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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Kangaroo Marines, by R. W. Campbell
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Kangaroo Marines
+
+Author: R. W. Campbell
+
+Release Date: February 1, 2009 [EBook #25452]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE KANGAROO MARINES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Al Haines
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: Cover art]
+
+
+
+
+
+The
+
+Kangaroo Marines
+
+
+By
+
+CAPT. R. W. CAMPBELL
+
+
+_Author of "Private Spud Tamson"_
+
+
+
+
+CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD
+
+London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne
+
+
+
+
+First Published 1915
+
+
+
+
+DEDICATED
+
+TO THE
+
+CONQUERORS OF ANZAC
+
+AND THE
+
+MANY KIND FRIENDS I MET
+
+IN
+
+AUSTRALASIA, EGYPT, AND THE DARDANELLES
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+I am not an Australasian, I am a Scot.  Therefore, I hold no special
+brief for the folks down under.  But I am an Imperialist--one filled
+with admiration for our overseas Dominions and the self-sacrifice of
+our colonial cousins.  They have played the game.  They have astonished
+the world.  They have even exceeded our own expectations.  Let us not
+stint our praise.  Let us write deep in the annals of our literature
+and military history this supreme devotion, this noble heroism.  And in
+the greater Councils of Empire let us see to it that these sons of the
+Motherland have a say in settling affairs.
+
+And I can claim at least the right to write about our gallant
+Australasians.  I have lived in Australia and New Zealand.  I have
+served on a Sydney paper and with the New Zealand _Herald_.  I have met
+every Premier (Federal and otherwise), from "Andrew" Fisher to "Bill"
+Massey.  And, during my stay, I made it my duty to study the Citizen
+Army--a National Service organisation.
+
+This was before the war.  And this army was founded by "K" and the
+Governments of Australia and New Zealand.  Did they see ahead?  One is
+almost tempted to think so.  In any case, the possession of a General
+Staff and the framework of a National Army ensured the rapid
+mobilisation of a voluntary force to assist the Motherland.  This force
+was armed, clothed, equipped and staffed from the existing military
+organisations in Australia and New Zealand.  You have heard of their
+courage at Anzac; you have read of how many have died.
+
+Anzac is the cope-stone of Imperialism.  It is the grim expression of a
+faith that is everlasting, of a love that shall endure the shocks of
+years, and all the cunning devilry of such as the Barbarous Huns.
+Hence this little book.  It is an inspiration of the Dardanelles, where
+I met many of our Australasian friends.  It is not an official history.
+I have, in my own way, endeavoured to picture what like these warring
+Bohemians are.  The cloak of fiction has here and there been wound
+round temperamental things as well as around some glorious facts.
+
+I hope I shall please all and offend none.
+
+R. W. CAMPBELL, _Capt._
+
+_October_, 1915.
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+CHAPTER
+
+  1. A NOTABLE QUARTETTE
+  2. MELBOURNE VERSUS SYDNEY
+  3. THE LAND OF SIN
+  4. TREASURE TROVE
+  5. SYBIL, THE SQUATTER'S GIRL
+  6. THE WISDOM OF "K"
+  7. THE LANDING
+  8. "HELL-FIRE POST"
+  9. A BRAVE NEW ZEALANDER
+ 10. VICTORY
+ 11. WHAT LADY READERS LIKE
+
+
+
+
+THE KANGAROO MARINES
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+A NOTABLE QUARTETTE
+
+WANTED.--One Thousand cheerful toughs to enlist for the period of the
+war in the Kangaroo Marines.  Boosers, scrimshankers and loonies
+barred.  Gents with big waists and little hearts are warned off.
+Sharpshooters on the wallaby, able to live on condensed air and boiled
+snakes, are cordially invited.  No parson's references are required.
+Jackaroos, cattlemen, rouseabouts, shearers--every sort of handy-man
+welcome.  Pay, 6s. per day, and all the "jewels" in the Sultan's harem.
+
+This is to be the crack corps of the Australian Force.
+
+Hurry up and join.
+
+(_Signed_) SAM KILLEM, _Lt. Col. Commanding_.
+
+
+This alluring advertisement appeared on the front page of _The
+Bushmen's Weekly_, a Sydney production, renowned for its wit and
+originality.  It was designed to tickle the sides of the horny-handed
+men of the Bush, and to rope in the best of them.  For these men of the
+Never-Never Land are soldiers born and heroes in the toughest job.
+They think deep and know the way of things.  If they appear wild and
+uncouth, they carry beneath that scrubby exterior the will of men and
+the open heart of the child.
+
+Moreover, they love the Motherland.  This was specially true of the
+four who tenanted a little shanty on the sheep station of "Old Graham,"
+one of the wealthiest men in Australia.  The quartette consisted of
+Bill Buster, a typical Cornstalk with a nut-brown face, twinkling eyes
+and a spice of the devil and the Lord in his soul.  Next came Claud
+Dufair, a handsome remittance man with an eye-glass and a drawl.  This
+fellow had personality.  He insisted on wearing a white collar and
+using kid gloves when doing anything, from dung lifting to sheep
+shearing.  Paddy Doolan was the third member.  He was an Irishman by
+birth, but Australian by adoption.  He had been in the Bush since he
+was a kid.  A kind soul was Paddy, with the usual weakness--the craving
+for the "cratur."  Fourth, and by no means least, was Sandy Brown, a
+Glasgow stoker, who had skipped away in a tramp from the Broomielaw
+because of another fellow's wife.
+
+A mixed bunch, these four, you will agree.  All with a history, part of
+it bad, but the main part certainly good.  It takes a good heart to be
+a Bushman.  Work is hard, the heat is trying, pleasures few, and the
+chances of wealth are only meagre.  But the Australian Bush has a lure
+of its own.  It calls the bravest and the best.  It calls and holds the
+men primed for adventure, unafraid of death, and full of that innate
+charm and gallantry which is always the particular prerogative of the
+wanderer.  No questions are asked in this land.  A man's soul is never
+probed, nor is he expected to reveal his birth, or the cause of his
+being there.  It is the place to hide a broken heart or mend an erring
+past.  But it is only a place for men.  And this quartette was full of
+the war.  They were itching to fight.  This advertisement, therefore,
+cheered their hearts and clinched their hopes.
+
+"Well, boys," said Bill, "this is our call.  We'd better join."
+
+"Hear, hear!" remarked the others.  That was all.  They immediately
+packed their swag for the road.  That afternoon they received their pay
+from the squatter.  While Buster, Brown, and Doolan said good-bye to
+the master and mistress on the veranda, Claud was kissing Sybil, the
+charming daughter of the house, a tender farewell.  For Sybil Graham
+loved the "English Johnny," as her friends called Claud.  Her love was
+returned--not in the way he had treated some women in England, but with
+that reverence which is born out of true affection.  This Englishman,
+despite his faults, had a veneration for the straightforward type which
+can be found in the Australian squatter's home.
+
+"Come on, Claud--here's the coach," yelled Bill from the veranda.  They
+embraced once more, then stepped out of doors.
+
+"Good-bye, boys--God bless you!" said old Graham with a husky throat.
+
+"Good-bye--Good-bye!" said his wife, with tears in her eyes, while
+Sybil had only strength to wave her arm to the fast disappearing figure
+of Claud as he drove with his friends to the railway station twenty
+miles beyond.
+
+"You're queer lookin', Claud," said Sandy, as they went down the road.
+
+"Shut up!" interjected Bill, who, like all Bushmen, had a true respect
+for the sentiment inspired by the dangers of war.  However, the sadness
+of parting was soon forgotten.  They were, also, cheered to see, coming
+over the plains, little groups of cookies, shearers and others, bent on
+their own errand.
+
+"Sakes alive! where's all you mad fellows goin'?" inquired the wizened
+old stationmaster.
+
+"Berlin," said Bill.
+
+"Ach sure, stationmaster, we're goin' to kiss the little darlints in
+the Sultan's harem."
+
+"Well, hurry up, boys; the train's ready."
+
+With a wild whoop fifty of them dashed for tickets, some "tucker," and
+a bottle or two of Scotch.  Into the train they jumped, and in a jiffy
+were rolling over the line to Sydney.  Song and story helped to cheer
+the long and somewhat tiring journey.  During a sort of lull in the
+proceedings Claud looked up and said: "Here, Bill, can't you recite us
+some of that impromptu sort of doggerel that you get into the Sydney
+weeklies now and then."
+
+"Well--yes," said Bill, rising and clearing his throat.
+
+"Order, order! ye sheep-eatin' blackguards," shouted Paddy, hitting a
+table with his riding-whip.  The gathering ceased their chatter, and
+Bill rhymed out:
+
+  "We're the Kangaroo Marines,
+  We're not Lager-fed machines,
+    But Bushmen, Bushmen, Bushmen from the plains.
+  We can ride, and we can cook,
+  Ay, in shooting know our book,
+    We're out to wipe off Kaiser Billy's stains.
+
+  "We're not trim--and not polite,
+  And, perchance, get on the skite--
+    We're Bushmen, Bushmen, Bushmen from the plains.
+  Yet though we can't salute,
+  We can bayonet and can boot
+    The wily, wily Turk from our domains.
+
+  "So when we ride away,
+  Off hats and shout 'Hooray'
+    For Bushmen, Bushmen, Bushmen from the plains.
+  And, parsons, say your prayers
+  That we may pass "Upstairs"
+    Should a nasty little bullet hit our veins.
+
+  "Now, boys, stand up and sing
+  God save our good old King,
+    And Bushmen, Bushmen, Bushmen from the plains."
+
+
+"Good, Bill, good!" shouted Claud, gripping the rough rhymster by the
+hand.
+
+"Hear, hear!" shouted the crowd.
+
+"Rot!  D---- rotten jingo slush!  What the hades has the King done for
+you and me?" roared a red-faced passenger at the other end of the car.
+This was none other than Bill Neverwork, secretary of the Weary
+Willies' Union and Socialist M.P. for the town of Wearyville.
+
+"Go an' boil yer old fat 'ead!" said Bill, calmly lighting his pipe.
+
+"Ye turnip-faced spalpeen, oi'll cut yer dirty thrapple wid my gully
+knife."
+
+"Rot!"
+
+"You beastly fellow!" said Claud, giving him a scornful look.
+
+But this Socialist gentleman was not to be denied.  He would speak.
+"Listen, boys," he roared above the din.
+
+"All right, father--we'll listen," said Bill, giving the others a nod.
+Peace reigned, then Neverwork commenced.
+
+"Boys, you've been fooled.  Why should you fight for Hengland----"
+
+"Britain, please--I'm a Scot," interjected Sandy.
+
+"Well, what has Britain done for Australia?  We don't want Hengland to
+hinterfere with our business and get hour boys killed.  We've enough
+work 'ere to do.  This is the working man's paradise.  And we can make
+it a sight bigger paradise.  We want more men like me."
+
+"'Ave a banana," chirped Bill.
+
+"Yes, mates; we want Socialism.  We're going to get a Republic.  We'll
+cut the painter.  Curse England!"
+
+"Britain, auld cock!" interjected Sandy again.
+
+"Curse Britain--and you, ye porridge-faced hemigrant!  It's the
+hemigrants that spoil this country.  Kick them out, I say.  Australia
+for Australians.  That's my motto, mates.  I know what I'm talking
+about.  I'm Bill Neverwork----"
+
+"B.F. for Wearyville," interjected Bill as he got up.  "And now, you
+puddin'-headed red flagger, if you'll sit down, I'll have a cut in."
+The bucolic M.P. collapsed in his seat, wiping the perspiration off his
+beetled brow with the aid of a navvy's red handkerchief.
+
+"Now, boys, you know me."
+
+"Good old Bill--give it him!"
+
+"This gent, what is called M.P., is a worm.  I'm a Union man--we're all
+Union men.  Andy Fisher's a Union man, and so is Pearce, the chap
+that's defending Australia.  But there's Union men and Union men.
+They're mainly good, but some are bad.  That's one of the bad ones
+there.  His name is Neverwork, and he never worked in his life.  He's a
+blowhard, a gasbagger, a balloon full of curses and twaddle.  This
+bloke thinks we're fools.  He's kidded his Union on that he's a smart
+fellow--a sort of High Priest of Salvation.  He's talked himself into a
+job, and he's drawing about five hundred a year out of another fellow's
+pockets.  He's called a Socialist to-day, but he'd call himself a Jew,
+a nigger, a polecat to-morrow, if, by doing that, he'd get a hundred
+more.  In short, mates, he's a politician--you know what that means.
+Now, Andy Fisher and Pearce don't shout like this thing here.  They're
+men, they're Australians.  They want us to fight side by side with the
+boys from the old country.  That's why we're here.  And we'll fight,
+and so much for a fat-headed M.P. that couldn't write his own name ten
+years ago.  This chap's an insult to Australia."
+
+"Hear, hear!" chorused all the Bushmen volunteers.
+
+"Listen, boys!  Listen!" roared the M.P. above the din; but they simply
+howled him down.  In the middle of this row Claud rose up, and putting
+up his hand, asked for order.  Again silence reigned.
+
+"Well, gentlemen--I mean, boys," said Claud, fumbling with his
+eyeglass, "I wish to make a motion----"
+
+"You're a new chum--sit down," roared Neverwork.
+
+"And that's why I want to speak," said Claud, in such a quiet, cynical
+way that the M.P. almost choked.  "I'm a new chum--yes.  And I am,
+also, one of the boys.  I'm in the Shearers' Union, too.  I have been
+treated well here--don't cher know, and here are my good friends.  And
+we're all going to fight, for what----"
+
+"For financiers and Jews," roared the M.P.
+
+"No, my apoplectic friend!  We're going to fight for Australia--not
+Britain--and we're going to fight to prevent fools like you handing
+this land over to German or Yellow men.  It's the proper thing, don't
+cher know.  Now, gentlemen----"
+
+"Not so much of the gentlemen," shouted Neverwork.
+
+"My dear friend, you were not included in the term.  I am addressing
+these gentlemen from the Bush.  You're too beastly dirty and lazy to be
+a Bushman," said Claud, adjusting his eyeglass and surveying the squat
+figure of the M.P. as if he were examining a maggot.
+
+"My motion, boys, is simply this, that we stop the train by pulling the
+communication cord, and hold the driver up for ten minutes.  Meantime,
+we might seize our political gasbag, secure him with a few bits of
+rope, hoist him out of the carriage, and tie him up to one of the
+signal posts, leaving a suitable inscription attached to his
+corporation, so that all the world shall know what a delightful idiot
+this gentleman--I mean politician--is."
+
+"Carried, be jabers!" roared Paddy Doolan, pulling the communication
+cord, while Bill, Sandy and some more, seized the Socialist.  He
+kicked, cursed, bit, screamed and wriggled, but to no purpose.  As the
+train slowed down, Bill jumped out, and, running along to the driver,
+held him up with a masonic wink and a Scotch refreshment.  The trussed
+form of the M.P. was then carried out of the train.  He was still
+cursing.  But the Bushmen quietly tied him to a signal post.  This
+completed, Claud pinned a great white sheet of paper with an
+inscription on it.
+
+"Good-bye, old cock," shouted the Bushmen, jumping into the train
+again.  The whistle blew, and as the train went slowly past the enraged
+captive, the eyes of all read the notice fixed to his waist:
+
+  "THIS IS NOT AN AUSTRALIAN,
+    HE'S A D---- FOOL.
+      (_Signed_) KANGAROO MARINES."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+MELBOURNE VERSUS SYDNEY
+
+Sam Killem, Commanding Officer of the Kangaroo Marines, sat in his
+Recruiting Office chewing a cigar in the usual Australian style.  Now
+and again he looked at his recruiting figures and smiled.  "Five
+hundred men in three days," he mused.  "Not bad for you, Sam; and good
+stuff at that"--for Sam was a judge of men.  He was a squatter and as
+rich as Croesus.  His big, bony frame spoke of strength, while his eye
+and face told the tale of shrewdness and resource.  He was forty, and
+successful.  Three hundred miles of land was chartered as his own.  His
+sheep were counted in thousands, and his brand as familiar as a postage
+stamp.  Yet, in all his struggles for success, Sam had found time to be
+a patriot.  He had served as a Tommy in the African War, and since then
+had commanded a corps of mounted men in the back of beyond.  He was the
+fairest yet fiercest, the most faithful and fearless man in the force.
+A man who disobeyed his orders always received a knock-out blow, for
+Sam boxed like a pro. and hit like a hammer.
+
+"Some more recruits, sir," said his sergeant-major, opening the door.
+
+"Right, Jones; show them in."
+
+The door closed on the now famous quartette--Claud, Bill, Paddy, and
+Sandy.  They were still in their rough bush-whacking clothes, while
+their eyes told the tale of a merry night before.
+
+"Well, boys--glad to see you."
+
+"We've met before, Sam," said Bill.
+
+"Guess we have, but cut out the 'Sam,' click your heels together, say
+'sir,' when you answer, and salute when you meet me.  I'm bossing this
+show.  And we can't have sheep-shearing familiarities--understand!"
+
+"Bit sudden like!" smiled Bill, trying to comply.
+
+"Not so sudden as death, or a shrapnel.  Now, to business.  You fellows
+look fit.  What's your names?"
+
+"Bill Buster's mine."
+
+"Age?"
+
+"About thirty--that's near enough."
+
+"Religion?"
+
+"Ain't got any."
+
+"That means you're officially C. of E."
+
+"What's that, Sam--eh--sir?"
+
+"Church of England--they father queer birds like you."
+
+"Now, your father and mother?"
+
+"None."
+
+"How's that?"
+
+"I was found as a kid on the Woolamaloo Road, with a newspaper for a
+bellyband and a rubber tit in my mouth.  The old woman who found me
+said I dropped from heaven."
+
+"The other's the most likely place.  Now, sign.
+
+"Right!  Next."
+
+Paddy Doolan described himself as an Irishman, born in Kerry, and an
+egg-merchant by trade.
+
+"Your religion?" asked Sam.
+
+"Sure, I'm a Catholic."
+
+"When were you at Confession last?"
+
+"It's a long time now, yer riverance; but if yis'll lend me a pound
+I'll have something worth confessing by early Mass to-morrow."
+
+"_Your_ name, now?"
+
+"Sandy Brown."
+
+"Where from?"
+
+"Glesca, sir."
+
+"Where's Glesca?"
+
+"The place whaur they mak' gunboats an' bailies."
+
+"Trade?"
+
+"Coal merchant--I mean stoker."
+
+"Married?"
+
+"Often."
+
+A few more questions settled Sandy.  Then Claud came forward, adjusting
+his eyeglass.
+
+"Better take that window out of your face, young fellow.  What's your
+name?"
+
+"Claud Dufair."
+
+"Father?"
+
+"Lord Dufair."
+
+"You're the goods, young fellow.  Now, do you think you can stand up to
+me for five rounds?"
+
+"Boxing's a beastly bore, sir; but I would have a go--certainly."
+
+"Right!  I'll make you corporal.  We've need of your brains.  By the
+way, why did you leave home--women and wine, eh?"
+
+"Well--yes, sir."
+
+"Human failing--we're all like that," soliloquised Sam, who had been
+one of the lads in his day.  "Now, boys, about turn, and off for your
+uniform--good day."
+
+"Good day, sir," replied the four, attempting to salute.
+
+"Good lads--good lads!" muttered Sam to himself as they stumbled
+through the door.
+
+Three days afterwards Sam had his thousand men.  He quartered them in
+tents, selected some old soldiers for instructors, and commenced to
+train for war.  Sergeant-Major Jones, an ex-Imperial Army man, was the
+terror of the show.  This warrant officer realised what he was up
+against--a thousand rebels against convention, hypocrisies, and shams.
+They called a spade a spade.  "Red tape" they cursed, and stupid
+officialdom they loathed.  They were freemen, Bohemians of the plains.
+In the Bush they had learned to fight, cook, scheme, and generally look
+after themselves.  Pioneers of the toughest kind.  The type that has
+made our Empire what it is to-day.  In drink they were like savages,
+ready to shoot the men they hated, ready to give a drunken embrace to
+the men they liked and respected.
+
+And few of them were fools.  Many could rip off Shakespeare by the
+yard; others could recite, in a feeling way, the best of Byron,
+Tennyson, Kipling, and Burns.  The lonely plains and self-communion had
+given each a soul.  Indeed, they were the oddest bunch of daring,
+devilry, romance, and villainy that had ever gathered for war.  For
+such men there is only one type of leader, that is--the gentleman.  Not
+the gentleman who says, "Please," like a drawing-room lady; but the
+gentleman who says, "Come on, boys--here's a job," in a kindly, but
+firm manner, with that touch of authority in the words which spells the
+master and the man, and reveals to the skunk that if he refuses a great
+fist will crack right under his chin and lay him out.  Sergeant-Major
+Jones was, therefore, the gentleman required.  He represented the
+finest virtues of the British N.C.O.--a class which has made the
+British Army what it is to-day, and a class meanly paid and shockingly
+neglected by the Governments of the past.
+
+Sergeant-Major Jones had a breast of medals.  He knew his job.  Now
+that was important to these Australians.  Australians are always up
+against what they call "the imported man."  But if the imported man is
+what they call "a good fellow," and knows his job better than they do,
+they are fair enough to shake him by the hand and call him "friend."
+And the sergeant-major knew that he had to find an opportunity in the
+first week to show that he _was_ the sergeant-major and that they were
+there to be disciplined.  The opportunity came on the third day.  A
+weak-looking sergeant, with a shrill, piping voice, was moving a squad
+up and down.
+
+"Left--rights-left----  Stop  your  talking, Private Grouse," he
+shouted to a tall, burly-built and dour-looking man in his squad.
+
+"Wot the deuce are you chippin' at?"
+
+"Hold your tongue."
+
+"Swank," replied the insolent man.
+
+Sergeant-Major Jones heard him.  "Halt!" he bellowed to the squad.
+
+"Now, young fellow, what do you mean?"
+
+"Just 'aving a little lark, major," he answered casually.
+
+"Stand to attention, and 'sir' me when you speak."
+
+"You'll make us laugh," said the man in a familiar way.  The other
+Bushmen craned their necks.  They were interested.  They knew that
+Grouse had gone over the score, and they waited to see the stuff that
+the sergeant-major was made of.  It was, in fact, the psychological
+moment which makes or mars the reputation of a sergeant-major in such a
+corps.  The sergeant-major knew it.
+
+"Look here, young man, I make great allowance for inexperience, for
+none of you have been soldiers before, but I make no allowance for
+insolence.  Take off your coat."
+
+"What!"
