverberating salvos at the Turkish batteries. Ashore all was strictly utilitarian; no ceremony, no display. It was midsummer, so we curtailed our trousers and wore shorts. Our shirts were sleeveless. Putties and leggings were mostly discarded. When out of the trenches shirts were usually considered superfluous. Our backs and arms and legs were so sun-tanned that the brownest of the beach surfers at Bondi would envy our complexions. So when on fatigues or off duty it was a tatterdemalion army that marched to and fro over Shell Green.