+
+"Take off your coat," said the sergeant-major with emphasis, at the
+same time throwing off his own.  The man followed suit.
+
+"Now step out here, and we'll decide who's going to run this show."
+
+Then the unexpected happened.  The man shoved out his hand.  "Shake,
+sir; you're a good fellow.  I'm afeard of no man, but I won't fight
+you, for I'm in the wrong."
+
+"Well, you're a man, anyway," said Jones, shaking him cordially by the
+hand, while the whole squad gave out a thrilling cheer.
+
+Colonel Sam Killem had watched it all from the corner of the parade
+ground.  For him it was an anxious moment.  He was a broad-minded
+Australian who realised the need of experienced Britishers like Jones
+for the training of his men.  But he was also aware of the national
+prejudice against the imported man.  If Jones had adopted the usual way
+in the British regiment, that is, clapping the offender in the guard
+room and formally charging him with "insubordination in the ranks," Sam
+knew that his prestige as a sergeant-major would have dropped fifty per
+cent.  However, he was well pleased to see him handle the man in the
+Australian manner.
+
+"Made good that time, Jones," said the colonel with a dry grin as the
+sergeant-major came forward.
+
+"That's the only way with these men, sir."
+
+"Glad you know it.  By the way, I know that man.  He half killed one of
+the Mounted Police two years ago.  He's three-quarters blackguard and
+one-quarter of a good fellow; but we'll make a man of him.  Put him in
+orders to-night for the lance stripe.  I always believe in making
+N.C.O.'s out of these rascals."
+
+"Splendid idea, sir," said the sergeant-major, saluting and falling out.
+
+Next day Lance-Corporal Grouse commenced a new career--that of a
+gallant soldier and an Australian gentleman.
+
+Another interesting incident occurred during the training.  Side by
+side with the Kangaroo Marines lay the Melbourne Nuts, a battalion of
+superior persons.  You see, the Kangaroo Marines were nominally a
+Sydney crowd.  Therefore the Melbourne boys showered on them all the
+envy which Melbourne has for Sydney.  To understand this point
+thoroughly you must have lived in Australia.  Between Melbourne and
+Sydney there exists a feud as fierce as an Italian vendetta.  This
+animosity crystallises the more general hatred of the respective
+States--Victoria and New South Wales.  Both sides think they are the
+Lord's Anointed.  A Governor-General in any speech must be careful to
+whitewash both States with the same degree of eyewash.  Friendships,
+fortunes, and reputations have been lost in this really amusing
+controversy.  Indeed, they are like the farmers of Kerry--they go to
+law if a hen roosts for a second in the enemy's barnyard.
+
+Picture the scene then--two corps side by side, and imagine the
+language.  The first trouble arose through a pioneer of the Kangaroos
+dropping a shovelful of dirt in the lines of the Melbourne men.  The
+offender was Bill Buster.
+
+"Get out of this, ye Sydney rattlesnake," chirped a youth, looking out
+of his tent.
+
+"Worm!" exclaimed Bill contemptuously.
+
+"Ye dirty-necked beachcomber, I'll split yer pumpkin head."
+
+"Take that," shouted Bill, throwing a shovelful of manure into the tent
+of his aggressor.  Honour, of course, had to be satisfied after that.
+The Melbourne man got a broken nose, and Bill had two lovely black eyes.
+
+Both regiments decided to have revenge, and, for that purpose, secret
+meetings were called.  The Melbourne boys decided to leave their
+affairs in the hands of Happy Harry, a local comedian.  He was given
+liberty to spend anything up to twenty pounds on a scheme of revenge.
+In the case of the Kangaroos it was decided by ballot that Bill would
+plan out something to stagger the Melbourne crowd.  Meantime, armed
+neutrality reigned; yet the air seemed charged with the spirit of
+friction and the feeling of secret preparation.  Remarkable to relate,
+both schemes panned out on the morning of the same day.  The Melbourne
+Nuts woke up to see, in great, black, varnished letters, across their
+huge dining-tent, the following:
+
+           MELBOURNE
+             IS A
+         ONE-EYED TOWN
+            FULL OF
+       SNIVELLING SNOBS,
+  PAWNSHOPS, AND GROG SALOONS.
+
+
+This was a good stroke for the Sydney men, but the Melbourne men had,
+also, a neat revenge.  That morning, an old broken-down donkey was
+found wandering in the Kangaroos' lines, with placards flapping at his
+sides, on which the Sydney men saw:
+
+   THIS IS THE FATHER
+     OF SYDNEY AND
+  THE KANGAROO MARINES.
+
+
+The battle of wits was a drawn affair.  But, that night, more trouble
+ensued.  While the famous quartette were casually strolling through the
+town a Melbourne man jostled Sandy.
+
+"Wha are ye pushin'?" he inquired.
+
+"I'll push yer face for you--you bag of haggis," replied the cool
+Melbourne lad.
+
+"Ye daur meddle wi' me," said Sandy, leering at him, for he had tasted
+deep of the national fluid.  "Hit me!" he roared, baring his chest
+towards his aggressor.  "Ma fit is on ma native heath, an' ma name's
+M'Greegor," continued the fierce, red-whiskered Scot.
+
+"Here's one for you, M'Greegor!"  And the Melbourne man let fly.  Poor
+Sandy, he buckled up and fell gasping to the ground.  Bill now set to,
+but in a minute he, Claud, and Paddy were surrounded by a gang of
+Melbourne hands.
+
+"Ye miserable spalpeens," said Paddy, laying to with a great big stick,
+and between times whipping the treasures from the pockets of fallen
+men.  Claud had his monocle smashed and his nose burst, while poor old
+Bill was severely winded just as reinforcements arrived from the
+Kangaroos.  It was a bloody combat.  Indeed, it might have been a
+serious riot had Sam Killem not doubled up a company with buckets of
+water to throw over the antagonists.
+
+Then the bugle call to assembly ended the first and last fight between
+these two corps.  Afterwards they were loyal friends, and, in action,
+died nobly side by side.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE LAND OF SIN
+
+Egypt is the land of heroes and engineers--also the land of mystery,
+the abode of intrigue, the cockpit of puerile nationalism, and the soul
+of all things topsy-turvy and contrary.  It is a land for a brave
+soldier, a skilful engineer, or the tourist in search of Rameses'
+shin-bones.
+
+It is a country wet with British blood and paved with British gold.
+The noblest things in Egypt are British; the vilest are the products of
+aliens who have dodged justice and cleanness through the vagaries of
+"The Capitulations" (an international treaty which makes John Bull pay
+for the privilege of entertaining alien murderers, white slavers,
+forgers, assassins, corrupt financiers, and legal twisters).  But it is
+a land worth holding, not so much for any riches it may possess, but
+for the Suez Canal, which links us to our Indian Empire.
+
+The Egyptians, on the whole, are an industrious and harmless people.
+For centuries they have been slaves to Greeks, Romans, Persians, Turks,
+and Crusaders from every land.  They have been doomed to serve because
+of their inability to lead and control.  They are content to serve so
+long as justice reigns.  Egypt to-day is better governed, more
+prosperous, happier than it has ever been in its history.   Cromer,
+Kitchener, the Tommy, the Engineer, and the men of the "Egyptian Civil"
+have given their noblest efforts to crush corruption, to kill decay, to
+make the native full-fed and serene.
+
+Discontent in Egypt is the work of a few who have cast off their native
+garments, donned the clothes of the Westerner, and acquired a
+smattering of things.  A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.  These
+young _effendis_ are the fools who would step where angels fear to
+tread.  These malcontents spurred and led Arabi Pasha (a true patriot)
+to his doom.  The self-same type have recently sent a Khedive into
+shame and exile.  These so-called "Nationalists" were the willing tools
+of German and Austrian agents who aimed at capturing Egypt and
+dominating the route to India.  Before the war there was a German spy
+in every town from Alexandria to Khartoum.  These spies even supped at
+the table of the late Khedive.  While they went their way they smiled
+and called us fools.  Eagerly they lived for the day when Enver Pasha
+(the well-paid Moslem adventurer) would lead his deluded Turks against
+the British host.
+
+The great dream of the Khedive, his Nationalists and German agents
+failed because of the courage and shrewdness of "K" and his men.  While
+the world waited for the Holy War and the fall of Egypt, the great
+Australian host was quietly landing on Egypt's shores.  In this army
+were such men as the Kangaroo Marines--fearless, tireless, and ready
+for adventure.  The tramp, tramp of their feet made traitors shiver and
+flee; their physique, their chins, their corded arms spread over the
+Delta and the desert a sense of might and courage.
+
+"There can be no rebellion.  The Australians are too big, too strong.
+Allah is against us," said the wise men in the little hamlets by the
+Nile.
+
+"These are white men--not black," muttered an _effendi_ to his friend,
+as the Australians marched through intriguing Cairo.  Like many
+Egyptians, he had imagined Australians to be of a nigger mould.
+
+"Yes, infidels and sons of dogs," growled a priestly fanatic.
+
+"What men--what guns--Allah preserve us!" said many more who had talked
+revolution for a while.  This, truly, was a bloodless climax to the
+schemes of Germany, Turkey, and the Khedive.
+
+Along the sun-baked road to Mena marched the Australians.  They were
+treading a road made by a great Khedive for the Empress Eugenie to see
+the Pyramids in comfort.  When they halted they were beneath the shade
+of the historic piles of stones.  Napoleon's soldiers had been there,
+so had Gordon's and Kitchener's heroes.   Now these sons of the
+Motherland found themselves at the beginning of another historic
+mission.
+
+"There's been a lot of overtime on that job," said Bill Buster to his
+pals when nearing the Pyramids.
+
+"Wha built them?" inquired Sandy of Claud.
+
+"Rameses built one."
+
+"What for?"
+
+"To keep his fellows from getting tired."
+
+"Sure now," said Paddy, "there's a dog wid a woman's head."
+
+"That's a Sphinx," remarked Claud with a smile.
+
+These ancient things and the general surroundings made all open their
+eyes in wonder, and feel that there were more things on earth than
+their own little cabbage patch.
+
+They settled down quickly, and having received an enormous haul of cash
+in the form of arrears of pay, the Kangaroo Marines and every other
+corps set out on donkeys, motor-cars, cabs, camels and carts to see the
+sights of Cairo.
+
+"Gee whiz! this is some town," said Bill, on reaching the gay and
+dazzling city.  The wide streets, oriental buildings, the weird
+bazaars, gaily-lit cafés, and veiled women, amazed these simple
+Bushmen.  It was like "The Arabian Nights," wonderful, alluring,
+seductive and strange.  All were gripped by the subtle atmosphere of
+things.  Their blood tingled with the sensuous aroma of the East.
+Cheap wine in the cafés of the Greeks let the devil loose, and so they
+fell an easy prey to the lures of the bold and handsome wantons of
+Cairo.  Thus many were duped and robbed.
+
+Australians when wronged must have revenge.  An eye for an eye is the
+law of the bush.  The revenge came in an unexpected way.  In one of the
+streets where the wantons live an injustice had been done to one of the
+boys.  The exact reason was never told.  But Cairo was soon alarmed by
+the shrieks of women, the shouts of fire, and the galloping of mounted
+police.  Through the glare and smoke could be seen a little army of men
+wreaking revenge.  Windows were being smashed, a piano was crashed from
+above to the ground, doors were torn down, crockery clattered into the
+street.
+
+"Allah!  Allah!  Save us, save us!  The mad Australians!  The mad
+Australians!" cried the cowardly _effendis_ as they fled.
+
+"Help!  Help!" screamed the wantons, as they ran like maddened hares.
+But the wrecking went on, despite the charging pickets and hoarse
+commands from officers and police.
+
+"Here's the fire brigade, boys, capture them," yelled a great hulking
+fellow.  And they did.  With a wild haloo, they captured the engines,
+cut the pipes, and terrified the poor gippy firemen out of their lives.
+It was an ugly time.  And the riot was only quelled by armed pickets
+sent from other corps.
+
+"It's a great pity we interfered at all," said a Cairo dignitary that
+night.
+
+"Why?" inquired his friend.
+
+"They would have burned the whole dirty place down, and that would have
+been the greatest blessing to Cairo."
+
+"Then you don't blame them?"
+
+"No.  I think Cairo has been cursed with the vilest creatures God ever
+made.  Yes, I admit, the Capitulations have hitherto tied our hands.
+Thank Heaven Egypt is now a Protectorate.  We can clean out these
+filthy dens after the war."
+
+"Yes, it is a queer hole, but East is East, and West is West, and never
+the twain shall meet," chipped in another member of the club.  "It's a
+wonder they didn't kill that fellow Hassein."
+
+"Who's he?"
+
+"A rotter who dresses as a woman and runs a crowd of white slaves.
+And, by Jove! he looks like a woman too--all scented and faked."
+
+"Oh, he's a law-abiding merchant of sin," said a gippy officer.
+"There's a worse person than he here."
+
+"Who's that?"
+
+"Madame Mysterious, who owns dozens of these low shows in Cairo."
+
+"Isn't that the woman who used to buy and sell wives to the rich
+_effendis_ and gippy _pashas_?"
+
+"The same.  That old Pasha down near Alex is one of her patrons.  He's
+a proper old rascal.  Do you know that he has got women in his harem
+who have been educated in some of our greatest schools in England?"
+
+"Not English women, surely?"
+
+"No.  Gippy girls, daughters of rich fellows."
+
+"And why shouldn't he?" interjected an old gippy warrior who defended
+the customs of the East.  "We have no right to force our Western morals
+down an Oriental's throat.  It is easy to be a moralist in a freezing
+climate like ours.  The snow makes for virtue; the sun always warps
+morality.  The harem is as ancient as the sun.  And the harem will
+remain.  It's no good of you fellows hoping to alter it.  And, after
+all, the Oriental is, at least, honest.  He has a harem, the world
+knows he has a harem.  He is not ashamed of the fact.  But what of our
+Mayfair bloods, who have their secret 'wives,' and who hunt everybody
+else's wife.  The Oriental is straight about it--we Westerners are
+hypocritical."
+
+"I offer no defence of the harem," said a doctor, "but I've found it a
+mighty interesting place when visiting there in a professional
+capacity.  Do you fellows know that I have met some of the most
+intellectual women there.  Strange to say, they like the life.  And,
+after all, they are well cared for.  They have money--heaps of
+it--beautiful clothes, lovely rooms, servants, carriages, and motors.
+They see everything, they do almost everything, and since the
+revolution in Turkey they have had greater freedom.  Why, they travel
+abroad now without their eunuchs.  What more does a woman want?  Money,
+clothes and comfort are everything to an Easterner.  In my humble
+opinion there is no virtue in an eastern climate.  There can never be."
+
+"We've got off the track altogether," said the father of this
+discussion.  "I am liberal-minded so far as the Egyptians are
+concerned.  In their own way they are virtuous.  And I agree that it is
+ridiculous to suggest that we should interfere with any of their social
+or religious arrangements.  But this riot has again proved to us that
+Cairo is a pretty rotten show.  We ought to clean it up, and we shall
+do so after the war.  It will pay us.  Let us make Cairo a cleaner and
+more charming place.  It means health and business to the community.
+Why should Cairo be the cesspool of European iniquity?  Personally, as
+I said before, I'm very sorry the Australians did not burn the whole of
+that rotten quarter down."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+TREASURE TROVE
+
+"Look here, men," said Colonel Killem, "I want to talk to you about
+some interesting things, especially your conduct towards Mohammedans.
+First of all, Doolan, tell me what a Mohammedan means?"
+
+"Sure, sir, it manes a nigger who jabbers 'Allah' when yis put a
+bayonet in his guts."
+
+"Not exactly; but what would you shout if you got a bayonet in your
+tummy."
+
+"A gill of the best, sir."
+
+"Well, now, a Mohammedan's a sort of eastern fanatic who thinks he'll
+get a 'corner lot' in Paradise if he reads the Koran and dies on the
+edge of your bayonets.  Mecca is his holy shrine, and the old Sultan
+acts as a sort of elder or high priest who takes up the collections.
+We meet 'em ourselves--religious beggars who're always passing round
+the hat for ninepence to make up another shilling.  Religion is always
+an expensive business, except in Scotland, where you get free seats to
+support the Kirk and Government.  Isn't that so, Brown?"
+
+"Jist in the Auld Kirk, sir, but I belang tae the Wee Frees."
+
+"Who are the Wee Frees?"
+
+"The Wee Frees were started by a lot o' Hielan-men oot o' a job."
+
+"What were they after?"
+
+"Deevidends, sir."
+
+The Colonel grinned.  Continuing, he said, "Now, men, these Mohammedans
+are very touchy.  You've got to be careful how you treat them.  For
+example, their headgear is sacred.  Don't touch it.  And when you get a
+little of home-brewed Scotch into you, don't knock their head-dress
+off.  They'll probably knife you.  It isn't a pleasant thing to get a
+rusty blade stuck into your kidneys.  Bad for the health, I assure you.
+
+"Tell me something else you must not do?" inquired the Colonel,
+assuming the rôle of regimental schoolmaster.
+
+"They hate pigs, sir," said Sandy Brown.  "When I wis a stoker on a
+ship gaun East I flung a bit o' fried pork at a coolie.  He nearly
+knocked ma lichts oot wi' a big hammer."
+
+"Yes, pigs are regarded by these fellows as unclean beasts.  To offer
+them pork is, as Brown says, a great insult, so be careful of that.
+Another important point is his carpet.  This is sacred.  He kneels on
+that and offers up his prayers to Allah.  When you walk into his house,
+don't wipe your feet and spit on it.  Give him a chance to remove it.
+Can anyone tell me what those buildings in Cairo are with the big domes
+on them?"
+
+"Harems," piped Bill.
+
+"Chapels," said Doolan.
+
+"No, they are called mosques, or temples.  Watch what you do there.
+Mohammedans always take off their shoes before entering.  Inside is
+holy ground.  If you go into them you must put a pair of shoes over
+your boots.  These are kept for the purpose.  Of course, don't walk
+away with the shoes, or there will be trouble.  I have, also, a list
+here of other things regarded as sacred either in the town or country.
+
+"Trees with rags tied to them.
+
+"Tombs.
+
+"Graveyards.
+
+"Deserted mosques.
+
+"Stones with inscriptions on them.
+
+"Fountains, and
+
+"Isolated clumps of trees on hill tops.
+
+"Be careful, now, of all these things.  They look nothing to you, but
+they are very important to them.  You see, we are all Christians--or
+supposed to be--and a Christian is regarded by them as an infidel and
+son of a dog.
+
+"Next thing is the ladies.  We all love the ladies.  What do you know
+about them?" said the Colonel, suddenly pointing to a grinning youth.
+
+"And very nice too, sir," replied this youngster.
+
+"If it wasn't for their veils," said another.
+
+"Sure, sor, they've always a big, fat nigger trotting after them,"
+remarked Doolan.
+
+"Yes, Doolan, and be very careful of the big fellow behind.  He's what
+is called a eunuch--a sort of guardian.  If you give these ladies the
+'glad eye,' or attempt to touch them, he'll probably slit your throat
+with a razor.  These women are veiled to all men except their husbands
+and nearest relations.  Many of them are harem women.  Out here, a
+native can have two or three wives and as many concubines as he likes.
+For example, the late Khedive had about a hundred women in his harem,
+and they say the Sultan of Turkey has over five hundred.  Some of these
+women are very beautiful, others are quite ugly.  I heard of one man
+who followed a veiled lady for about three miles, thinking she was some
+wonderful Circassian beauty.  He managed to talk to her too, but when
+she lifted her veil he was dumbstruck.  Instead of being young and
+charming, she was old, haggard, toothless and revolting.  All is not
+gold that glitters, and beauty is not always found beneath the veil.
+
+"Yes, that reminds me, I've been hearing of one or two queer things
+which they say our fellows have been doing.  In a certain part of Cairo
+the ladies of the harems frequently ride in carriages, taking the
+evening air.  They often drive alone and use their eyes in the most
+inviting way.  Some of our boys have jumped into the carriages and had
+a most pleasant and interesting drive with these ladies.  That's risky,
+men; don't do it.  It may come off ninety-nine times out of a hundred,
+but on the hundredth occasion it may end in a knife and a bullet.  And
+quite right too.  We have no right to interfere with the preserves of
+an Egyptian Pasha.  Now I think that is all I have to say to you just
+now.  Fall out, please."
+
+When the Colonel had departed, the men formed up into little groups and
+discussed some of the points that had been raised.
+
+"Old Sam's pulling our leg a bit about these holy places.  I ain't had
+any bother, and I've found it quite a paying game digging up these old
+niggers' bones.  Look here, boys, this is what I've found," said Sambo,
+a big-boned bushman from Queensland, showing Bill and his cronies a
+handful of old coins, rings and a bracelet.
+
+"Some curios!" said Bill.
+
+"Worth money, too," remarked Sandy.
+
+"Where did you get them?" asked Claud, his interest roused in these
+wonderful old jewels of the East.
+
+"Down in the Dead City on the other side of Cairo--behind the Citadel.
+I dig them up at nights.  I can give you a cargo of shin bones and
+skulls if you want them."
+
+"Is it safe?"
+
+"I reckon so.  You see, a lot of these are ancient graves.  Nobody has
+a claim on them, so we can jump them."
+
+"Do you want some partners?" asked Claud.
+
+"Yes, a few of us could get something.  I've had my eye on an old tomb
+there for some time."
+
+"What about to-night?"
+
+"That will do.  Bring your entrenching tools in a parcel, nobody sees
+them.  We can get an old cab or motor to go in."
+
+"Right-ho!" agreed Claud, who also arranged with Paddy, Bill and Sandy
+to form part of the exploring squad.  This digging for ancient
+treasures in the graves of the dead is an old game in Egypt.  It is
+comparatively safe where there are no natives with an interest in the
+business.  And it is really remarkable what interesting finds are made.
+Rings, bangles, necklaces, brassware, beads, and jewels are often found
+in these old graveyards.
+
+The route to this particular place lay through Cairo.  It was already
+dark when they started on a rattling old motor-car.  Down the Mena Road
+they were whirled into the dazzling streets.  The traffic sent the car
+slower through a long, narrow native quarter.  This was lined with
+dirty shops, selling everything, from mouldy Turkish delight to
+poisonous-looking firewater called native wine.  At the door of these
+places the proud owners lounged on chairs or squatted on the ground,
+haggling and dealing with the _fellah_ (the peasant Egyptian, and the
+finest type in Egypt).  In Egypt everybody is in business.  You can
+find merchants dealing in broken bottles, merchants in discarded
+"fags," merchants in the manure from the streets, merchants in rags and
+bones, egg shells and cabbage stalks.  They'll do anything but work.
+Work to an Easterner is designed for women and oxen.
+
+Leaving the lighted streets behind, the motor at length turned round
+into a long, darkened road.
+
+"This is the show," said Sambo, pointing to a wide field of little
+domes, tombs, and broken-down buildings just visible in the murky light.
+
+"It's a gey queer place," said Sandy, with a tremor in his voice.
+
+"It is, and there's sure to be ghosts in this ould world?" muttered
+Mick, crossing himself.
+
+"There's diamonds, too--and tons of gold," remarked Claud.
+
+"Paddy, you'll be a rich man after to-night," laughed Sambo.
+
+"If I'm not a dead wan," said the Irishman, who, for the moment had
+become seized with a dread of the supernatural.
+
+"Well, boys, here we are!" exclaimed the leader of the party as they
+neared a dark bend of the road.  "Jump out!"  The car was backed out of
+sight, and the driver told to wait.
+
+"This way," and into the darkness plunged the Queenslander.  They
+followed close at his heels, stumbling over graves, stones and old
+enclosures.
+
+"What's that?" screamed Paddy, as he kicked a white-looking thing at
+his feet.
+
+"It's a skull, man," said Sandy, picking up the bleached headpiece of
+an ancient.
+
+"Mother of Jasus, preserve us," murmured the Irishman, crossing himself
+again.
+
+"Now, boys, here we are.  Get out your tools and start digging.  Here's
+a little torch to use, now and again, to see what you've got.  You
+fellows can pan out this show here, I'm going over a bit to do some
+prospecting."
+
+"Right you are, I'll run this bit of the business," said Claud, as the
+Queenslander went off into the darkness.   For a long time they picked
+and shovelled out the soft brown earth.
+
+"What's this?" whispered Sandy, holding something in his hand.  Claud
+switched the light on.
+
+"It's a shin bone."
+
+"Here's the goods," shouted Bill, holding up a bracelet crusted with
+earth and mildew.
+
+"It's gold, too," said Claud, fingering it.
+
+"And here's some quids," Paddy said, spreading some coins out in his
+hand.
+
+"Coppers, you mean."
+
+Resuming their task, they soon collected skulls, shin bones, thigh
+bones, some old brassware, a ring, some coppers, and many other things
+of an Eastern kind.
+
+"Wonderful!  Wonderful!" soliloquised Claud, as he occasionally
+surveyed the finds with the aid of his monocle and flash lamp.  But the
+greatest find was a large brass urn of beautiful workmanship.
+
+"Looks like old Rameses' whisky jar," said Bill, turning the urn round
+under the light of the lamp.
+
+Things were really going well till the Irishman happened to look up.
+His eyes at once caught a moving spectre of white advancing slowly
+towards them.
+
+"Holy Mary, there's a ghost," said he, crossing himself and gripping
+Claud by the arm.  They all looked up, and, sure enough, there was
+something white and weird moving slowly across the plain of the dead.
+Their eyes riveted on it.  Paddy muttered a prayer; Bill eloquently
+wondered what the white thing was; Sandy, remarkably cool, picked up
+the bracelet, coins and other trinkets and placed them in his pocket.
+He did this, as he explained afterwards, "in case the ghost wid get
+them."
+
+"It's mighty funny," muttered Claud, frequently adjusting his eyeglass
+to see the dread apparition more clearly.
+
+"It's a ghost, boys, I tell ye.  My ould father has seen them when he
+lived in Kerry.  Heaven preserve us!" he ejaculated, crossing himself
+for about the fiftieth time.
+
+"Ghost or no ghost, Paddy Doolan, I'm going after it," Bill said.
+Quietly picking up his tool, he walked forward to the weird, white
+thing still advancing.  He reached it, then turned with it towards the
+crouching grave wreckers.  Halting about ten yards from them, Bill
+shouted, "Paddy Doolan."
+
+"Yis, Bill," was the timorous reply.
+
+"It's an Irish ghost--a Kerry one."
+
+"What is it?" said Claud, rising and shaking off the supernatural fear
+which had held him for a moment.
+
+"It's a white donkey on the loose," answered Bill, bursting into
+laughter.  Paddy recovered instantly and joined with the others in the
+admiration of the innocent ass which had strayed from its usual haunts.
+After sniffing its new-found friends, the donkey let out a terrible
+bray, flung up its heels and departed into the night.
+
+They recommenced their digging operations; so engrossed were they with
+their discoveries that they did not hear the approach of some
+chattering natives.  These dusky gents were within fifty yards of them
+when Bill whispered, "Keep still--lie down."  They obeyed, and lying
+flat on the ground saw some Arabs go by.  They could just see their
+figures against the sky, and had time to note that they carried shovels.
+
+"On the same game," whispered Bill.
+
+"Yes," said Claud, "I believe they make a speciality of digging up
+these dead folks.   Glad they weren't Kerry ghosts, anyway."
+
+"Be aisy, boys, you'll meet a ghost yet before ye die."
+
+The work was resumed once more.  About 2 A.M., when all thought they
+had had enough of this body-snatching, they were startled with the cry
+of, "Help, boys!  Help!  They're killing me."
+
+"By Jove!  That's the Queenslander.  These niggers are at him.  Come
+on, boys," shouted Claud, lifting his entrenching tool and running
+towards the place from whence came the cry for help.
+
+"Help!  Help!" rang out the cry again, this time it was more muffled
+and weak.
+
+"Where are you, Sambo?"
+
+"In here," came a faint reply.
+
+The sound came from a square building, the door of which was open.
+Claud dashed in, flashing his light as he went.  Turning a corner, he
+was amazed by a strange and striking spectacle.
+
+Sambo lay struggling and kicking surrounded by four great hulking
+Arabs, who had been beating, kicking and biting him in a furious
+struggle.  The faces of all were bleeding and bruised, and blood was
+splashed over the white sort of overall that the natives wear.  To the
+left of Sambo Claud saw an open tomb.  Inside he could just see a kind
+of coffin arrangement, and on the ground, near at hand, the most varied
+collection of brass and other beautiful Eastern wares.  This was the
+cause of the bother.
+
+Crack! went Claud's fist into the eyes of the nearest Arab.
+
+"Take that, ye son of a sea cook," chimed in Bill, giving another the
+knock-out blow.
+
+"Here's one from Paddy Doolan," shouted the Hibernian as he, too, hit
+his man.  The fourth one was dealt with by Claud.  With shrieks and
+yells of "Allah, Allah!" the Arabs turned, and, jumping a low wall,
+fled off into the night.  Sambo was at once released.  Meantime, Sandy,
+as the unofficial cashier of the expedition, made an inventory of the
+treasure trove.  It appears that Sambo had scented out in a strange way
+a very ancient and dilapidated tomb, which these Arab robbers had
+intended to despoil at the same time.
+
+"Here, boys," said Sandy, "it's time we were hame.  I've had enough o'
+skulls, shin banes and brass beer bottles."
+
+"An' I've had enough of ghosts," growled Paddy, as they staggered down
+the road with their load of curios.  The car whisked them back to Mena
+Camp again.  Stealthily creeping through the lines, they arrived at
+their tents.  All crept to bed, weary and wiser men.  Claud was the
+last one to fall asleep.  He was thinking of Sybil, the girl from the
+Bush.  At last Morpheus claimed him.  As he was slipping away into the
+dreamy unknown he heard Doolan muttering, "Ghosts!  Be Jasus!  Ghosts!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+SYBIL, THE SQUATTER'S GIRL
+
+"By Jove!  What a stunning girl.  She's a peach!" whispered a Yeomanry
+subaltern to his Australian friend as a beautiful girl entered the
+spacious dining-room of Shepheard's Hotel in Cairo.
+
+"Why, that's Sybil Graham--haven't seen her since she was a kid.  My
+word, she is a beauty now," said the Australian officer.
+
+"Who is she?"
+
+"One of our squatter's girls.  That's her father and mother with her.
+They've got miles of land, plenty of sheep and heaps of tin.  He'll be
+a lucky fellow who gets her."
+
+"You know, old chap, I never thought you produced women like that in
+Australia.  No offence, you know.  What I really mean is that the sun,
+the want of what we call society, and the lack of cultured institutions
+such as we have at home, must be a great handicap in bringing up a
+girl."
+
+"Young man, you're talking through your hat," was the blunt reply.  "We
+have ladies in Australia just as we have at home.  And can you guess
+what we haven't got?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Snobs!  No time for all your damned conventions--'At Home' scandals
+and Society calls.  These girls of the bush are natural, jolly,
+unconventional, but not loose.  So far and no farther is their attitude
+to mankind.  And they've got an independence of character which knocks
+you fellows sick when you meet them.  They don't want any of these
+insidious palavers and hollow attentions, and they'll tell a man pretty
+quick what they think.  My word! can't they choke a Johnny off."
+
+"But, my dear fellow, all my friends who have visited Australia say
+they haven't got manners, and all have a cockney twang.  When they open
+their mouths they always spoil the picture."
+
+"I expect your friends have been dealing with the Pitt Street toughs or
+Manly larrikins.  By the way you speak, I don't suppose they have ever
+been in the bush or visited some of our squatters' homes.  Do you know
+that some of these squatters are descendants of some of the finest
+families in England.  Apart from that, you will find better ladies on a
+squatter's veranda than you will in Park Lane.  I have been in London,
+young fellow; in fact, I'm English, although I've been a long time in
+Australia.  So don't say I'm biased.  But I am speaking from an
+intimate knowledge of the people--not from a superficial glance which a
+hen-brained tourist gets.  It isn't affectation, trinkets, dresses and
+a Society drawl that makes a lady.  That's your standard.  Society at
+home--at least, in certain circles, is the most hollow and unhappy
+creation I know.  Everyone is in it, because they've got to be, but
+every real white man or woman knows that it's the rottenest show on
+earth.  We don't stand for all that sort of thing out there.  They
+accept folks for what they are worth--I mean, if a person is decent,
+law-abiding, cheerful and ambitious, the door of the Premier, squatter
+and merchant is open to him."
+
+"Look here, old chap, you can't chuck convention overboard entirely;
+it's impossible."
+
+"Rot!  You speak as if Australia was a primitive land, without schools
+and culture.  You're entirely mistaken.  We can educate and create a
+most charming and distinctive type.  I grant you that some of our
+people may be narrow-visioned and have one-eyed views.  I admit you
+will find a few folks who think Britain is a land of peers, publicans
+and paupers.  But haven't you got in Britain the same narrow folks, the
+same crude, ill-informed men and women who ignorantly air their views
+to the disgust of every Colonial?"
+
+"Yes, there's something in that, I agree.  We have got them, but I've
+heard Australian officers talk as if Australia was the only place on
+God's earth," the subaltern ejaculated a little warmly.
+
+"You condemn a nation for a few.  Young man, you haven't travelled far
+enough.  And you make me tired to hear you talk in that way.  You're a
+nice fellow spoiled, I reckon.  Why, where I live there's dozens of
+English public school men working as cockies and jackaroos.  They
+wouldn't go back home if you paid them.  They like the life.  Everybody
+makes them at home, and many of them have married our Australian girls.
+These women can milk, bake, ride, drive, sew and rear the most charming
+children.  And they can meet you in a drawing-room with a natural grace
+that is their own.  Intellectually, too, they are pleasant to meet, for
+the loneliness has given them time to think and read.  Look at that
+girl there, doesn't she look a lady?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Isn't she absolutely perfect?"
+
+"Well, yes."
+
+"Does her dress fit?"
+
+"Decidedly."
+
+"Do you think her table manners are awkward?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Isn't there something easy and natural, no false pose, a sort of
+innate grace of mind and body?"
+
+"Certainly, but is this not some strange exception, just as you find in
+many parts?"
+
+"No, my boy.  You still seem to be unconvinced.  Hang it all, there's
+only one way to convince you.  As they are rising from the table now,
+get up and I'll introduce you."
+
+"Hallo, Sybil, how are you?" said the Australian officer going forward.
+
+"What--Jack Gordon!" she said, shaking hands.  "I haven't seen you
+since I was at school."
+
+"How do, Jack?" said old Graham, in his blunt way.  Then Mrs. Graham
+accorded him the same warm welcome.
+
+"Let me introduce Lieutenant Gore-Jones of the Yeomanry.  Take him in
+hand, Sybil.  He's a good fellow spoiled."
+
+"All right, Jack," said Sybil, smiling, and stepping towards the wide
+veranda with her new-found friend.  Gordon remained behind with the
+parents to talk of old times.
+
+"This _is_ a pleasure," said Jones as they sat down.  "I never thought
+of meeting such a charming person from down under."
+
+Sybil frowned a little, then looking straight into his eyes said, "I
+don't like honey, Mr. Jones, it's too sweet, and sweet things are often
+sickly."
+
+"I--I--I beg your pardon," he stammered, blushing a little.
+
+"I'm afraid you expected to meet an aborigine, didn't you?" she said
+more kindly, remembering the cue she had received from Jack Gordon.
+
+"Not exactly--I'm afraid I have not met any Australians except the
+troops."
+
+"And what do you think of them?  I'm rather interested, and like other
+people's views."
+
+"You're not super-sensitive, I hope," he remarked, "because some of
+your fellows seem to be awfully touchy."
+
+"Many Australians are; I'm not, now go on."
+
+"Well, I like your men for their wonderful physique.  They are as tough
+as the oldest soldiers.  But they're not very respectful, you know.  I
+mean, they don't salute; they stalk past with an air of equality and
+even contempt.  That's a bad sign in a soldier."
+
+"Yes?" said Sybil, daintily lighting a neat cigarette and settling down
+in her cosy chair.
+
+"The officers, I hear, are excellent leaders, but, somehow, they don't
+quite look the part--sort of mixed, don't you know.  Somehow, their
+build and clothes don't give them that distinctive touch which is the
+hall-mark of the British officer.  I suppose it's really a question of
+breeding.  They say in England it takes five generations to turn out a
+gentleman.  Americans seem the same as Australians.  In fact, I've read
+that all young and democratic countries are alike.  Don't misunderstand
+me, I'm not saying they are _not_ gentlemen.  The life, I suppose,
+knocks off the fine points."
+
+"I see," said Sybil, turning her face towards him.  "Then your
+conception of a leader is a thin-waisted, well-corseted man, all hair
+wash and side--a most perfect and arrogant dandy.  I can't believe that
+the tailor, manicurist and barber produce the leader.  And you say that
+our boys have not the fine touch about them.  Do you think that really
+counts in war?  I think a Tommy wants a man to lead him whether he
+looks a Caesar or Bill Sikes.  You really infer that the Australian
+blood is coarse and unrefined.  Is that so, Mr. Jones?"
+
+"Not exactly.  But look over there.  See these two Australian officers.
+They seem ungainly in their clothes, and, apparently, feel awkward and
+ill at ease in this show.  They don't respect the polite conventions of
+Society, and would turn the place into a sort of cowboy saloon if left
+alone."
+
+"What nonsense, Mr. Jones.  And if I didn't feel that there was a hope
+of you knowing us better, I would leave you.  What I think you are
+suffering from is the conservatism of the Britisher, a truly appalling
+defect, as well as a lack of perception.  I grant you that our
+Australian tailors are absolutely the limit in turning out a man.
+Still, I believe a man can die as gallantly in a flour sack as in a
+Bond Street khaki suit.  You say they seem ill at ease, and don't
+lounge in their chairs as if to the manner born.  You don't realise
+that these men are men of action.  Their life is spent in a hustling
+way.  They are workers, not idlers.  Anything suggestive of luxurious
+ease is interpreted by them as effeminate."
+
+Her companion made as though to speak.  But the girl went on:
+
+"Now, look here, Mr. Jones, I'll lay an even bet with you that they'll
+ride, jump and slice the lemon better than any of your troops in Cairo.
+They're practical people, not dreamers who worry about etiquette and
+the fine points.  Now just you take a good look at their faces.  You'll
+note that they're bronzed, strong, with a cleft in the chin, and a
+jaw-bone which speaks volumes.  In fact, their whole make-up suggests a
+sort of rude strength, which can face the rough and tumble of life.
+They get that from their fathers, who, like my dear old dad, were the
+pioneers of Australia.  These men landed poor and had to fight drought,
+aborigines, bushrangers, misfortune after misfortune.  They were up
+against it all the time.  They built their houses from the trees, dug
+their wells, fenced their land, scraped their pennies to get the
+shillings to buy their stock.  In the midst of success, disease often
+struck them bare.  Yet they stuck to it.  Gradually the hard times
+passed away, and to-day many are wealthy.  My dad is one.  I'm not
+proud of his money, but I am proud of the grit and courage that has
+made him rich.  These are just the qualities that the soldier must
+have."
+
+"Oh, certainly," interjected Jones, fascinated by the radiant glow on
+the animated features of this most charming girl.  His logic was being
+battered to death.  He felt his position weakening.  It began to dawn
+on him that he was a conservative Britisher, who had simply been
+uttering the parrot talk of hide-bound Tories.  "You know, Miss Graham,
+you're beginning to make me feel that I should go to Australia."
+
+"If we were there now I would just whisk you away in my car and show
+you the Bush.  I do love to convince people, especially folks from the
+old land.  Then, Mr. Jones, you would see how free, how charming life
+is in the Bush.  We have all got beautiful homes, plenty of horses,
+motors, even electric light on some of the stations.  In fact, I know
+of one old squatter who can produce a butler and footmen in breeches.
+You can have joy rides on motors, picnics miles from civilisation, and
+dances with the jolliest band of girls and boys I've seen.  Everything
+is natural, all is delightful.  I love Australia.  I'm awfully proud of
+it.  And I'm proud of those boys over there and all the others who have
+come to help the old land.  Don't judge them by trivial things, Mr.
+Jones.  If they're unconventional, and not good at saluting, they'll
+stick to any man who can lead them through.  In fact, they can fight
+just as the Tommies did at Waterloo and Mons."
+
+"Well," said Jones with a gasp, "you're an absolute revelation.  I have
+never quite met your type before."
+
+"I'm different--Australian, eh?"
+
+"And very nice too.  That's honey, as you call it.  But I have said it
+and you needn't protest," he said with boyish enthusiasm.  "Do you
+think the girls would be kind to me if I went to Australia?"
+
+"They'd spoil you; they spoil all Englishmen."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because they like them.  They don't pick holes in them as you pick
+holes in us."
+
+"I'm sorry, really I'm sorry.  I had no intention to offend."
+
+"You're a good fellow spoiled, as Jack Gordon said."
+
+"Thanks," said Mr. Jones, secretly pleased.
+
+"You know, Mr. Jones, I know a most charming Englishman.  He was our
+Jackaroo.  A public school man, he landed at our door and asked for a
+job.  He had a glass eye and insisted on wearing that and a white
+indiarubber collar when working round the show.  They ragged him, but
+he stood it all.  When they went too far he simply took off his jacket
+and punched them soft.  No matter what dirty job he got, he did it and
+never whined.  He had no airs, and never trumpeted his family lineage
+or his school.  He was just a dear, lovable English gentleman, who'd
+been a bit foolish at home.  He is here in the Australian contingent;
+in fact, he's coming to see me to-night.  Ah! here he is," she
+gleefully exclaimed, as a tall, well-built soldier, with a monocle,
+casually stepped on to the veranda.  "Come and be introduced?"
+
+"What!  To a Tommy," said the surprised subaltern.
+
+"Yes--and a _gentleman_," Sybil emphasised.
+
+"Hallo, dear boy!"
+
+"Well, Sybil, what a surprise when I got your wire."
+
+"Let me introduce Mr. Jones of the Yeomanry--Private Dufair."
+
+Claud solemnly saluted.  There was a twinkle in his eye as the
+surprised subaltern started back, exclaiming, "What--Claud Dufair?  You
+were at Rugby with me!"
+
+"The same, sir," said Claud, standing rigidly to attention, full of
+suppressed mirth.
+
+"Well, shake, old boy!  How the devil are you?  And, Tommy or no Tommy,
+you must have a bottle of fizz with me to-morrow night.  Now, I'm not
+going to spoil sport.  I've had an awful wigging from Miss Graham."
+
+"My fiancée," interjected Claud.
+
+"Lucky dog--put me down as your next-of-kin when you make your will.
+Good night."
+
+"Good night," said the happy couple, passing on to the shade of the
+palms, where they renewed that love which is mightier than the sword.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE WISDOM OF "K"
+
+It was a sweltering heat--a day to drink squash and be on a cool
+veranda.  But war has no respect for feelings or conditions, so the
+Australian, New Zealander, and Lancashire men had to hoof it across the
+sun-baked desert.  The troops were divided into three columns, each
+striking for a different point.  They were bent on a combined scheme in
+which the "General Idea," "Special Idea," and other vague military
+terms figured large.
+
+"Ain't the heat hellish?  My nose is feeling like a banana, and my
+shirt's glued to my back!  Wish I had joined the Camel Corps or Donkey
+Brigade.  Gravel crushing's no good to me," growled Bill, changing his
+rifle for the hundredth time.
+
+"We're suffering for the sins of our predecessors," remarked Claud,
+shifting his eyeglass to look at the Pyramids.
+
+"How's that?"
+
+"In South Africa the Australians went any old way.  They fought well,
+but, as Roberts said, they lacked discipline.  That's why you and I are
+here.  They're going to grind the insubordination out of us.  They'll
+march us and sweat us to death.  'Trouble maketh a strong man, Pain
+maketh a true man,' so some old wag has said."
+
+"Wish ould Kitchener had me thirst, an' this ould pack on his back,"
+growled Doolan.
+
+"Ay, an' these damnt moskeetes are ay chowin' ma face off," said Sandy.
+
+"Couldn't we have been trained in Australia instead of this confounded
+hole?" added Bill, who was in a nasty mood that day.
+
+"Too many pubs, too many ma's, and too many politicians about for
+that," Claud answered.  "Besides, Kitchener's a smart fellow.  He knows
+his job.  We're here to keep these bally niggers in order, and, at the
+same time, train for war.  You can't push it on to 'K'; he's too mighty
+quick for you an' me."
+
+"But when the blazes are we goin' to the war?  I'm thirstin' to cut
+some fellow's throat, but all I gets is march and sweat--sweat and
+march--and fourteen days C.B. if I look sideways at these officer
+blokes.  No good to me, boys.  I'm here for killin', not for road
+punchin'.  I've got a head like a barrel and feet like boiled tomatoes."
+
+"Ye shouldna' drink beer," piped Sandy.
+
+"Wot should I drink then?"
+
+"Proosic acid," Doolan muttered, giving Claud a nudge.
+
+"You've got a bad liver to-day, Bill.  I think you've been drinking the
+Gippies' firewater.  I thought the old parson had got you to sign the
+pledge."
+
+"Who could sign the pledge in an 'ole like this?  It's sand and flies,
+flies and sand, C.B., bully beef, jam, and No. 9 pills.  Wot a life!"
+concluded Bill, relapsing into silence.  They left him alone.  It was
+Bill's "off day."  He would come round again.
+
+Bill's attitude at that period of the war represented the feelings of
+many a Tommy in the Australian and New Zealand forces.  These men,
+accustomed to the life of freedom, action, and the daily use of
+initiative, cursed the seemingly endless days of drill, shooting,
+marching, manoeuvring, with the firm discipline and immediate
+punishment when rules were ignored.  Eight long months of this was
+their lot, and during that time there seemed little prospect of their
+seeing war.  It was a hard test.
+
+To them it seemed a cruel test.  The younger and more inexperienced
+thought it useless and a waste of time, but the officers understood the
+reason why.  It was Kitchener's way.  "K" knew that these men were the
+finest fighters in the world.  But to get the fullest value for their
+courage he realised that training and discipline, discipline,
+discipline was absolutely essential.  Every officer of the General
+Staff expected them to curse and kick.  The Staff also assumed that, in
+the end, the Australians' true sense of justice would compel them to
+admit that all this "suffering" would make them infinitely superior to
+any Australian units which had hitherto shared in fighting for the
+Motherland.  This is exactly what did occur.  Kitchener was, therefore,
+right!  Kitchener is always right.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+The Australian column had reached its rendezvous.  While the men were
+resting, General Fearless, the Australian G.O.C., was issuing his
+orders to the Brigade Commanders.
+
+"Gentlemen," he said, "the General Idea is that the Red Force, composed
+of the Lancashire Division, holds the ridge of sand hills which
+dominate the road to Cairo.  We, who represent the Blue Force, have
+orders to make a reconnaissance in force.  That means that we must so
+manoeuvre our units as to draw the enemy's fire, and, if possible,
+reveal his position, his strength, and the weakest point in his line.
+This, let me tell you, is not exactly an offensive movement.  It is a
+drawing game.  That must be distinctly understood.  Of course, in such
+a reconnaissance, if a G.O.C. saw something which _would_ justify his
+assuming a vigorous offensive, then the game might develop into a
+general action.  That, however, is a matter for me, not for an
+individual brigadier.  Now, to-day, I want the Bushmen's Brigade to
+cover our advance, the remaining brigades will act as in my operation
+orders.  Remember, too, gentlemen, that units must keep up
+communication.  Don't let the show develop into a sort of Donnybrook,
+where each little unit is fighting for its own band.  That is all--fall
+out, please."
+
+The Brigadiers saluted, and returned to their units.  The scheme was
+again explained.  Ten minutes afterwards the brigades moved into
+position.  The Bushmen's Brigade took post away in front; in the centre
+of this front line was the Kangaroo Marines.  Covering the whole
+advance was a screen of men, and in front of the screen, little patrols
+with scouts ahead.  When all were in the position the G.O.C. signalled
+"Advance."  An army on the move is a fascinating sight.  It is like an
+octopus--the main body with a thousand tendrils, or arms, thrown out.
+These recoil as they touch the enemy, telling the brain that danger is
+near.
+
+In selecting the Bushmen's Brigade for the advanced guard, the G.O.C.
+was right.  They were born scouts, especially the Kangaroo Marines.
+These valiants wriggled, crawled, and occasionally doubled across the
+burning sands.  It was hard work--mighty hard work--but they didn't
+mind.  They were doing something useful, and as long as a Bushman is
+doing that he is all alive and interested.
+
+Bang! went a rifle ahead of them.  Bang!  Bang!  Bang! went the reply.
+The fight had commenced.  Bill, who was in command of Doolan and Sandy,
+was right ahead.  Claud was away on his right with another little
+squad.  But it was Bill's keen eyes which had first seen little groups
+of the enemy ahead.  One little group, grown tired of waiting, was
+snoozing peacefully on a sandy hollow.  Bill and his cronies crept on
+their stomachs towards them.  Nearer they drew, then, with a yell,
+leaped down on them.
+
+"Hands up, boys; we've got you."
+
+"Who are ye kiddin'?" said a Lancashire lad, jumping up with his pals.
+
+"There's no kiddin' about this business," said Bill.  "Chuck them
+rifles over here."
+
+"All right, lad; thou can 'ave 'em--give us a fag," said the leader,
+glad to be out of the hurly-burly.
+
+They were sent to the rear.
+
+Meantime, the firing had become stronger.  Away ahead, Bill's party saw
+a long line of men lying about on a ridge of sand.  They were firing
+furiously at the advancing scouts.
+
+"I reckon that's a patrol.  We'd better scatter them," ordered Bill,
+going forward in the most brazen manner to capture about twenty men.
+According to the rules of war this was impossible.  Hence the sudden
+appearance of a "Brass Hat" with a white band on his arm.
+
+"Here--you!" he shouted to Bill and his men.
+
+"Well, matey--what's wrong?"
+
+"You're out of action--clear out," said the officer, a little annoyed
+at the term "matey."
+
+"Hands up," said Bill, shoving in a round of blank and presenting his
+rifle at the man on the horse.
+
+"Confound your cheek--how dare you----"
+
+"No lip, old cock.  Get off that gee-gee."
+
+"Don't you know who I am?  I'm Colonel Redtabs----"
+
+"And I'm Bill Buster, boss of this scoutin' show.  You can't fool
+me--I'm an Australian."
+
+"Hang it all!  Don't you know I'm an umpire?"
+
+"Look here, this ain't a cricket match.  Get off, or I'll blow you
+off," said Bill, fingering his trigger.  The old colonel, realising
+that he was dealing with a too zealous scout, unacquainted with the
+rules of mimic warfare, jumped off his horse.
+
+"Now, Sandy, get on that horse."
+
+"What?" said Sandy, a little confused.
+
+"Get on that horse or I'll blow you _on_," ordered Bill, somewhat
+annoyed at the waste of time.
+
+Sandy jumped up.
+
+"Now, take this bloke back to Colonel Killem.  Tell him he's a poor
+fellow wot's wrong in his head, an' thinks he's at a cricket match."
+
+The captured umpire, who was a sportsman with a real sense of humour,
+laughed heartily as he was led away.
+
+"Knew he was mad," commented Bill, as he watched him go.  "Now, Paddy,
+that patrol has scooted; let's get after them."
+
+The attack was now well into the first stage.  The scouts of the
+Lancashires were fighting a running action with the scouts and patrols
+of the Australians.  From knoll to knoll they were pressed, both sides
+skilfully using every fold in the ground.  Bill, by this time, had
+increased his army to about twenty men.  Using the most original
+adjectives and assuming a superior air, he ordered his command about
+like some old fire-eating colonel.  His vigorous pursuit kept the enemy
+busy, but eventually they pulled him up in front of a roughly-made
+sangar.  This was a strong detached post thrown out in front of the
+outpost line.  The defenders gave his little army a fierce fusillade of
+blank.
+
+"That's up _you_, Buffalo Bill," said the mischievous Doolan.
+
+"Silence in the ranks," roared Bill, who was taking himself very
+seriously.  He carefully surveyed the position, which held fifty men.
+They were not to be moved, that was evident.  Bill determined to do so.
+
+"Fix bayonets!" he shouted.
+
+"Ain't allowed," said a stripling at his side.
+
+"Fix bayonets!" he ordered again.
+
+"I tell you it ain't allowed at these sham shows.  Colonel's orders."
+
+"Look 'ere, you take Bill Buster's orders, or you'll get a thick ear."
+That settled the matter.
+
+"Charge!" roared the leader, jumping up and leading the twenty
+full-blooded desperadoes up to the redoubt.
+
+"Halt, you fellows!  Halt!" roared a Lancashire subaltern, jumping up.
+"Are you off your bally heads?"
+
+"'Ere, mate, you're supposed to be dead," said Bill, panting and
+blowing, but holding a bayonet at his chest.  The remainder of his
+party were, meantime, tickling the fast retreating Lancashire lads with
+the points of their bayonets.
+
+"Don't you know who I am?" said the indignant subaltern.
+
+"Look 'ere, young fellow, you're supposed to be dead."
+
+"How dare you--I'm an officer!"
+
+"I'm Bill Buster.  Now will you lie down an' kid you're dead.  That's
+wot you've got to do at these shows."
+
+"Don't be a bally ass!"
+
+"All right, cocky; hand me that sword."
+
+As Bill's bayonet looked rather unpleasant, the officer complied.  Then
+Bill sat down.  Pulling a black stump of a pencil out of his pocket, he
+proceed to write a dispatch.  It was as follows:
+
+
+"DEAR CURNEL,--Paddy Doolan an' I, with twenty boys, just captured
+enemy's position.  Enemy running like blazes.  The officer bloke
+refuses to be dead.  I'm sending him to you.  We're just goin' off to
+try an' capture a general.--Yours,
+
+"BILL BUSTER."
+
+"P.S.--Did you get that mad fellow wot thinks we're playin' cricket?
+Pore chap!"
+
+
+This letter and the prisoner were dispatched under escort to Colonel
+Killem in rear.  Bill again proceeded to join the long line of scouts
+which now faced the outposts of the enemy.  This was the second stage
+of the attack.  The "screen" now came up and thickened the Australian
+line.  Many officers came with it, so Bill, without protest, vacated
+the post of "general."
+
+"Bang, bang, bang!" went the rifles.  "Z-r-r-p-rip-rip!" went the
+machine-guns, while the sullen boom of the field artillery in rear
+indicated that matters were becoming interesting.
+
+"Advance by rushes," ordered the senior Australian officer in the front
+line.
+
+"Why don't you let us give 'em the bayonet?" muttered Bill, disagreeing
+with the tactics of his superior.
+
+"Shut up," ordered an old sergeant.
+
+"All right, funny-face."
+
+"Consider yourself a prisoner," was the final word of the N.C.O. as
+they went forward on the rush.  Bill wished for more than a round of
+blank.
+
+Section after section took up a new line.  Then the rushes started
+again.  All the time the rifles were spitting out their fire.  They
+reached within fifty yards of the outpost line.  As this was simply a
+protective screen, and not the line of resistance, the enemy's outpost
+companies commenced to fade away systematically in the direction of
+their main body.
+
+"Prepare to charge," ordered the officer.
+
+"With bayonets?" queried Bill.
+
+"No," he snapped.
+
+"Wot's a bloomin' bayonet for?" asked Bill when the officer was out of
+hearing.
+
+"For openin' jam tins, ye fathead," said Paddy.
+
+"Charge!"  The long line rose like one man.  With a great cheer they
+swept away the remnants of the outpost companies and occupied the
+ridge.  This gave the Australians a complete view of the main position.
+Both flanks rested on impassable obstacles.  The front was secured by
+imaginary entanglements, backed up by a series of trenches and an array
+of Maxims and guns.  This was the information required by the
+Australian G.O.C.  The reconnaissance had served its purpose.  The
+"Assembly" was sounded, and the field day seemed done.
+
+But war is full of surprises, and it is the surprises which make or mar
+a general's name.  While General Fearless and his force were rallying
+for lunch all were suddenly surprised by a fearful roll of musketry on
+the right.
+
+"By gad, sir--we're trapped!" said the Chief of Staff, jumping up.
+"Shall I order the brigades to form to the right, and meet this attack?"
+
+"No," said Fearless, coolly eating his sandwich.  "Get me some
+information."
+
+"But they may decimate us in the meantime, sir."
+
+"Get me information, please," was the quiet and more firm command.
+
+Two aides-de-camp were sent at the gallop towards the mysterious force
+which had suddenly appeared and was furiously firing blank.  They found
+the New Zealanders pressing on in three separate lines towards them.
+
+"It's a proper trap," said one of the gallopers.  "And look to our
+rear.  There's more there.  This flank business is a feint.  They're
+trying to smash us behind, and they're 'cute enough not to fire a shot
+from that direction.  Say, Brown, gallop back and tell the general, and
+I'll try and bluff this front line here."  Away went the messenger
+while the other young staff officer galloped into the front line of New
+Zealanders.
+
+"The New Zealanders will cease fire," said the daring galloper.  His
+staff cap commanded the respect of an innocent subaltern.  He blew his
+whistle.  More whistles were heard.  In two minutes all was
+comparatively still.
+
+"You will commence firing again in fifteen minutes.  Pass it along."
+Down the line went the false order.  Smiling inwardly, the shrewd
+aide-de-camp galloped away.  Meantime the Australian G.O.C. had acted
+vigorously.  Throwing out two regiments to hold the feinting force on
+his right, he then turned the other brigades about.  These were
+deployed at the double, sent forward with a rush, and, in three
+minutes, dug shelter trenches in the sand.  They were ordered to keep
+low until the main body of the New Zealanders pressed the attack well
+home.  It was an exciting moment.  And the Maorilanders expected an
+easy win.  On they came in their long skirmishing lines.  At last they
+were within fifty yards of the hidden Australians.
+
+"Rapid fire!"
+
+Bang!  Zrrrp--Boom!  Boom!  Boom! crashed rifles, Maxims, and guns.
+The New Zealanders were startled.  Before they had recovered from their
+surprise, Fearless ordered the "Charge!"  Like deerhounds, his men rose
+up and dashed pell-mell into the panic-stricken host.  There was a
+shock, a wavering, and then a pell-mell rush to the rear.  The
+Australians had won.  They had _not_ been surprised.
+
+"Cease fire!  Sound the 'Officers' Call,'" ordered the chief umpire,
+galloping up.  From far and near came the leaders to the pow-wow.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+"Well, gentlemen," said the umpire (the Commander-in-Chief), "I've seen
+much to-day.  There has been little to deplore and a great deal to
+commend.  Throughout the whole show there has been shown skill,
+enthusiasm, and dash.  Leadership was good, communication fair, and
+nothing very rash was done.  Your eight months' training has improved
+you beyond recognition.
+
+"To-day I tested our Australian friends.  I planned to trick them, to
+throw them into confusion, and to cause a general panic by a sudden
+onslaught while they were resting and apparently finished for the day.
+The trap failed because General Fearless was cool and appreciated the
+situation.  That, to me, is an important point.  The surprises of war
+are the things which make us or break us.  Surprises in South Africa
+smashed more reputations than anything else.  It is perfectly easy at
+manoeuvres to carry out a scheme laid down.  It is not easy suddenly to
+meet a dramatic development or side issue.
+
+"Now for another point.  Our colonial friends still suffer from an
+abundance of vitality and the too daring use of the initiative.  That
+is a good fault, and yet a bad one.  In guerilla warfare it would be a
+tremendous asset.  In a concerted scheme it might prove disastrous.  No
+matter how daring and clever the individual soldier or officer, if he
+forgets that there are men, sections, regiments, and brigades to his
+right or left--if he fails to appreciate the full value of
+co-ordination and co-operation, he is a danger to himself and his
+force.  Of course, gentlemen, I fully appreciate that this charming
+recklessness of our overseas cousins is due to temperament, not to
+intent or a desire to be big at the expense of their fellows.  That is
+why we have trained you so hard.  Without any desire to give offence, I
+say boldly that the Australians and New Zealanders are an infinitely
+better trained, better disciplined, and, therefore, a more useful body
+of men than was sent by these Dominions to South Africa.
+
+"It has been a very long, weary road, gentlemen.  Your men, I am sure,
+have cursed me often.  But grousing is the privilege of the soldier.
+Indeed, I always suspect the man who doesn't grouse.  He is either too
+meek, or else he is like a Quaker--far too respectable.  And this great
+camp of ours would, indeed, be dull without the original adjectives of
+our Australasians.
+
+"That is all, gentlemen, except this--and it is important--in a few
+weeks you will be in active service.  We expect great things of the
+Australasians, the Twenty-ninth Division, and our Lancashire men; and I
+know that we shall receive of your best.  Good-day, gentlemen."  And
+off rode the handsome courtier and soldier with a rousing cheer ringing
+in his ears.  There's nothing like brains; and there's a great deal in
+tact.  Ask a colonial.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE LANDING
+
+A great convoy of transports, guarded by destroyers, ploughed silently
+through the waters which lap the European side of the Gallipoli
+Peninsula.  The ships had the Australian force on board, and the
+destroyers were there to assist them in one of the most daring missions
+in modern war.
+
+All lights were out and strict silence was observed.  Each man had,
+therefore, time to commune with the spirits of those nine thousand
+miles away.  It was not a time for the buffoon; they were faced with
+all the dread perils of war.
+
+Nearer and nearer the ships drew to their objective.  At last they
+reached the point assigned them by the Staff.  A quiet signal was
+given.  Destroyers, pinnaces, and row boats were placed at the sides of
+the transports, rough gangways thrown out, and the command to move
+quietly was passed along.  Noiselessly they stepped from the
+transports; but all the while there was an electric-like feeling around
+the heart--that peculiar something which only the soldier knows.
+However, there wasn't time to romance or moralise.  War rules out
+sentiment and fears.  There was a job to be done.
+
+When each boat was packed with its human freight, the gangways were
+slipped, cables thrown off, and all were quietly towed to the shore.
+It was still dark--one hour, in fact, before the dawn.  When close
+inshore, the hand of Providence proved kind.  This took the form of a
+strong current--so strong, in fact, that it pressed the boats away from
+the point previously assigned for the landing and washed them into a
+safer part for the historic encounter.
+
+That current saved thousands of Australian lives; indeed, it may have
+ensured the success of the mission.  Had the Australians landed at the
+point decided on, it is doubtful whether the landing would have been so
+thoroughly effective as it proved on the other beach.
+
+"Not much doing--eh?" said Colonel Killem to his adjutant as he peered
+through the darkness to the shore.  Indeed, it seemed that the enemy
+had left this shore unguarded.  But the Turks are wily soldiers.  They
+allowed the boats to near the shore, then opened up a murderous rifle
+and machine-gun fire.
+
+"Gad!  Boys, I'm hit!" said a subaltern, falling, his blood spurting in
+a stream all over his clothes.
+
+"So'm I!" said another youngster with a ping in his arm.
+
+"Holy Father, preserve us!" muttered Doolan, crossing himself, as they
+grated on the shore.
+
+"Jump, boys, jump!" shouted the colonel.  There was no need to tell
+them, no need to show the lead.  They leaped pluckily from their boats
+and dashed up the beach.  There was a pause while a few collected.
+
+Then, seeing the Turks firing furiously from a trench ahead, somebody
+yelled out, "Charge!"  A cheer electrified the chilling dawn as they
+rushed on.  Some were killed; some fell, wounded, on the way; the
+others pressed forward, their faces grim, their eyes alert, and the
+muscles of their arms all taut with the fierce gripping of the rifles
+in their hands.  It was their first charge; but they did it like the
+veterans of Corunna and Waterloo.
+
+"Allah!  Allah!" shouted the Turks as they neared the trenches.
+
+"Too late, old cock," said Bill, plunging his bayonet home.
+
+"That's one for Paddy Doolan."
+
+"Help, Paddy; this big deevil's got me," yelled Sandy, who had been
+struck by a Turk.  Crash went the Irishman's butt on the Turk's skull,
+and he fell back dead.  Sandy's wound was dressed, and he was sent to
+the rear.  Meantime some supports had come up.
+
+Seeing the Turks fleeing into another trench some fifty yards up the
+slope, the colonel ordered them to charge again.  The Australians'
+blood was up.  They had seen red and had felt success.  They wanted
+more.  Throwing off their cumbersome packs, they charged forward again.
+
+"They've got me," shouted an officer, throwing up his arms and letting
+out the awful shriek of death.  But this withering fire did not appal
+these young Australians.  The sight of their comrades, dead and
+wounded, roused them more.  Revenge set their faces hard, and with many
+a fierce and terrible oath they leaped into the second trench.
+
+"The Australians will retire," said an officer, jumping in front of the
+attacking line.
+
+"Who said so?" asked Colonel Killem, looking at the man.
+
+"I say so.  I'm one of zee Staff."
+
+"You damned German!" shouted the colonel, shooting him dead.  The game
+which had been so well played in France did not come off.
+
+The remnants of the Turks were bayoneted and butted to death; but the
+main body were fleeing up the hill.
+
+"Rapid fire!" roared the colonel; but the eager men were already after
+the enemy with the bayonet.  Up the steep, steep sides of the cliff
+they clambered and stumbled.  It was more like a race for a prize than
+a juggle with death.  Occasionally the morning light showed the red
+blood on the bayonets and hands of the charging men.
+
+These blood-stained, panting soldiers terrified the Turks at the top of
+the hill.  Their tactics had surprised them.  They had looked for the
+usual musketry assault; instead, they had received the chilling steel.
+And the bayonet on a cold morning is a sight that sickens the best.
+Furiously they pumped another dose of lead into the gallant
+Australians.  More fell dead, others dropped wounded, blood spattered
+the grass, and above the din of musketry and guns could be heard the
+cries of:
+
+"Bearers--stretcher bearers!"
+
+"Water, for God's sake!"
+
+"Send up the doctor."
+
+"I'm done, boys--I'm d-o-n-e!"
+
+The units, by this time, had become mixed.  Many officers had been
+killed.  There was that confusion which is found in all attacks.
+Still, all these men knew that "forward--forward" was the game.  The
+roughest and most daring took charge of little groups, and, with these,
+they cheered, cursed, and leaped into the trench at the edge of the
+green plateau.  Again, the main body had fled, leaving the more weary
+and stubborn to defend the hill.
+
+"Kill the beggars!"
+
+"Plug his bread-basket!"
+
+These were some of the things that were shouted, for all soldiers, in a
+charge, curse like Marlborough's troops did in Flanders.
+
+A charge seems a terrible thing when reading of it at one's fireside.
+Folks shiver and ask, "How can they do it?  Don't they feel afraid?"
+They may at the outset; but the noise, the swing, the officers'
+inspiration, the sight of blood and a fleeing foe damp down the
+sensitiveness of culture and recreate the primitive lust to kill.
+
+For the moment the man is a savage; Nature blinds him to the perils of
+wounds and death.  Duty steels him harder still, and pride of race
+tells him that he must do as his fathers did--die like a gentleman and
+a soldier.
+
+The success of the first troops inspired the following reserves.  They
+all wanted to emulate the Kangaroo Marines and other dashing corps.
+Without waiting for their complete units, these little groups crawled,
+floundered, and wriggled their way up the gully on to the hill.  It was
+now daylight.  As they gained the summit the Turks greeted them with
+terrific bursts of shrapnel and common shell.  The crack, the white
+puff of smoke, then the scattering balls of lead did not dismay these
+warriors.
+
+It roused their curiosity, and, like schoolboys, some stopped to see
+the fun of the show.  Cover they disdained.  They were too proud to
+duck and hide in a hole or trench.  This was the recklessness for which
+they had to pay.  Yet it was useful.  It taught them that to take
+advantage of all cover was the modern soldier's game.
+
+"Extend, boys, extend!" roared an officer as the reserves came up.
+They ran out and tried to make a long, rough line.  They could see the
+fleeing Turks, and behind them the Kangaroo Marines and other members
+of the first landing force.  Ahead was a little valley and then a
+slope.  This was commanded by the Turks.
+
+"Come on, boys," shouted an officer.
+
+Little groups, under subalterns, N.C.O.'s, or privates with the
+leader's instinct, dashed towards this hill.  More were killed, more
+wounded on the way; but, undaunted, they pushed on.  Up the slopes
+crawled, clambered, and cursed the dashing infantry.  They reached
+their objective, and, again, the Turks had gone.
+
+"My God--what a sight!" said Claud, looking behind.  The ground was
+dotted with dead and dying.  Wounded men crawled and limped to the
+rear, their clothes soaked in blood.  Men with limbs shattered to pulp
+lay moaning and pleading for death.  Others, slightly wounded, poured
+water down the parched throats of the suffering.  It was a shambles.
+It was war.
+
+Yet the touch of mercy and humanity was not absent.  Doctors and
+bearers, disdaining death, tended the wounded and dying.  Under a
+ruthless fire orderlies carried the sufferers down to the beach below.
+Many were killed at the job.  Nobly they stuck to it.  The heroism of
+these Red Cross men is one of the finest things in the Gaba Tepe show.
+
+The attack had now developed into a galloping pursuit.  Turks were
+demoralised, and after them went the Australians like whippets on the
+course.  There was no regular line.  Little units were here and there.
+It was the day for the born leader.  Having no precise information as
+to where the pursuit should end and a defensive line made, many pushed
+right on with a courage that was amazing.
+
+One group was caught in a gully and decimated; others, who pushed
+almost across the Peninsula, were either killed, wounded, or captured.
+The remainder, realising the need of consolidating into a general line,
+came back to the main body.  With their entrenching tools they dug
+holes in the ground, and from behind these little mounds of earth they
+kept up a steady fire.  Without rations, without water--and, at times,
+without ammunition--they patiently hung on.
+
+All this, too, in a sweltering heat and in the centre of a terrific
+bombardment.  It was the greatest trial any force could have
+experienced.  The Australians exceeded all expectations.
+
+"They're coming back again," said an officer late that afternoon.
+
+Sure enough, there was the Turkish host.  Rapid fire wiped many out;
+still on they came right up to the line.  The Australians charged.  And
+all day it was charge and counter-charge.  Officers have seldom
+displayed the tenacity and courage of these Australians' leaders.  They
+played the game as well as the scions of Eton and other historic
+schools.  And then God, in His mercy, sent down the fall of night.
+This hid the shambles, gave ease to the wounded and dying, and allowed
+the living to snatch a drink and bite.
+
+But none were idle.  On their knees, on their backs, on their sides,
+they had to dig in, for the fire was still deadly and many were being
+killed and wounded.  The sailors worked like Trojans, bringing rations,
+ammunition, and reserves ashore.  Thanks to them, the gunners, and the
+untiring zeal of the Staff, the line next day was fairly well
+established.
+
+The landing was complete; they had achieved what the Germans had
+advertised as the impossible.  Australians have, therefore, every right
+to feel proud.  And all Britishers ought to feel proud of them too.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+"Well, boys--how's things?" asked Colonel Killem, one day, when
+visiting his men in the trenches.
+
+"A1 at Lloyd's, colonel.  But I reckon we ought to pull old Johnny
+Turk's leg."
+
+"How?"
+
+"Play tricks on him.  Give a cheer an' kid we're going to charge.
+They'll fire every bally round they've got."
+
+"Good idea, Buster--good idea!  We'll do that to-night."
+
+About 8 P.M. that night the whole front line fixed bayonets and showed
+them above the parapet.  At a given signal all let out a ringing cheer.
+The poor old Turks got into an awful stew.  Machine-guns, field-guns,
+and rifles opened up a terrific fire.  They kept it up for over half an
+hour, firing thousands of rounds.
+
+"Another cheer, boys," ordered the colonel.
+
+"Bang!  Bang!  Bang!" went the Turks again.  The ruse was a splendid
+one.  But the wily Turk tumbled to the game at last.
+
+"We'll need to get something new, boys; that game's played out," said
+the colonel next day.
+
+After consulting his men they hit on another scheme.  About twenty men
+were ordered to fix bayonets and continually pass along the line,
+allowing their bayonets to show above the parapet as they marched along.
+
+On reaching the end they pulled their rifles down and crept back to
+where they had started from.  Again they marched along, showing their
+bayonets, as before.  The old Turks simply saw this constant stream of
+bayonets.  They concluded that the Australians were massing for the
+attack.  The Turks lined their trenches and opened up another furious
+fusillade, supported by machine-guns and shrapnel.  Thousands of rounds
+were expended before they realised that they had been fooled once more.
+
+There was a lull next day, so Bill and his friends shaved off their
+whiskers and had a bath in a cupful of water.  Claud cleaned his
+eyeglass, and Paddy went in search of a glass of rum from some of the
+sailors.  Sandy, then on light duty, opened up a business as a curio
+agent.  He swapped Turkish rifles, bullet clips, and other things for
+pieces of bread, a tin of jam, a tasty Maconochie, and some tea.  This
+was a godsend to his famished pals in the trenches.  Bill also wrote a
+letter home to Mrs. McGinnes, his old Sydney landlady and financier:
+
+
+"DEAR OLD SPORT,--Hope's your well.  I'm well, but the Turks ain't
+well.  Reckon we've killed millions of 'em.  Ain't got the V.C. yet.
+There's a shipload comin' next week for The Kangaroo Boys.  You can
+'ave mine for a brooch.  Likin' the life fine here--except the bullets.
+They generally kills a feller wot ain't careful.  There ain't no
+undertakers out here.  When we wants a new kit we generally borrows the
+clothes an' boots of a dead feller.  We live in little 'oles jist like
+rabbits, an' the old Turks keep throwin' nasty things called bombs.
+They ain't nice--one blew a feller's head off last night.  Pore chap,
+an' he had such a nice pair of trousers--I've got 'em on now.  The
+snipers are nasty fellers, 'demned annoyin',' as my ole friend Claud
+says.  One keeps hittin' my loop-'ole, but I'm going to 'ave the dirty
+ole rascal's blood to-night.  Now, ta ta, old girl.  Love to the
+children.--Your ole friend,
+
+"BILL BUSTER.
+
+"_P.S._--Lend me a quid.  What a thirst I've got.  We can generally buy
+rum from the sailors.  Make it two quid an' I'll send you a lot of
+kurios.
+
+"_P.P.S._--I needs tobacco--couple of pounds 'll do.  An' throw in some
+cigarettes.  Wot a life!
+
+"_P.P.P.S._--x x x x x x x x.  These are for you--don't tell yer hubby.
+Bye-bye."
+
+
+That night Claud spotted Bill crawling out of the trenches.
+
+"Where are you going, you silly ass?"
+
+"Who's silly?" said Bill, looking back at his friend in the trench.
+
+Ping! went a bullet from the sniper.  It went right through his
+trousers, but missed his leg.
+
+"It's that feller I'm after."
+
+Before Claud could detain him he disappeared.  Dropping on to his
+knees, he crawled for some distance, then lay flat.
+
+Ping went the sniper's bullet again.  He saw the flash.  This
+incidentally revealed the position of the Turk.  Fixing his bayonet,
+Bill made a wide detour, At last he arrived in rear of his object.
+
+Ping! went the rifle again.  So intent was the sniper on his job that
+he did not hear the crawling man behind.  Like a snake, Bill wriggled
+along.  He finished up ten yards behind his man.  This sniper had
+killed and wounded thirty men in two days.  He did not deserve a quick
+dispatch, and Bill had no intention of giving him that.  With a bound,
+he jumped on him, and pinned him right through the shoulders with his
+bayonet.
+
+"Allah!  Allah!" shrieked the man, in the most dreadful pain.
+
+"Old Allah ain't no good to you now.  Get up!"  And he was lifted up
+with the bayonet.
+
+When he rose from the ground Bill found he had a green bush tied all
+round him.  His face and hands were afterwards found to be painted
+green.  All this the Turks had acquired from their German masters.
+
+"Now, old cock, run!" said Bill, pushing the man in front.
+
+Screaming with pain the sniper was pushed at the double right up to the
+Australian trench.
+
+"What's all that row there?" roared the Colonel.
+
+"Jest been catchin' a sniper, Colonel," answered Bill, throwing his man
+off the bayonet into the trench.  He dropped dead at the Colonel's feet.
+
+"A good death for him, too," said Sam, thinking of the fine fellows
+this man had killed and wounded.  A sniper, let it be known, does not
+play the clean game of war, and any punishment is justifiable.
+
+Bill had given him his deserts.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+"HELL-FIRE POST"
+
+  "_Bullets here, bullets there,
+  Bullets, bullets everywhere._"
+
+
+Such is trench life.  Death at every corner, death at every moment of
+the day.  Bullets plunk against the parapet with a monotonous
+regularity; others crack in the air like a whip, while some whiz past
+the ear like a great queen bee.  At odd intervals a dose of shrapnel
+heightens the nerves, and now and again a high-explosive comes down
+with a shuddering boom!
+
+A trench isn't the place for a lady, it isn't the place for a
+mild-mannered curate.  It's the place for blunt, hard and active men.
+In fact, the nearer man is to the brute creation the better he is at
+this game.  The highly strung, carefully fed, hot-house plant, such as
+a mamma's darling, hasn't a look in.  He finds it a beastly bore, and
+longs for the drawing-room cushions and afternoon tea.  Trench life
+reveals the best and shows the worst.  A man's nature stands out like a
+statue.  For trench life a man needs the stomach of a horse, the
+strength of a lion, and the nerves of a navvy.  Any man can do a
+bayonet charge; any man can shoot down the charging host; but it takes
+a braver man to live in a trench month after month.  His nostrils are
+filled with the stench of the fallen, for his parapet is frequently
+built up with the dead.  His tea is made with water polluted with
+germs, the bully beef stew is generally soaked in dust and sand.
+
+And the flies!  They're worse than all, the pestilential breed!  Flies
+kill more men than bullets.  Flies were surely invented by some ancient
+Hun.
+
+Trench life in France is a picnic compared with the Dardanelles.  In
+France, one _can_ get soft bread, fresh coffee and yesterday's _Times_.
+But, in the Dardanelles it is biscuits and bully, bully and
+biscuits--without the news of Pollokshields and Mayfair.  Yet, despite
+the severity of things, the Australasians were ever serene.  To them it
+was a sporting game.  They had been used to boiling their own billy
+cans; used to looking for firewood; used to making a shanty wherein to
+lay their heads.  Where the Cockney might die from heat and thirst, the
+Australasian can thrive like a Zulu or aborigine.  City bred troops
+demand an organisation of things; Australasian troops organise things
+for themselves.  And where our friends of The Kangaroo Marines were
+certainly demanded all their cunning and courage.  It was called
+"Hell-Fire Post."  This was on the left of the Australian line, within
+thirty yards of the Turks.  The post had developed from a thin line of
+holes into a strong redoubt.  Many had died, more had been wounded in
+defending this place, but it was worth it.  This was the key of the
+whole line.  That was why The Kangaroo Marines were there.  When they
+took it over, they found the parapets thin and bullets coming in all
+round.
+
+"Hot shop, by Jove!" said Claud, adjusting his monocle to look through
+an aperture.
+
+Crack! came a bullet, just missing his head.
+
+"Better take that window out of yer face," said Bill.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Them ole snipers thinks yer a general."
+
+"My dear fellow, you're a positive bore--now, lend me a hand."  And
+Claud, despite the whizzing bullets, filled more sandbags and shoved
+them up with a shovel.  Bill helped him to make a V-shaped aperture.
+This work was continued all along the line.  But all the sandbags and
+crack shots could not keep the rifle fire down.  To move a hand or head
+above the level of the ground meant a wound.
+
+"This won't do," said the Colonel, as he made his morning visit on his
+hands and knees.
+
+"It's like a penny shooting show, Colonel," said Bill.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Me an' the boys are doin' running man for them fellers over there.
+They chip bits on yer head, an' bits on yer chest.  It ain't
+comfortable.  It ain't war."
+
+"It's sudden daith," chipped in Sandy Brown.
+
+"All right, boys, I'll send up something to-day.  Cheer up, you'll soon
+be at Manly amongst the girls," and off went Killem on his rounds.
+That afternoon a dozen big iron plates came up.  These were square with
+a hole in the centre.  This hole was covered by a little iron door,
+which could be lifted at will.  Bill and his pals seized one and
+commenced to fix it in position.  Under a hail of lead they worked
+sweating, grousing and cursing all the time.  At last it was fixed and
+ready for business.
+
+"This is my shot," said Bill, taking hold of his rifle.  Slowly he
+opened the door, then peeped through.
+
+"I see one, boys!"
+
+"Where?" they whispered.
+
+"Behind some bags.  Gosh, ain't he ugly.  He's got a face like a black
+puddin', and the eyes of a snake.  He ain't a bit of Turkish delight,
+anyhow, I wouldn't like to lick his old face.  Wheesht, boys, he's
+goin' to shoot."
+
+"At you?"
+
+"No!  Some fathead down the line.  But I'll get the one-eyed Moslem
+blighter," muttered Bill, taking careful aim.
+
+"Mind yis don't hit the ould fellow up in the moon," said Paddy just as
+Bill let go.
+
+"Ye spud-faced Paddy.  Ye--ye--ye----" blurted out Bill, throwing down
+his gun in anger.
+
+"Missed, be Jasus--yis couldn't hit the town of Sydney at a hundred
+yards.  Paddy Doolan's the man for that job."  He seized the rifle, but
+just as he was going to open the little iron door there was a rattle of
+bullets all over the plate.
+
+"Down, boys, down," he shouted.
+
+"It's a beastly Maxim," said Claud, looking up.  And a Maxim it was.
+In ten minutes the so-called armoured plate was riddled.  This was the
+experience with nearly all the other plates--one of the many annoying
+problems of war.  However, the new plates were doubled and bolted.
+Then they were covered with sandbags and erected so as not to be too
+obvious on the parapet.  This scheme defied the sniper and the Maxim,
+and, in this way, the Turks' fire was subdued.  This was important.  In
+trench warfare the enemy must be terrorised.  Not a head must be
+allowed to bob up, not a rifle and eye seen.  Snipers must be hunted to
+death and given such a hefty and quick dispatch as to intimidate their
+successors.  Water parties and ration parties have to be set on the
+run; reinforcements spotted and scattered; officers, too, must be kept
+in their place--below the parapet, if not below the sod.  All of this
+means that the enemy gets demoralised and sickened.  And when he has
+had a month or two of this gentle treatment he is easily dealt with
+when the time comes for an offensive and bayonet charge.
+
+Of course, the Turks did not let the Australasians have it entirely
+their own way.  When sniping and rifle fire became too dangerous, they
+resorted to the bomb.  The bomb isn't a respectable thing.  It
+sometimes takes your head off, and frequently punctures the system in
+rather an ugly manner.  When a bomb hits, you know it.  It is something
+like a railway engine striking a match-box.  These Turkish
+bomb-throwers had some idea of making a sort of Irish slew out of their
+opponents' bodies.  They bombed _and_ bombed _and_ bombed.  Now, this
+wasn't at all polite, and it was most uncomfortable, especially when
+sitting down to a stolen Maconochie--an appetising dish.  These bombs
+burst the parapets, ripped up the sandbags, and knocked men's brains
+into other men's eyes.  Most annoying!  One morning a bomb just missed
+Bill's head.
+
+"What the--who the--why the----  These blamed ole Turks think my head's
+a coconut," said Bill.
+
+"I hope they'll never hit your head," remarked Claud.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"It's too full----"
+
+"Of water," interjected Paddy.
+
+"Yes, there _would_ be a flood," concluded Claud, as he lit his pipe.
+Just then an order was sent down to pass all empty jam tins to the rear.
+
+"Wot's the jam tins for?"
+
+"Fly traps," said Paddy.
+
+"'Spect we'll have to dig the lead out of the dead men's bodies next,"
+groused Bill, as he went down the trenches to collect the fly-covered
+jam tins.  These were sent down to the beach in bags, causing many a
+grouse on the way.  Rumour had it that some Jew had made a contract for
+the empty tins, another yarn was that they were for growing flowers
+round the General's dug-out.  But mysterious and resourceful are the
+ways of the General Staff!  These jam tins were redelivered to The
+Kangaroo Marines next day in the shape of bombs.
+
+"Well I'm jiggered!" said Bill.  "First they puts jam in tins, next
+they puts bombs in them."
+
+"And then they'll shove you in them," interjected Claud.
+
+"What for?"
+
+"Prime Australian beef, fresh tinned, straight from the Dardanelles.
+That would look well on a label."
+
+"Yis couldn't do that with Bill," said Paddy.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"He's a bit high----"
+
+Bang! came a Turkish bomb at that moment, scattering the group into
+their shelters below the parapets.
+
+"Ye dirty, mouldy-faced sons of dog-eatin', blue-nosed spalpeens--Oi'll
+bomb yis," roared Paddy, gripping a jam tin and lighting the fuse.
+
+Bang! it went.  Bang!  Bang!  Bang! went more.
+
+"_Some_ jam," said Bill, as he watched through the periscope.  And then
+they heard moaning, shrieks, and shouts of "Allah, Allah."
+
+"More jam," ordered Bill.  And more jam they received.  It wasn't
+sweet, and certainly unpalatable.  And it didn't stick.  Tins labelled
+"Apricot," "Marmalade," "Black Currant," and "Raspberry," went hurtling
+through the air, then burst in a very nasty way above the poor old
+Turks' trenches.  This battle of jam bombs made the Turks much more
+respectful for a time.  Indeed, one of the officers, who must have been
+a sportsman, flung over a note, on which was written:
+
+
+"DEAR AUSTRALIANS,--We like jam--in fact, we could do with a tin of it,
+but not that dam--jam--jammy stuff you were putting over last
+night.--Yours fraternally,
+
+"YUSSEF BEY."
+
+
+"By Jove!  He's a sport--let's chuck him a tin," said Claud.  And over
+it went.  The Turks scattered and waited, but there was no explosion.
+With a smile the Turkish officer picked up the tin.  Unfastening a note
+tied round it, he read:
+
+
+"DEAR YUSSEF,--This is the _real_ stuff.  By the way, you were at Rugby
+with me.  Shall be sorry to kill you.--Yours, etc.,
+
+"CLAUD DUFAIR."
+
+
+Plunk! came a stone into the Australian lines; round it was fixed a
+note:
+
+
+"DEAR CLAUD,--Many thanks--it was a god-send.  Fancy you being here.  I
+thought you would have been guarding the Marys and Mauds of London from
+the Zepps.  Congrats!  Of course, I shall be sorry to kill
+_you_.--Yours, etc.,
+
+"YUSSEF BEY.
+
+"_P.S._--There will be no firing to-day--go to bed."
+
+
+And there was no firing.  This Turkish officer, like every other
+Turkish soldier, was a gentleman.
+
+It is remarkable how circumstances produce the inventor.  At Hell-Fire
+Post the men found that the ordinary square periscope was almost
+useless.  Every time one went up, bang went a Turk's rifle, and the
+periscope was blown to smithereens.  Indeed, The Kangaroos lost nearly
+all their periscopes in the first few days.  Now this was awkward.
+Periscopes are life-savers, for the periscope prevents a man pushing
+his head above the parapet to see if Johnny Turk is coming over to say
+"Good morning."  Something had to be done, so the famous quartette
+began to cudgel their brains.
+
+"I've got it," said Claud, picking up a walking-stick.
+
+"Got what," inquired Bill.
+
+"An idea--you watch."  Taking a penknife out of his pocket, he deftly
+and quickly cut away the inner portion of the stick.  This kept him
+busy for a couple of hours.  When finished, he took a little pocket
+mirror out of his haversack.
+
+"Too big," said Bill.
+
+"No, it isn't," answered Claud, slipping a diamond ring off his finger.
+He scratched the mirror, then cut two pieces out of it.  These he fixed
+into the walking-stick.  "There you are now--a brand new periscope."
+And it proved just the thing.  The field of vision was quite good.
+Being small it did not attract attention.  The result of this discovery
+was that every officer's stick was immediately commandeered, and with
+the aid of Claud's ring and other people's mirrors, a good supply of
+periscopes were made.
+
+"You think you're smart fellers, I suppose," said Bill, his envy roused
+by this success.   "But I'll show you fellers something in a day or
+two."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"'Wait and see,' as old Asquith says."  For the next few days Bill was
+seen in close communion with a fellow Australian.   They went about the
+trenches picking up bits of wood, nails, mirrors, and other odds and
+ends.  These were carried into the little hole of the inventive genius,
+and there all gradually saw the growth of a wonderful invention.  It
+wasn't Bill's idea exactly.  He was simply the managing director, who
+stimulated curiosity, and fetched the mysterious genius the necessary
+supplies of material.  Anyone who ventured too near the sacred sanctum
+was told to "hop it."
+
+"What's that ould rascal doin'?" Paddy remarked one day.
+
+"A bomb-thrower," said Sandy.
+
+"Barbed wire burster," suggested Claud.
+
+"No, it ain't," interjected Bill, who happened to come along at the
+time.
+
+"What is it, then?"
+
+"It's a man-killer.  You can sit down in yer bed and kill all the ole
+Turks in front.  They can't see who's killin' them."
+
+"When do you try it?"
+
+"To-day."  And he did.  That afternoon the inventor allowed Bill to
+have the trial shot.  The instrument, in brief, was a periscope rifle.
+With the aid of an ordinary rifle, mirrors and wood fixed up in a
+rough, but ingenious way, there had been produced a killing instrument,
+which allowed the user to see and to kill without being seen.  This was
+a godsend, for many of the casualties at this post were due to men
+aiming through the loopholes or over the parapet.
+
+"Here goes," said Bill, fixing the rifle in position.
+
+"See anything?"
+
+"Yes, a big feller.  I'll get him in his ole fat head."  Slowly and
+steadily he took aim, then bang went his rifle.
+
+"Got him!  Got him!  Right in his coconut," shouted Bill with a grim
+delight.
+
+The invention was hailed as a great success, and the inventor
+complimented all round.  His orders were many, and his instrument soon
+became general throughout the whole line.  Indeed, it was owing to this
+wonderful invention that the rifle fire of the Turks was again subdued
+to a remarkable extent.
+
+Other remarkable things were invented by these resourceful fellows.
+The General Staff also supplied them with new machines of war.  One of
+the finest was the Japanese bomb-thrower, an instrument which threw a
+great, big bomb like a well-filled melon.  This went tumbling over and
+over, like an acrobat doing a somersault, then burst in the most
+startling way.  The explosion was terrific and destruction amazing.
+Parapets, trenches, men and Maxims were all destroyed if near the point
+of contact.  "_Some_ bomb!" as the boys said.
+
+In this sort of warfare it is always the progressive and alert man who
+wins.  It is useless sitting down and grousing.  Every means, every
+trick is justifiable so long as the methods are fair and according to
+the rules of war.  When the history of this war is written special
+attention ought to be devoted to the many devices which have been
+employed by the soldier.  For example, the Turks opposite to The
+Kangaroos were always sapping towards the Australasian lines.  This was
+a nuisance.  The constant pick! pick! pick! upset everybody.  Night
+after night these Turkish moles had to be bombed away.  One evening a
+sapping party recommenced operations quite near to Claud and his
+friends.
+
+"At it again," Bill remarked.
+
+"Yes, they're a beastly nuisance, I'll have to worry them a bit," said
+Claud, picking up a little paper bag.  He fixed a piece of thin white
+string round it, then jumped over the parapet.  It was quite dark, so
+he was perfectly safe.  Crawling on his hands and knees, he at last
+reached within ten yards of the sapping Turks.  For a few minutes he
+lay still.  His eyes got used to the darkness, enabling him to get a
+glimpse of the diggers.  Pulling out the paper bag, he threw it smartly
+towards the hole.  It burst on the edge of the parapet and the contents
+scattered all round.  Claud waited.
+
+Aitchoo! went one.
+
+Aitchoo! went another.
+
+Aitchoo! went a third.
+
+Aitchoo!  Aitchoo!  Aitchoo! sneezed all the Turks between their
+oriental grunts and curses.
+
+Claud burst out laughing and so gave himself away.  A head popped out
+of the hole.  Claud was seen.  Down it went, and up came a rifle, but
+before the Turk could fire, Claud, who had a couple of bombs prepared,
+flung them into the hole.  There was a loud bang! bang! followed by a
+series of shouts, shrieks and moans.  The sapping party fled for their
+lives.  This was as Claud desired, so he quietly crawled back to his
+trench.
+
+"Got 'em that time, Dufair," said an officer as he tumbled in.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"By the way, what was all the sneezing about?"
+
+"A little trick, sir," laughed Claud.
+
+"Was it snuff you chucked at them?"
+
+"No, common or garden pepper, issued with the rations."
+
+"Good," said the officer pursuing his rounds.
+
+Now it was on this same evening that Paddy Doolan roused the whole
+regiment to a state of alarm.  He was on sentry go on the extreme left
+of his regiment's line.  Being dark, Paddy began to feel the effects of
+things supernatural.  Every sound, every moving leaf or blade was a
+Turk.  He had fired at a few nothings, and during a spell of silence he
+was amazed to hear on his left a chattering in a strange tongue.
+
+"Turks, be Jasus, they're in our trenches.  Mother of Mary, preserve
+us," said Paddy, crossing himself.  He listened again.  They were
+chanting a weird dirge.  It was something between a Highland lament and
+a Hindoo snake song.  Paddy was amazed.  Life seemed to be a shorter
+affair, and he pictured himself lying dead on the parapet with his
+throat cut.  His teeth were chattering, and his nerves on the run.  At
+last he managed to bellow out, "Stand to!"  The half-sleeping men
+jumped to their rifles and waited below the parapet.
+
+"What's up, Doolan?" said the officer on reaching them.
+
+"Turks in our trenches, sor.  Heaven preserve us."
+
+"Where?"
+
+"There, sor!  There, sor!  Listen to them."
+
+The officer listened.  He heard the weird chanting.  It wasn't English,
+it didn't seem Turkish.  What on earth was it, he wondered.  At last he
+made up his mind.
+
+"Here, six of you fix bayonets, follow me," and down the communication
+trench he crouched and crawled towards the left.  They now neared the
+weird chanting noise.  The officer cocked his revolver and whispered
+back, "Get ready, boys." Then, dashing round a bend, he burst on to a
+dark-skinned group.
+
+"Hands up!" he shouted.
+
+"What's up, boss?" said a smiling dusky gent in khaki, with a New
+Zealand badge on his shoulder.
+
+"Who the deuce are you?"
+
+"Maoris, boss, Maoris."
+
+"Hang it all, I thought you were Turks.  Good night."
+
+"Good night, boss," shouted the laughing Maoris--the finest
+dark-skinned gentlemen in the world.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+A BRAVE NEW ZEALANDER
+
+There's a difference between the New Zealander and Australian, and the
+difference is this: when an Australian says "Home," he means Australia;
+when a New Zealander says "Home," he means the Old Country.  The sense
+of nationality is deep in the Australian's soul; the sense of
+dependence and kinship is wrapped round the New Zealander's heart.
+Australia is the older Dominion, and the Australian, like the Canadian,
+is keen on running his own affairs.  New Zealand is younger; many of
+its first settlers are still alive, so their eyes and their children's
+eyes are always turned to the land called "Home."
+
+Fifty years hence the New Zealander will be like the Australian--a keen
+exponent of nationhood and all that that means.  But, understand, when
+I speak of nationhood as applied to the Australian and New Zealander, I
+mean pride of race, pride of dominion, pride of achievement, and the
+ability to be a partner in the great Empire that is ours.  Our
+forefathers resented this attitude of our colonial cousins.  For that
+reason we lost the American colonies.  That lesson was good.  We now
+realise that it is good business to let such as the Australian and New
+Zealander manage their own affairs.  It saves us worry, it saves
+expense, it breeds a distinct type--a type conscious of their ability,
+but aware of the need of co-operation and co-ordination in Imperial
+defence and Imperial trade.  Wise men ask no more.
+
+Now in affairs of war there is also a difference between the New
+Zealander and Australian.  The Australian resembles the
+Irishman--daring, desperate, and frequently reckless; the New Zealander
+resembles the Scot--equally daring, equally determined, but more canny
+and cautious.  In brief, the New Zealander is more ready to weigh the
+issues and count the cost.  Both types are necessary in war; both are
+extremely useful.  Now I have reached my tale.
+
+The General Staff had heard that the Turks were concentrating men and
+munitions for a great attack.  Information was scarce; information was
+imperative, for on information the modern general depends.  And this
+information had to come from the very centre of the Turkish defence.
+It was the hour for a man, and that man had to be found.  That was the
+problem which faced the Chief of Staff.  He knew that almost every
+officer would volunteer.  He thought of many Australians; but no, their
+reckless bravery might wreck his schemes.  And then he pictured in his
+eye the New Zealanders he knew.  One by one they passed in review.  At
+last he recalled "Tony," a young subaltern from Hawkes Bay.  He was a
+graduate of an Auckland school--a strong, well-built, swarthy youth,
+with that coolness, daring, and acumen necessary for the job.  "Yes,
+he'll do," muttered the Chief as he rang up the New Zealand Dragoons.
+
+"Send Lieutenant Tony Brown to headquarters at once."
+
+"Very good, sir," answered an orderly.  In two hours Tony entered the
+dug-out and saluted.
+
+"I've a job for you, Mr. Brown.  It might mean your death; it might
+mean the D.S.O.  Are you on?"
+
+"I'm on, sir; but please explain."
+
+"Get one of the Navy boats.  Go up the coast for two miles.  Land and
+get across into the Turkish camp.  Find out the strength of these
+reinforcements, the guns, the ammunition, food and water supplies, and,
+more important, the probable date, if not the hour, of this big attack.
+I'll give you two days to do it.  If you're not back on the third day
+I'll count you as dead.  Understand?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Very well, my lad.  Here's an order to the commander of the torpedo
+boat at the beach.  Make your own arrangements.  Good luck to you,"
+concluded the Chief, shaking him by the hand.  And out went Tony on his
+job.  It was a tough proposition for a youngster to tackle, yet he
+deemed it an honour.  And there was no time for delay.  He secured the
+services of two Maoris because of their strength and swarthy
+complexion.  Turkish uniforms would make them "Turks," if need be.
+
+The commander of the destroyer gave him a boat.  This was loaded up
+with water, biscuits, some Turkish uniforms, and rifles, with other
+necessaries for the job.  At night they pulled out.  It was quite dark,
+so all was favourable at the outset.  For hours the Maoris seemed to
+row, their only guide being the stars and dark coast-line.  And then
+came the first peep of dawn.
+
+"Come on, you fellows; get into these things," said the subaltern,
+pointing to the Turkish clothes.  He did likewise.  The disguise was
+perfect.  They looked thoroughly respectable members of the Sultan's
+community.
+
+"Ease in now, boys," ordered Tony as the light grew better.  Gently
+they pulled to the shore.
+
+"That place will do," muttered the observant sub, looking towards a
+shingly sort of beach beneath some cliffs.  The boat grated on the
+pebbles.  They had arrived on their daring mission.
+
+"Now, look here, you boys; you've got to loaf round here for two days.
+Hide the boat and get into a dug-out.  Keep a look-out for me.  If I
+don't come back at the end of the second day, go back and tell them
+I've gone to Kingdom Come.  Understand?"
+
+"All right, boss," said the elder of the Maoris, a full corporal.  And
+off went Tony.  He climbed up the cliffs and found himself on a scrubby
+sort of soil dotted here and there with stunted trees.  Away to his
+right he could just discern the Turkish defences, while immediately in
+front lay some scattered redoubts of the flanking outposts of the
+enemy.  In the distance was a high, grassy knoll--a perfect place for
+observing things.  He made for it, avoiding contact with some
+straggling Turkish soldiers on the way.  By the way, it is really
+remarkable how one can walk through an enemy's lines when dressed in
+their uniform; but it takes a stout heart to do it.
+
+Tony reached the foot of the knoll and commenced to ascend.  Just as he
+reached the top he was startled by a Turk who cried out a greeting.  He
+mumbled something in a boorish style and dropped down in a friendly way
+beside his man.  Before the old Turk realised what was happening he lay
+dead with a revolver bullet in his brains.
+
+"Phew!  What a noise!" muttered Tony as he looked at his victim and
+then all round the hill to see if the noise had alarmed the land.  Luck
+favoured him.  A random shot is nothing in war.  Finding a hole near
+by, he dumped the body in, then covered it over with grass.  This done,
+he whipped out his glasses and commenced to study things.  Away in
+front he could see the convoys slowly moving past.  There were guns,
+ammunition wagons, water-carts, ration wagons, and streams of men.
+This was not the usual reliefs and supplies.  There was something
+doing.  The troops were new, their equipment was good, their bearing
+fresh and alert.  All this was very interesting; but Tony was not near
+enough to get what he wanted.  He decided to walk right through the
+lines.  Leaving his rifle and placing his revolver and glasses in the
+Turkish haversack, he set off.  He was soon one of the many straggling
+Turkish troops on various errands.  They hailed him in their oriental
+way, but Tony simply grunted in reply.
+
+That is a way of the East, so all went well.  At last the daring
+officer was close behind the Turkish lines.  He stumbled on the
+batteries well placed and well hid.  Stacks of shells lay to hand in
+preparation for their attack.  In another part he located a
+searchlight, and down in a little gully he found a forward base for gun
+and rifle ammunition.  This was a sound discovery.  He memorised the
+spot and tried to locate it on the map.  Passing on, he came to a field
+hospital.  This was being cleared, for wagons were taking the wounded
+men away to the ships which lay in the offing.  When a hospital is
+being cleared, look out for a fight.  A soldier understands what it
+means.
+
+Tony finally arrived in a sort of rest camp.  It was alive with
+men--fresh ones from Constantinople.  There were plenty of German
+officers, too, also some sailors with _Goeben_ and _Breslau_ on their
+caps.  He wondered what the sailors were there for.  They seemed to be
+camped round an artillery park.  He solved it; they were serving the
+guns.  Down the lines he stumbled, grunting like an old horse, and,
+occasionally, sitting down to view the scene.  They had plenty of
+biscuits, and even such luxuries as coffee, bread, and water melons.
+No signs of starvation or lack of supplies.  That was an important
+point.  Tony was doing well.  His scheme was succeeding beyond his
+dreams.  Indeed, he was beginning to feel quite cocky, till, on looking
+round, he found a swarthy little fellow behind him.  He was being
+followed.  Something gripped his heart.  He had shot his bolt.  Still
+he did not lose his head.  This little man must be led on a little
+farther.  Tony retraced his steps.  The man followed him.  He sat down;
+the Turk also sat down.  This was unnerving, and the young sub. almost
+shouted in anger and agony.  Rising again, he went on, striking into
+the open and less populated part.  And, all the while, the officer
+wondered how he was going to deal with his sleuth-hound.  He could not
+shoot him there.
+
+At last his eye caught sight of the little knoll where his dead Turk
+lay buried.  Good!  He would lead him up there.  He plodded on, and,
+behind him, stalked the patient-looking Turk.  Oh! the agony of those
+moments.  It was like a knife sinking by degrees into the human heart.
+It was the hour for nerve, coolness and caution.  Tony reached the top
+of the hill.  With a sigh he sat down, pulled out his pipe and
+commenced to smoke.  The Turk also sat down, but at the foot of the
+hill.  He too started to smoke.  His face had the sense of ease, his
+eyes a humorous gleam.  He, apparently, was in no hurry.  What the
+devil did he mean?  Tony wondered, and wondered.  This torture was
+insufferable; so insufferable that the subaltern waved his arm,
+signalling the Turk to come up beside him.  He obeyed.  As he reached
+the top he took off his cap and said, "Good days, Mr. Ingleesman."
+
+"Who's English?" said Tony, smiling at his own audacity and apparent
+admission.
+
+"You very Inglees--you smokit pipe, your boots, your walk.  I plenty
+savvy," he said, tapping his head.  "I no seely Turk.  Me Syrian."
+
+"What the devil are you doing here?"
+
+"They maket me fight.  I no' wants fight.  Me Christian.  I likes
+Inglees."
+
+"But what are you following me for?"
+
+"Well--monees--backsheesh.  Me poor man."
+
+"How did you spot me?"
+
+"You droppit this when you down there," said the Syrian, pulling an
+identity disc out of his pocket.  This was stamped, "Lieut. Tony Brown,
+New Zealand Dragoons."  The subaltern paled as he looked at this
+damning proof.  He must have dropped it when fumbling with his pockets
+in the camp below.
+
+He inwardly cursed his stupidity.
+
+"Have a cigarette?" said he, offering a Virginian to his new-found
+friend.
+
+"Oh, wery nice--wery Inglees _too_," said the Syrian, looking at the
+inscription: "Three Castles.  W. D. & H. O. Wills."  "No maket these in
+Stamboul--eh?"
+
+"Not till we get there," said Tony with a yawn, at the same time
+measuring the distance between his man and debating whether it would be
+better to kill him or capture him and then take him back in the boat.
+
+Meanwhile the Syrian was smoking airily, almost casually.   He was a
+born scoundrel.  Intrigue was his game.  This Syrian had Mammon all
+over his body and soul.  Good gold could buy him any time.
+
+"You spy?" he said, looking up at Tony in a casual yet cunning way.
+The word "spy" was a dagger into the subaltern's nerves and heart.  It
+left him breathless for a moment.  Recovering his wits, he airily
+answered, "Well----"
+
+"Me poor man--me tell you things.  How much?"
+
+"Fifty pounds--eh?"
+
+"One hundreds--it worth it--good beesness.  Me plenty savvy--me know."
+
+"What?"
+
+"Plentee news 'bout guns, men and--beeg attacks----"
+
+"Oh!" said Tony, startled out of his casual way.  The Syrian smiled.
+He had divined his quest.
+
+"Tell me then."
+
+"Monees," said the Syrian, holding out his hand.  The ways of the East
+are, at least, direct.
+
+"There you are," said the subaltern, handing him ten crisp Bank of
+England notes.  He had come prepared for this contingency.
+
+"When is the attack, now?"
+
+"Friday mornings early."
+
+"The exact time I want."
+
+"Half past fours."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"I orderleys and interpreeters to arteelery's staff."
+
+"Oh!  Now, isn't there a battery down there?" said Tony, pointing to a
+piece of rising ground which he had passed over.
+
+"No--one batterees there," said the Syrian, directing his eyes to the
+exact place where Tony had discovered the first battery.
+
+"Good!" muttered the New Zealander.  He knew he was telling the truth.
+Pulling out a pocket-book, he made a rough sketch of the ground round
+about, and then cross-examined the Syrian.  Batteries, magazines,
+stores, trenches, headquarters, beaches, water and food supplies were
+all duly noted and placed on the map.  Tony Brown, at one scoop, had
+entered the highest realms of the Intelligence Service.  It was dusk
+when he had finished.
+
+"Me go now," said the Syrian, rising.
+
+"No you won't.  You'll come with me and guide the way."
+
+"But I geeves you informations, what more?"
+
+"Look here, old cock, I believe you, but you're a Syrian."
+
+"Syrian good man," protested the informer.
+
+"Sometimes.  Hands up!" said Tony, cocking his revolver suddenly.
+
+"No' keels me--no' keels me!"
+
+"I won't if you keep quiet.  Now, push ahead--that way," said Tony,
+directing him on the return route.  The Syrian cursed and mumbled in
+his own fiery way as he stumbled down the hill.  He was annoyed.
+
+"Here--look at this," said Tony, calling him back.  The New Zealander
+bent down, and, uncovering the body of the dead Turk, showed it to him.
+
+"Uh!" shuddered the man.
+
+"Now, keep quiet," ordered the officer, pushing him down the hill.
+Stealthily they went, avoiding dug-outs, tents, and other hives of the
+Turkish army.  For hours they seemed to walk.  Something was wrong.
+
+"Stop!" said Tony suddenly.  Instinct suggested danger.  He had been
+led astray.  Pulling out a compass, he fixed it.  The direction was
+wrong.  This Syrian was playing his own game.  He wanted another
+hundred pounds for this officer's body.  It was worth more than that to
+the Turkish army.  And he knew it.  War breeds parasites and rogues.
+
+"You scoundrel!" said Tony, springing at the Syrian's throat.  The
+latter fought, kicked, and bit like a tiger.  To have shot him would
+have been madness, for they were now back in the centre of the Turkish
+lines.  Placing his great hands round the man's throat, Tony slowly
+choked him into a state of collapse.  Another knock on his head with
+the butt of the revolver placed him in such a condition that he would
+be unable to recollect his thoughts for many days.  That was all the
+subaltern desired.  He left him.  Taking a compass bearing again, he
+struck out towards the beach.  Luck favoured him almost till the end.
+As he neared the top of the cliff which guarded the beach his foot
+slipped, and he fell into a dug-out, right on the top of three Turkish
+soldiers.  Curses were mixed with shouts of "Allah!"  Then questions
+were asked.  But Tony could answer none.  A little flashlamp next shone
+in his face.  He was discovered.
+
+"Inglees!  Inglees!" exclaimed a Turk.  The other two started and
+chattered volubly.  One lifted a rifle to finish him off, but the man
+with the lamp stopped him.  He knew his job.  He wanted to know what
+this man was doing there.  Tony was searched, and the map discovered
+secreted down the leg of his stocking.  His heart quailed.  He seemed
+doomed.  He had been so near success; now he seemed so far.  He
+inwardly shuddered at the prospect ahead.  It would be death, and death
+of a cruel and unrefined kind.  Oh, the mental horror of that moment.
+It was worse than a bayonet in the stomach, and that is bad enough.  He
+longed for death--death, sure and sharp.  But it did not come.  He was
+seized and bound, then thrown into a corner to await the dawn, when
+this coast patrol would take him back to the Turkish lines.  His cords
+cut into his hands and legs; his tongue was parched; his heart beating
+at the coming of the dawn.
+
+Still, the light of day brought a certain physical and mental relief.
+He was given a drink; his cords were cut, and he was pushed out into
+the open and marched off to the Turkish lines.  He stumbled along, in
+pain and confused.  But deliverance was at hand.
+
+True to their trust, his faithful Maoris were on the watch.  One lay on
+top of the cliffs as a guard for the boat hidden away in the cove
+below; the other was a thousand yards ahead, directly in front of the
+line of march which two out of the three Turkish soldiers were taking
+him.  This Maori's eyes were alert.  A glance made him understand it
+all.  Filling his magazine, he lay low.  They were then six hundred
+yards away.  Too far for a sure aim.  He waited.  Five hundred.  Four
+hundred.  Three hundred.  Yes; that would do.  He settled down and
+aimed.
+
+Bang!  The bullet told.  The man on Tony's right dropped dead.  The
+subaltern realised the cause.  He let drive with his fist at the other
+man.  The Turk stumbled back, recovered, then fled.  But the Maori
+nipped him like a farmer does a running hare.  He, too, fell dead.
+This was the one with the map which Tony had made.  It was wrenched
+from his haversack.
+
+"Near shave, boss," said the Maori corporal, running up.
+
+"Yes; but come on."  They ran towards the cliff.
+
+Bang! went a rifle.   The faithful Maori corporal dropped dead at his
+officer's feet.  Tony looked to his front, and there was the third man
+of the Turkish patrol coolly aiming at him too.  He ducked just as a
+rifle banged.  For a minute he lay flat, and then a strange thing
+happened.  The second Maori, on the top of the cliff, unable to sight
+his rifle at this assassin of his friend, was charging wildly down on
+the Turk with his bayonet fixed.
+
+"Allah!  Allah!" shouted the Turk as he turned about and threw up his
+arms.  A moment later he was bayoneted to death.
+
+Tony jumped up and ran on, for in the distance he saw other patrols
+running towards the scene.  The surviving Maori followed him to the
+beach.  The boat was launched, and they pulled out from the shore.
+Danger, however, was not passed.  Turkish patrols had found them.
+Volley after volley rattled through the air.  They splashed all round;
+some hit the boat, one struck Tony in the arm, two more pierced the
+oars.  But out and out pulled the plucky pair till, at last, they were
+clear of the fire.
+
+"Hot shop, boss," said the Maori.
+
+"Yes, a bit too hot!" muttered Tony as he bandaged his bleeding arm.
+
+That night the Chief of Staff received the information desired.  And a
+few days later Lieut. Tony Brown added the letters "D.S.O." to his
+name.  Everybody said, "Why?"  But the Chief of Staff simply smiled and
+passed on.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+VICTORY
+
+Night was falling fast over the Australasian lines.  The darkness was
+welcome, for it brought a certain rest and coolness to the thousands of
+sun-baked and weary men.  For two days they had slaved like
+navvies--digging, sand-bagging, reorganising trenches, improving
+communications, and bringing up supplies, Maxims, and ammunition.  It
+was not the usual thing.  Indeed, it was most unusual.  Only the Staff
+knew why, for this war has taught us that we must not advertise our
+coming events.  Of course the Tommies groused.  They always do.  It is
+the privilege of the soldier.  And Bill Buster was not behind in this
+land of moaning.
+
+"Thinks I'm an old mule.  Me feet's skinned, me back's skinned, me
+heart's skinned carryin' them blessed boxes of crackers.  Oh, why did I
+leave me little happy home?" he exclaimed, wiping the sweat off his
+sunburnt brow.
+
+"Had to--ye frizzly-faced bushwhacker," said Paddy.
+
+"All this means that there's something doing," remarked Claud, cleaning
+his monocle with a piece of rag.
+
+"Ay, there's gaun tae be an attack.  Say yer prayers the nicht, boys,"
+added Sandy.
+
+"Thank God!" uttered Claud.  "I'm sick of inaction.  I don't mind
+death; but it's a beastly bore waiting to be killed.  One can't quite
+regulate supplies.  Now, if to-morrow was the day for our dispatch, we
+might have a beano out of our spare biscuits and Woodbines to-night."
+
+"It ain't all beer and skittles, as you say," Bill said.  "Next war I'm
+goin' to be a general or a Navy bloke.  Them's the safe jobs.  These
+ole Turks have a spite at me.  Think I'm a sort o' runnin' man."
+
+"Let them come!" Paddy exclaimed.  "We'd bate the life out of thim.
+Teach thim manners, the dirty blaggards!"
+
+"Don't be too cocky about that.  We're only hanging on the edge of this
+cliff by the skin of our teeth.  The German Staff say they'll push us
+into the sea, and you bet they'll have a good try."
+
+"It's a soft snap, if they come.  They can't beat us," interjected
+Bill, who had all the self-assurance of the Australian born.
+
+"That's where our boys always err," answered Claud.  "They
+underestimate the power of the enemy.  That isn't the thing in war.
+It's all very well to be confident, but it's equally important to be
+prepared to the last cartridge and bomb.  Pluck's a very good thing,
+but pluck without brains is as useless as an engine without coal.  If
+these Turks make a big show, they'll give us a run for our money.  Now
+I'm going to sleep."
+
+Claud wrapped himself in his coat for a snooze.  The others followed
+suit, little dreaming what the dawn would bring.  While they slept,
+secure in their innocence of things, the General and Chief of Staff sat
+keen and anxious in their dug-outs; for the dawn was the time stated
+for the attack.  Everything was prepared; still, they had all that
+mental worry which only an officer knows.  They smoked and talked--and
+talked.  While they passed these anxious hours their subordinate
+commanders were quietly filling up the reserve trenches with supporting
+troops.  The gunners, too, were busy checking ranges and noting down
+the approximate position of the magazines and other stores as supplied
+by the map of Tony Brown.  The doctors were also alive.  They were
+clearing out the field hospitals preparatory to the gruesome slaughter
+ahead.  Out at sea a flotilla of gunboats and destroyers had quietly
+arrived and were circling round, waiting for the coming fray.
+Everything had been thought of; everything was ready.
+
+"It's getting light, sir," said the chief, looking out of his dug-out
+about 3.30 A.M.
+
+"Very well; 'phone the brigadiers.  Tell them to be prepared for the
+bombardment in accordance with our pow-wow of yesterday."
+
+"Very good, sir."  The 'phone transmitted the order and the chief sat
+down again.
+
+Boom! echoed a gun in the Turkish line.  A shell crashed right over the
+General's dug-out.  Tony Brown's information was right.  The battle had
+commenced.  A sense of relief spread over the General's face.  His
+suspense was at an end.
+
+Boom!  Boom!  Boom! went the other guns.  More shells, more splinters,
+and here and there the moan of a dying or wounded man.  But this was
+only the preliminary business.  In ten minutes every Turkish gun, from
+the giant howitzers to the more simple field pieces, were pounding
+shrapnel, common shell, and high explosives into the Australasian
+lines.  There was no excitement; the men were used to the game.  They
+crouched in holes or hard against the stony sides of the trenches.
+Still, the noise was deafening, and the gunners' aim was often good.
+Shells burst on the parapets and destroyed them, frequently killing or
+burying the men behind.  Others burst above and sent their balls of
+death into the heads or backs of the crouching men.  High explosives
+crashed with an unnerving boom in and around the trenches, pounding,
+killing, and maiming.  Maxims rattled out a hail of lead, rifles
+squirted bullets into every corner where a living soul was likely to be
+found.  There was no romance in this sort of business.  It was
+butchery, blood, anguish, and death.  Hell is the only word that fits
+such a bombardment.  Those who read such things sit at home in tears
+and terror.  Yet the men who live through them sit calm, even cool, and
+often in smiles.
+
+"Bit hot," said Claud, looking at his hat, which had been pierced by a
+shrapnel bullet.
+
+Bill ejaculated something unprintable and dropped a hot piece of shell
+he had intended to collar as a curio.
+
+"I weesht I had a hauf o' whisky; this is a dry job," said Sandy, as he
+cuddled closer against the side of the trench.
+
+"May ould Allah have mercy on yis when I get yis wid me can-opener!"
+muttered Paddy as he fingered his bayonet.
+
+Boom!  Boom!  Boom! crashed three more shrapnels above them, scattering
+lead and iron in all directions.  Old keys, brass fittings, nails, iron
+knobs and other things tumbled in, too.
+
+"Queer shrapnel--eh?" said Claud, picking up one of these curios--and a
+sign that the Turks were surely scarce of the real stuff.
+
+"Don't mind bullets," growled Bill; "but I objects to them chuckin' an
+ironmonger's shop at my ole head.  It ain't nice----"
+
+Boom!  Boom! came two more.
+
+"A miss!" said Sandy, signalling a "wash-out" with a shovel.
+
+Boom! crashed another almost overhead.  It was a narrow shave.  Sandy,
+with that caution of his clan, resigned the post of marker.  The gods
+were favouring this genial quartette, but in many parts of the line men
+lay dead, dying, and maimed.  They bore their wounds with a wonderful
+patience, and few complained.  Comrades ripped out their field
+dressings and staunched the blood.  Doctors, regardless of whizzing
+shells and bullets, crept from patient to patient.  Stretcher-bearers
+manfully did their job.  Over shell-swept zones they carried and pulled
+the wounded to succour and safety.  Despite the danger, men even found
+time to note and praise the deeds of these Red Cross heroes.  The name
+of the R.A.M.C. ought to be printed in letters of gold on the dome of
+St. Paul's.  It is one reminiscent of heroism, faith, hope, and charity.
+
+Now, during all this gun and rifle firing not a reply was sent.  The
+Staff allowed the Turks to expend their shells and bullets.  That is
+always good business in war.  It adds to the enemy's problem of supply.
+This bombardment lasted for two hours.  No doubt the Turks were well
+pleased.  But immediately they ceased their fire there was a universal
+Boom! from the Australian lines.  Battleships, cruisers, torpedo boats,
+howitzer batteries, field batteries, and Maxim guns sent back salvo
+after salvo of a deafening and devilish kind.
+
+The unerring aim of our gunners paralysed, for a time, the initiative
+of the Turkish Staff.  This tremendous reply was unexpected.  And the
+British shells burst in their magazines, their supply depôts, their
+headquarters dug-outs in a startling way.  Never was gunnery so deadly.
+Never was slaughter so sure.  Regiments waiting _en masse_ for the
+assault were torn and butchered.  Trenches were burst and destroyed.
+It was death, desolation, and disaster of an unexpected and amazing
+kind.  Such is the value of information in war.  A good Intelligence
+Officer is equal to a complete division of all arms.
+
+Yet this bombardment did not deter the Turkish assault.  It had been
+arranged; it had to go on.  When the British bombardment ceased, they
+leaped boldly from their trenches and came on _en masse_.  A strange
+silence now pervaded the Australasian lines.  Not a shot was heard.  It
+was the calm before the storm.  They allowed the Turks to advance.  On
+they came, great, dark, strong-looking men.  They shouted "Allah!"
+"Allah!" as they ran.  This cry for "Allah" was a bad sign.  The Turks
+expected "Allah" to do what they felt they had not the confidence to do
+themselves.  Still, the German task-masters had given them a certain
+assurance by sending them forward elbow to elbow, line upon line.
+
+In brief, this attack was meant as an overwhelming flood of bayonets
+upon the Australasians' lines.  The Turkish Staff argued that, after
+all, these troops were only volunteers; they could not withstand a
+violent offensive movement.  But they did; they even surprised their
+General and the Staff.  And the ability to wait for a signal to shoot
+was in itself a sign of perfect control, excellent fire discipline.
+
+The Turks were now close to the barbed wire entanglements.  This was
+the moment desired.  A whistle sounded in the lines.
+
+Bang!  Bang!  Bang!  Z-r-r-p! went thousands of rifles and dozens of
+machine-guns.  Gad!  How these Turks withered and fell.  It was brutal,
+yet it was inspiring.  Shrieks, curses, and groans were mixed with
+pitiful cries for "Allah!" "Allah!"
+
+Bravely these Turkish soldiers died, and bravely the more fortunate
+came on.  They tore through the barbed wire with a fiendish frenzy and
+leaped down on to parts of their enemy's lines.  With that mad ferocity
+which only a Moslem fanatic can display, they plugged their bayonets
+into the first opposing man.  Cold steel is hard to face.  Few armies
+can face it.  Only Russians, Britishers, and Japs are good at the game.
+And these sons of John Bull stood up to the test with a magnificent
+courage.  They plunged, thrust, hacked, butted, cursed, and fumed in
+this awful combat.  Civilisation had gone.  Primitive lusts were
+triumphant.  Blood flowed in streams, men fought with gaping wounds,
+dying men fell crying to Allah or to God according to their race and
+creed.  There was no time to moralise on the hellish side of modern
+war.  There was only time to fight or die.
+
+And in this awful combat The Kangaroos had a terrible time.  Their
+redoubt was invaded.  Yet they did not yield.  One great Turk charged
+down on Claud.  Sandy parried the thrust, the Turk recovered and thrust
+again straight into poor Sandy's heart.  He gasped, and fell lifeless
+at Bill's feet.
+
+With maddened fury Bill crashed his butt down on the foeman's skull.
+
+Another Turk almost pinned Colonel Killem, but Paddy dashed forward,
+struck up the bayonet, and killed the man with a blow.
+
+"Thanks, Doolan, thanks!" shouted the Colonel as he turned to deal with
+another man.  This gallant defence, combined with the deadly musketry
+on the less exposed parts of the line, completely smashed the first
+Turkish attack.  The enemy withered away, their survivors and wounded
+creeping back into the shelter of their trenches.
+
+"Don't fire, men!  Don't fire at those poor devils," shouted the
+officers as they watched them limp away.
+
+This was chivalry, and chivalry can always be found in a British heart.
+
+"Thank God for a breath," said Claud, leaning wearily against the
+parapet.  But the attack was not finished.  The Turkish reserves were
+swarming up the gullies and through the communicating lines.  Lyddite,
+shrapnel, and Maxims tore great gaps in their ranks.  Yet on they came.
+One regiment deployed from the top of a gully and made the charge.
+
+"Rapid fire!" roared Killem.   A terrific fusillade burst forth.  The
+Turks fell in heaps, moaning, shrieking, and yelling.  The sight was
+sickening.  Heaps of dead and dying all around.  But _again_ the
+Turkish host came on.  Two great columns of men burst out in front of
+the New Zealanders and The Kangaroos.
+
+This was really the most critical moment of the day.  Here entered the
+Drill Book maxim: "An attack should be met with a counter-attack."  For
+this was to be the last and desperate throw of the Turkish Staff.  If
+it broke the Australasian lines, the enemy would realise their boast of
+pushing them into the sea.  The New Zealanders and Kangaroos
+appreciated the danger to the full.  And so the command rang out:
+"Prepare to charge!"  Every man placed his foot for the jump.
+
+"Charge!"
+
+Up leaped Killem and his willing men, and at their side charged the New
+Zealand boys.  Grimly they gripped their rifles, bravely they ran and
+cheered.  A charge is a thrilling and soul-inspiring affair.  Danger
+and death pass away from the soldier's heart.  He is alive, he is
+filled with the tingling blood and full of the traditions of his race.
+The Kangaroos met the Turkish host midway.  A shock of men, a shock of
+arms, a blind confusion, a horrible fierceness and hacking of human
+flesh.
+
+"Give it 'em, boys," roared Killem above the din.  A Turkish officer
+heard him and aimed his revolver at Killem's head.  But Doolan was
+there again.  He pinned his man through the chest, and, with an oath,
+flung him off his bayonet--dead.
+
+Claud got lost in the _męlée_.  He found himself surrounded.  Bravely
+he fought, but a bayonet was stuck in his shoulder, and he fell into
+the struggling mass of wounded men.  Bill, though wounded in the head,
+fought with the madness of a fiend.  With Doolan, he kept close to the
+Colonel's heels, preserving the body and life of the bravest man in the
+Australasian force.  In that awful hour Killem could often be heard
+shouting out, "Thanks, boys, thanks!"
+
+At last tenacity and courage told.  The Turks broke and fled, yelling
+in pain and fear.  But the price of victory had indeed been costly.
+Still, it was worth it all.  The position had been saved.
+Australasians had again written deep in the annals of war a story of
+valour as great as Corunna or Waterloo.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+"Paddy," shouted Bill as they jumped back into the trenches.
+
+"Yis."
+
+"Where's Claud?"
+
+"He's hit," interjected a sergeant.  "I saw him fall."
+
+"What--dead?"
+
+"Couldn't say."  And the sergeant passed on.  War does not allow of
+sentiment or lengthy harangues.
+
+"Curse them!" said Bill, throwing down his rifle in anger.  And then
+this great, strong man collapsed with grief.  When a soldier weeps it
+is sad.  This was but the climax of a highly nervous day.  Bill's
+heart, like every bushman's heart, was full of that faith and devotion
+which passes all understanding.  Claud was a pal whom he loved like a
+mother or a brother.
+
+"D---- their bullets!  I'm going back to get him," he muttered,
+preparing to jump out again.
+
+"Paddy Doolan's wid you," said the Irishman.  They both jumped out into
+the still bullet-swept zone.
+
+"Come back, you fools," roared a sergeant.
+
+There was no answer.  Bill would not allow discipline or danger to
+interfere with the call of duty or friendship.  On their hands and
+knees they crawled round the heaps of dead and dying.
+
+"Here he is--here he is, poor boy!  Poor boy!" said Paddy as he gazed
+at the pale, bloodless face of Claud below some battered Turks.
+
+"He's livin', he's livin'.  God be thanked!" mumbled the faithful
+Irishman as he crossed himself.  Bending near, he pulled the listless
+form from under the dead weight of the men above.  Claud groaned.
+
+"That's a good sign, Paddy, eh?"
+
+"Sure, an' he'll drink a glass wid us yet!  But, Heavens! what a hole!"
+exclaimed the Irishman, looking at the gaping wound in Claud's shoulder.
+
+"Get his dressing out," said Bill.
+
+Paddy made to rip the dressing out of Claud's jacket.  Alas! man
+proposes and the Turk disposes.  A sniper's rifle pinged, and a bullet
+hit Paddy in the arm.  It fell, shattered and useless.
+
+"Back, Paddy--into the trenches for your life.  I'll carry Claud."
+
+The brave Irishman, realising he was now useless, reluctantly obeyed.
+Bill then heaved Claud over his shoulder and followed hard.
+
+Bang!  Bang! Bang! went the Turkish rifles.  Claud was hit in the hand,
+and poor Bill struck in the leg and back; then he fell exhausted into
+the trench, the wounded Claud on top.
+
+"Bravo!  Buster--you're a white man, anyway," said the Colonel.
+
+"A done man, Colonel," said Bill with a wan smile as he fainted away.
+His wounds and Claud's wounds were bound with the Colonel's own hand.
+Then commenced the weary procession through trench after trench to the
+hospital below.  They were but two in a cavalcade of thousands.  They
+passed from the zones of dead into the camp of tears and moaning.  Men
+shattered and dying were there; others, more fortunate, wetted their
+lips and eased their way to God.
+
+Poor Claud and Bill arrived, senseless, almost lifeless.  But kind
+hands staunched their wounds, allayed their thirst, and carried them on
+board the ship for Alexandria.  There they found the first taste of
+that gentle peace which is soothing to the heart of every nerve-racked
+soldier.  Nourishment soon brought them round.  And, strange to say,
+both returned from the land of wanderings to the delights of reality at
+the same time.
+
+"Bill!  Bill!" muttered Claud as he came round.  "I'm here, ole sport,"
+said Bill, holding out his pale, wan hand.
+
+"Good!  But where's Paddy?"
+
+"Sure, an ould Paddy's here," roared Doolan from a berth on the other
+side of the deck.
+
+"Thank God!"  And Claud tumbled into a more natural sleep, refreshed
+with the thought that at least two out of his three friends still lived.
+
+Sips of brandy, drops of milk, clean bandages, and willing Australian
+nurses soon brought the genial three round to a more normal state.  And
+in speaking of Australian nurses, let me say that they are the finest
+girls in the hospital world.  They may laugh, they may flirt, but they
+can work.  They have no side and no false airs.  They want to do their
+job in the quickest, kindest, quietest way that can be found.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+The great ship slipped through the breakwater of Alexandria.  Hundreds
+awaited her coming--nurses, doctors, and friends.  Bill and Claud could
+not get up to view the scene.  But Paddy watched it all.  His eyes
+scanned the faces on shore.  At last they rested on a familiar
+figure--a girl with a beautiful form, a charming but an anxious face.
+Yes, it was Sybil Graham.  He slipped down to the ward below and
+stepped to Claud's bed.
+
+"I've seen her, and doesn't she look swate?"
+
+"Who?" said Claud in a knowing way.
+
+"Sybil, ye fathead!  And, mind ye, mine's a kiss for bringing the news."
+
+"Right, old chap; and I'll see that you get it," said the now excited
+owner of this Australian girl's heart.
+
+The boat was now alongside.  Ropes were down and fixed.  The shore
+gangway was up, and, in response to the somewhat wild and frantic
+shouts and grins of Paddy Doolan, Sybil Graham dashed up the steps
+three at a time.
+
+"Oh, Paddy!" she said, with tears in her eyes.  "Where is he?"
+
+"This way, ye darlint."  And down into the ward leaped the now madly
+excited Irishman.  Sybil followed.  As she reached the foot of the
+stairs she saw her lover.  Nurses, doctors, and patients were then
+startled with a shriek of delight from a beautiful vision who pounced
+to a bed and smothered her hero with kisses.  Bill and Paddy watched it
+all.
+
+"Say, Miss Sybil, where do I come in?" said Bill with a sort of
+well-feigned growl.
+
+"Surely!  There's _one_ for you, you dear, dear old bushman," she said,
+kissing his black-bearded lips.
+
+"Here, Sybil, isn't it Paddy's turn now?  He brought the news of you."
+
+"Oh, you lovable Irish rogue--you're worth the kissing--you helped my
+boy to safety too."  And so Paddy received his dues.
+
+"And now, miss," said a smiling nurse, "we're going to take those three
+lovers of yours to hospital in Cairo."
+
+"How mean of you," said Sybil with a smile.  "Of course, you can't
+prevent me from seeing them there?"
+
+"Certainly not, my girl.  That will be the biggest part of their cure."
+
+"Oh, by the way, I've news for you, boys," said Sybil, turning again:
+
+"Bill, you've got the V.C."
+
+"Paddy, you've got the V.C."
+
+"Claud, you've got a commission."
+
+"And you--eh?" smiled Claud.
+
+"Well--yes."
+
+"And very nice too," whispered a doctor into the nurse's ear as the
+very happy girl went out.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+WHAT LADY READERS LIKE
+
+(_Extract from Cairo Press_)
+
+"At Shepheard's Hotel, Cairo, Lieutenant Claud Dufair, eldest son of
+Lord Dufair, to Sybil Graham, daughter of "Bob" Graham, of New South
+Wales.  Private Bill Buster, V.C., and Private Doolan, V.C., acted as
+groomsmen.  Colonel Killem, D.S.O., also attended the ceremony.  The
+happy couple left for a three days' honeymoon, as Lieutenant Dufair is
+returning to the trenches."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Kangaroo Marines, by R. W. Campbell
+
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Kangaroo Marines, by R. W. Campbell
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Kangaroo Marines
+
+Author: R. W. Campbell
+
+Release Date: February 1, 2009 [EBook #25452]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE KANGAROO MARINES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Al Haines
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="img-cover"></A>
+<CENTER>
+<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-cover.jpg" ALT="Cover art" BORDER="2" WIDTH="326" HEIGHT="531">
+</CENTER>
+
+<BR><BR>
+
+<H2 ALIGN="center">
+The
+</H2>
+
+<H1 ALIGN="center">
+Kangaroo Marines
+</H1>
+
+<BR>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+By
+</H3>
+
+<H2 ALIGN="center">
+CAPT. R. W. CAMPBELL
+</H2>
+
+<BR>
+
+<H5 ALIGN="center">
+<I>Author of "Private Spud Tamson"</I>
+</H5>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<H4 ALIGN="center">
+CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD
+<BR>
+London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne
+</H4>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<H5 ALIGN="center">
+First Published 1915
+</H5>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+DEDICATED
+<BR>
+TO THE
+<BR>
+CONQUERORS OF ANZAC
+<BR>
+AND THE
+<BR>
+MANY KIND FRIENDS I MET
+<BR>
+IN
+<BR>
+AUSTRALASIA, EGYPT, AND THE DARDANELLES
+</H3>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+PREFACE
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+I am not an Australasian, I am a Scot.  Therefore, I hold no special
+brief for the folks down under.  But I am an Imperialist&mdash;one filled
+with admiration for our overseas Dominions and the self-sacrifice of
+our colonial cousins.  They have played the game.  They have astonished
+the world.  They have even exceeded our own expectations.  Let us not
+stint our praise.  Let us write deep in the annals of our literature
+and military history this supreme devotion, this noble heroism.  And in
+the greater Councils of Empire let us see to it that these sons of the
+Motherland have a say in settling affairs.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And I can claim at least the right to write about our gallant
+Australasians.  I have lived in Australia and New Zealand.  I have
+served on a Sydney paper and with the New Zealand <I>Herald</I>.  I have met
+every Premier (Federal and otherwise), from "Andrew" Fisher to "Bill"
+Massey.  And, during my stay, I made it my duty to study the Citizen
+Army&mdash;a National Service organisation.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+This was before the war.  And this army was founded by "K" and the
+Governments of Australia and New Zealand.  Did they see ahead?  One is
+almost tempted to think so.  In any case, the possession of a General
+Staff and the framework of a National Army ensured the rapid
+mobilisation of a voluntary force to assist the Motherland.  This force
+was armed, clothed, equipped and staffed from the existing military
+organisations in Australia and New Zealand.  You have heard of their
+courage at Anzac; you have read of how many have died.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Anzac is the cope-stone of Imperialism.  It is the grim expression of a
+faith that is everlasting, of a love that shall endure the shocks of
+years, and all the cunning devilry of such as the Barbarous Huns.
+Hence this little book.  It is an inspiration of the Dardanelles, where
+I met many of our Australasian friends.  It is not an official history.
+I have, in my own way, endeavoured to picture what like these warring
+Bohemians are.  The cloak of fiction has here and there been wound
+round temperamental things as well as around some glorious facts.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+I hope I shall please all and offend none.
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="noindent">
+R. W. CAMPBELL, <I>Capt.</I>
+<BR>
+<I>October</I>, 1915.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<H2 ALIGN="center">
+CONTENTS
+</H2>
+
+<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="80%">
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">CHAPTER</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">&nbsp;</TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">1.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap01">A NOTABLE QUARTETTE</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">2.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap02">MELBOURNE VERSUS SYDNEY</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">3.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap03">THE LAND OF SIN</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">4.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap04">TREASURE TROVE</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">5.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap05">SYBIL, THE SQUATTER'S GIRL</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">6.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap06">THE WISDOM OF "K"</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">7.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap07">THE LANDING</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">8.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap08">"HELL-FIRE POST"</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">9.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap09">A BRAVE NEW ZEALANDER</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">10.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap10">VICTORY</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">11.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap11">WHAT LADY READERS LIKE</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+</TABLE>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap01"></A>
+
+<H1 ALIGN="center">
+THE KANGAROO MARINES
+</H1>
+
+<BR>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER I
+</H3>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+A NOTABLE QUARTETTE
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+WANTED.&mdash;One Thousand cheerful toughs to enlist for the period of the
+war in the Kangaroo Marines.  Boosers, scrimshankers and loonies
+barred.  Gents with big waists and little hearts are warned off.
+Sharpshooters on the wallaby, able to live on condensed air and boiled
+snakes, are cordially invited.  No parson's references are required.
+Jackaroos, cattlemen, rouseabouts, shearers&mdash;every sort of handy-man
+welcome.  Pay, 6s. per day, and all the "jewels" in the Sultan's harem.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+This is to be the crack corps of the Australian Force.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Hurry up and join.
+<BR>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;(<I>Signed</I>) SAM KILLEM, <I>Lt. Col. Commanding</I>.
+</P>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P>
+This alluring advertisement appeared on the front page of <I>The
+Bushmen's Weekly</I>, a Sydney production, renowned for its wit and
+originality.  It was designed to tickle the sides of the horny-handed
+men of the Bush, and to rope in the best of them.  For these men of the
+Never-Never Land are soldiers born and heroes in the toughest job.
+They think deep and know the way of things.  If they appear wild and
+uncouth, they carry beneath that scrubby exterior the will of men and
+the open heart of the child.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Moreover, they love the Motherland.  This was specially true of the
+four who tenanted a little shanty on the sheep station of "Old Graham,"
+one of the wealthiest men in Australia.  The quartette consisted of
+Bill Buster, a typical Cornstalk with a nut-brown face, twinkling eyes
+and a spice of the devil and the Lord in his soul.  Next came Claud
+Dufair, a handsome remittance man with an eye-glass and a drawl.  This
+fellow had personality.  He insisted on wearing a white collar and
+using kid gloves when doing anything, from dung lifting to sheep
+shearing.  Paddy Doolan was the third member.  He was an Irishman by
+birth, but Australian by adoption.  He had been in the Bush since he
+was a kid.  A kind soul was Paddy, with the usual weakness&mdash;the craving
+for the "cratur."  Fourth, and by no means least, was Sandy Brown, a
+Glasgow stoker, who had skipped away in a tramp from the Broomielaw
+because of another fellow's wife.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A mixed bunch, these four, you will agree.  All with a history, part of
+it bad, but the main part certainly good.  It takes a good heart to be
+a Bushman.  Work is hard, the heat is trying, pleasures few, and the
+chances of wealth are only meagre.  But the Australian Bush has a lure
+of its own.  It calls the bravest and the best.  It calls and holds the
+men primed for adventure, unafraid of death, and full of that innate
+charm and gallantry which is always the particular prerogative of the
+wanderer.  No questions are asked in this land.  A man's soul is never
+probed, nor is he expected to reveal his birth, or the cause of his
+being there.  It is the place to hide a broken heart or mend an erring
+past.  But it is only a place for men.  And this quartette was full of
+the war.  They were itching to fight.  This advertisement, therefore,
+cheered their hearts and clinched their hopes.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, boys," said Bill, "this is our call.  We'd better join."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Hear, hear!" remarked the others.  That was all.  They immediately
+packed their swag for the road.  That afternoon they received their pay
+from the squatter.  While Buster, Brown, and Doolan said good-bye to
+the master and mistress on the veranda, Claud was kissing Sybil, the
+charming daughter of the house, a tender farewell.  For Sybil Graham
+loved the "English Johnny," as her friends called Claud.  Her love was
+returned&mdash;not in the way he had treated some women in England, but with
+that reverence which is born out of true affection.  This Englishman,
+despite his faults, had a veneration for the straightforward type which
+can be found in the Australian squatter's home.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Come on, Claud&mdash;here's the coach," yelled Bill from the veranda.  They
+embraced once more, then stepped out of doors.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Good-bye, boys&mdash;God bless you!" said old Graham with a husky throat.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Good-bye&mdash;Good-bye!" said his wife, with tears in her eyes, while
+Sybil had only strength to wave her arm to the fast disappearing figure
+of Claud as he drove with his friends to the railway station twenty
+miles beyond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You're queer lookin', Claud," said Sandy, as they went down the road.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Shut up!" interjected Bill, who, like all Bushmen, had a true respect
+for the sentiment inspired by the dangers of war.  However, the sadness
+of parting was soon forgotten.  They were, also, cheered to see, coming
+over the plains, little groups of cookies, shearers and others, bent on
+their own errand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Sakes alive! where's all you mad fellows goin'?" inquired the wizened
+old stationmaster.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Berlin," said Bill.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ach sure, stationmaster, we're goin' to kiss the little darlints in
+the Sultan's harem."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, hurry up, boys; the train's ready."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+With a wild whoop fifty of them dashed for tickets, some "tucker," and
+a bottle or two of Scotch.  Into the train they jumped, and in a jiffy
+were rolling over the line to Sydney.  Song and story helped to cheer
+the long and somewhat tiring journey.  During a sort of lull in the
+proceedings Claud looked up and said: "Here, Bill, can't you recite us
+some of that impromptu sort of doggerel that you get into the Sydney
+weeklies now and then."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well&mdash;yes," said Bill, rising and clearing his throat.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Order, order! ye sheep-eatin' blackguards," shouted Paddy, hitting a
+table with his riding-whip.  The gathering ceased their chatter, and
+Bill rhymed out:
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+"We're the Kangaroo Marines,<BR>
+We're not Lager-fed machines,<BR>
+<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">But Bushmen, Bushmen, Bushmen from the plains.</SPAN><BR>
+We can ride, and we can cook,<BR>
+Ay, in shooting know our book,<BR>
+<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">We're out to wipe off Kaiser Billy's stains.</SPAN><BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+"We're not trim&mdash;and not polite,<BR>
+And, perchance, get on the skite&mdash;<BR>
+<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">We're Bushmen, Bushmen, Bushmen from the plains.</SPAN><BR>
+Yet though we can't salute,<BR>
+We can bayonet and can boot<BR>
+<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">The wily, wily Turk from our domains.</SPAN><BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+"So when we ride away,<BR>
+Off hats and shout 'Hooray'<BR>
+<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">For Bushmen, Bushmen, Bushmen from the plains.</SPAN><BR>
+And, parsons, say your prayers<BR>
+That we may pass "Upstairs"<BR>
+<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Should a nasty little bullet hit our veins.</SPAN><BR>
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+"Now, boys, stand up and sing<BR>
+God save our good old King,<BR>
+<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And Bushmen, Bushmen, Bushmen from the plains."</SPAN><BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P>
+"Good, Bill, good!" shouted Claud, gripping the rough rhymster by the
+hand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Hear, hear!" shouted the crowd.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Rot!  D&mdash;&mdash; rotten jingo slush!  What the hades has the King done for
+you and me?" roared a red-faced passenger at the other end of the car.
+This was none other than Bill Neverwork, secretary of the Weary
+Willies' Union and Socialist M.P. for the town of Wearyville.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Go an' boil yer old fat 'ead!" said Bill, calmly lighting his pipe.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ye turnip-faced spalpeen, oi'll cut yer dirty thrapple wid my gully
+knife."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Rot!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You beastly fellow!" said Claud, giving him a scornful look.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But this Socialist gentleman was not to be denied.  He would speak.
+"Listen, boys," he roared above the din.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"All right, father&mdash;we'll listen," said Bill, giving the others a nod.
+Peace reigned, then Neverwork commenced.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Boys, you've been fooled.  Why should you fight for Hengland&mdash;&mdash;"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Britain, please&mdash;I'm a Scot," interjected Sandy.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, what has Britain done for Australia?  We don't want Hengland to
+hinterfere with our business and get hour boys killed.  We've enough
+work 'ere to do.  This is the working man's paradise.  And we can make
+it a sight bigger paradise.  We want more men like me."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"'Ave a banana," chirped Bill.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, mates; we want Socialism.  We're going to get a Republic.  We'll
+cut the painter.  Curse England!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Britain, auld cock!" interjected Sandy again.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Curse Britain&mdash;and you, ye porridge-faced hemigrant!  It's the
+hemigrants that spoil this country.  Kick them out, I say.  Australia
+for Australians.  That's my motto, mates.  I know what I'm talking
+about.  I'm Bill Neverwork&mdash;&mdash;"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"B.F. for Wearyville," interjected Bill as he got up.  "And now, you
+puddin'-headed red flagger, if you'll sit down, I'll have a cut in."
+The bucolic M.P. collapsed in his seat, wiping the perspiration off his
+beetled brow with the aid of a navvy's red handkerchief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Now, boys, you know me."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Good old Bill&mdash;give it him!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This gent, what is called M.P., is a worm.  I'm a Union man&mdash;we're all
+Union men.  Andy Fisher's a Union man, and so is Pearce, the chap
+that's defending Australia.  But there's Union men and Union men.
+They're mainly good, but some are bad.  That's one of the bad ones
+there.  His name is Neverwork, and he never worked in his life.  He's a
+blowhard, a gasbagger, a balloon full of curses and twaddle.  This
+bloke thinks we're fools.  He's kidded his Union on that he's a smart
+fellow&mdash;a sort of High Priest of Salvation.  He's talked himself into a
+job, and he's drawing about five hundred a year out of another fellow's
+pockets.  He's called a Socialist to-day, but he'd call himself a Jew,
+a nigger, a polecat to-morrow, if, by doing that, he'd get a hundred
+more.  In short, mates, he's a politician&mdash;you know what that means.
+Now, Andy Fisher and Pearce don't shout like this thing here.  They're
+men, they're Australians.  They want us to fight side by side with the
+boys from the old country.  That's why we're here.  And we'll fight,
+and so much for a fat-headed M.P. that couldn't write his own name ten
+years ago.  This chap's an insult to Australia."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Hear, hear!" chorused all the Bushmen volunteers.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Listen, boys!  Listen!" roared the M.P. above the din; but they simply
+howled him down.  In the middle of this row Claud rose up, and putting
+up his hand, asked for order.  Again silence reigned.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, gentlemen&mdash;I mean, boys," said Claud, fumbling with his
+eyeglass, "I wish to make a motion&mdash;&mdash;"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You're a new chum&mdash;sit down," roared Neverwork.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And that's why I want to speak," said Claud, in such a quiet, cynical
+way that the M.P. almost choked.  "I'm a new chum&mdash;yes.  And I am,
+also, one of the boys.  I'm in the Shearers' Union, too.  I have been
+treated well here&mdash;don't cher know, and here are my good friends.  And
+we're all going to fight, for what&mdash;&mdash;"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"For financiers and Jews," roared the M.P.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, my apoplectic friend!  We're going to fight for Australia&mdash;not
+Britain&mdash;and we're going to fight to prevent fools like you handing
+this land over to German or Yellow men.  It's the proper thing, don't
+cher know.  Now, gentlemen&mdash;&mdash;"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Not so much of the gentlemen," shouted Neverwork.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My dear friend, you were not included in the term.  I am addressing
+these gentlemen from the Bush.  You're too beastly dirty and lazy to be
+a Bushman," said Claud, adjusting his eyeglass and surveying the squat
+figure of the M.P. as if he were examining a maggot.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My motion, boys, is simply this, that we stop the train by pulling the
+communication cord, and hold the driver up for ten minutes.  Meantime,
+we might seize our political gasbag, secure him with a few bits of
+rope, hoist him out of the carriage, and tie him up to one of the
+signal posts, leaving a suitable inscription attached to his
+corporation, so that all the world shall know what a delightful idiot
+this gentleman&mdash;I mean politician&mdash;is."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Carried, be jabers!" roared Paddy Doolan, pulling the communication
+cord, while Bill, Sandy and some more, seized the Socialist.  He
+kicked, cursed, bit, screamed and wriggled, but to no purpose.  As the
+train slowed down, Bill jumped out, and, running along to the driver,
+held him up with a masonic wink and a Scotch refreshment.  The trussed
+form of the M.P. was then carried out of the train.  He was still
+cursing.  But the Bushmen quietly tied him to a signal post.  This
+completed, Claud pinned a great white sheet of paper with an
+inscription on it.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Good-bye, old cock," shouted the Bushmen, jumping into the train
+again.  The whistle blew, and as the train went slowly past the enraged
+captive, the eyes of all read the notice fixed to his waist:
+</P>
+
+<H4 ALIGN="center">
+"THIS IS NOT AN AUSTRALIAN,<BR>
+<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">HE'S A D&mdash;&mdash; FOOL.</SPAN><BR>
+<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 2em">(<I>Signed</I>) KANGAROO MARINES."</SPAN><BR>
+</H4>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap02"></A>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER II
+</H3>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+MELBOURNE VERSUS SYDNEY
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+Sam Killem, Commanding Officer of the Kangaroo Marines, sat in his
+Recruiting Office chewing a cigar in the usual Australian style.  Now
+and again he looked at his recruiting figures and smiled.  "Five
+hundred men in three days," he mused.  "Not bad for you, Sam; and good
+stuff at that"&mdash;for Sam was a judge of men.  He was a squatter and as
+rich as Croesus.  His big, bony frame spoke of strength, while his eye
+and face told the tale of shrewdness and resource.  He was forty, and
+successful.  Three hundred miles of land was chartered as his own.  His
+sheep were counted in thousands, and his brand as familiar as a postage
+stamp.  Yet, in all his struggles for success, Sam had found time to be
+a patriot.  He had served as a Tommy in the African War, and since then
+had commanded a corps of mounted men in the back of beyond.  He was the
+fairest yet fiercest, the most faithful and fearless man in the force.
+A man who disobeyed his orders always received a knock-out blow, for
+Sam boxed like a pro. and hit like a hammer.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Some more recruits, sir," said his sergeant-major, opening the door.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Right, Jones; show them in."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The door closed on the now famous quartette&mdash;Claud, Bill, Paddy, and
+Sandy.  They were still in their rough bush-whacking clothes, while
+their eyes told the tale of a merry night before.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, boys&mdash;glad to see you."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"We've met before, Sam," said Bill.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Guess we have, but cut out the 'Sam,' click your heels together, say
+'sir,' when you answer, and salute when you meet me.  I'm bossing this
+show.  And we can't have sheep-shearing familiarities&mdash;understand!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Bit sudden like!" smiled Bill, trying to comply.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Not so sudden as death, or a shrapnel.  Now, to business.  You fellows
+look fit.  What's your names?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Bill Buster's mine."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Age?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"About thirty&mdash;that's near enough."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Religion?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ain't got any."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That means you're officially C. of E."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What's that, Sam&mdash;eh&mdash;sir?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Church of England&mdash;they father queer birds like you."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Now, your father and mother?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"None."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"How's that?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I was found as a kid on the Woolamaloo Road, with a newspaper for a
+bellyband and a rubber tit in my mouth.  The old woman who found me
+said I dropped from heaven."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The other's the most likely place.  Now, sign.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Right!  Next."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Paddy Doolan described himself as an Irishman, born in Kerry, and an
+egg-merchant by trade.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Your religion?" asked Sam.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Sure, I'm a Catholic."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"When were you at Confession last?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's a long time now, yer riverance; but if yis'll lend me a pound
+I'll have something worth confessing by early Mass to-morrow."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"<I>Your</I> name, now?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Sandy Brown."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Where from?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Glesca, sir."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Where's Glesca?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The place whaur they mak' gunboats an' bailies."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Trade?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Coal merchant&mdash;I mean stoker."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Married?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Often."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A few more questions settled Sandy.  Then Claud came forward, adjusting
+his eyeglass.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Better take that window out of your face, young fellow.  What's your
+name?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Claud Dufair."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Father?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Lord Dufair."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You're the goods, young fellow.  Now, do you think you can stand up to
+me for five rounds?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Boxing's a beastly bore, sir; but I would have a go&mdash;certainly."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Right!  I'll make you corporal.  We've need of your brains.  By the
+way, why did you leave home&mdash;women and wine, eh?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well&mdash;yes, sir."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Human failing&mdash;we're all like that," soliloquised Sam, who had been
+one of the lads in his day.  "Now, boys, about turn, and off for your
+uniform&mdash;good day."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Good day, sir," replied the four, attempting to salute.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Good lads&mdash;good lads!" muttered Sam to himself as they stumbled
+through the door.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Three days afterwards Sam had his thousand men.  He quartered them in
+tents, selected some old soldiers for instructors, and commenced to
+train for war.  Sergeant-Major Jones, an ex-Imperial Army man, was the
+terror of the show.  This warrant officer realised what he was up
+against&mdash;a thousand rebels against convention, hypocrisies, and shams.
+They called a spade a spade.  "Red tape" they cursed, and stupid
+officialdom they loathed.  They were freemen, Bohemians of the plains.
+In the Bush they had learned to fight, cook, scheme, and generally look
+after themselves.  Pioneers of the toughest kind.  The type that has
+made our Empire what it is to-day.  In drink they were like savages,
+ready to shoot the men they hated, ready to give a drunken embrace to
+the men they liked and respected.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And few of them were fools.  Many could rip off Shakespeare by the
+yard; others could recite, in a feeling way, the best of Byron,
+Tennyson, Kipling, and Burns.  The lonely plains and self-communion had
+given each a soul.  Indeed, they were the oddest bunch of daring,
+devilry, romance, and villainy that had ever gathered for war.  For
+such men there is only one type of leader, that is&mdash;the gentleman.  Not
+the gentleman who says, "Please," like a drawing-room lady; but the
+gentleman who says, "Come on, boys&mdash;here's a job," in a kindly, but
+firm manner, with that touch of authority in the words which spells the
+master and the man, and reveals to the skunk that if he refuses a great
+fist will crack right under his chin and lay him out.  Sergeant-Major
+Jones was, therefore, the gentleman required.  He represented the
+finest virtues of the British N.C.O.&mdash;a class which has made the
+British Army what it is to-day, and a class meanly paid and shockingly
+neglected by the Governments of the past.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Sergeant-Major Jones had a breast of medals.  He knew his job.  Now
+that was important to these Australians.  Australians are always up
+against what they call "the imported man."  But if the imported man is
+what they call "a good fellow," and knows his job better than they do,
+they are fair enough to shake him by the hand and call him "friend."
+And the sergeant-major knew that he had to find an opportunity in the
+first week to show that he <I>was</I> the sergeant-major and that they were
+there to be disciplined.  The opportunity came on the third day.  A
+weak-looking sergeant, with a shrill, piping voice, was moving a squad
+up and down.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Left&mdash;rights-left&mdash;&mdash;  Stop  your  talking, Private Grouse," he
+shouted to a tall, burly-built and dour-looking man in his squad.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Wot the deuce are you chippin' at?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Hold your tongue."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Swank," replied the insolent man.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Sergeant-Major Jones heard him.  "Halt!" he bellowed to the squad.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Now, young fellow, what do you mean?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Just 'aving a little lark, major," he answered casually.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Stand to attention, and 'sir' me when you speak."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You'll make us laugh," said the man in a familiar way.  The other
+Bushmen craned their necks.  They were interested.  They knew that
+Grouse had gone over the score, and they waited to see the stuff that
+the sergeant-major was made of.  It was, in fact, the psychological
+moment which makes or mars the reputation of a sergeant-major in such a
+corps.  The sergeant-major knew it.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Look here, young man, I make great allowance for inexperience, for
+none of you have been soldiers before, but I make no allowance for
+insolence.  Take off your coat."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Take off your coat," said the sergeant-major with emphasis, at the
+same time throwing off his own.  The man followed suit.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Now step out here, and we'll decide who's going to run this show."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then the unexpected happened.  The man shoved out his hand.  "Shake,
+sir; you're a good fellow.  I'm afeard of no man, but I won't fight
+you, for I'm in the wrong."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, you're a man, anyway," said Jones, shaking him cordially by the
+hand, while the whole squad gave out a thrilling cheer.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Colonel Sam Killem had watched it all from the corner of the parade
+ground.  For him it was an anxious moment.  He was a broad-minded
+Australian who realised the need of experienced Britishers like Jones
+for the training of his men.  But he was also aware of the national
+prejudice against the imported man.  If Jones had adopted the usual way
+in the British regiment, that is, clapping the offender in the guard
+room and formally charging him with "insubordination in the ranks," Sam
+knew that his prestige as a sergeant-major would have dropped fifty per
+cent.  However, he was well pleased to see him handle the man in the
+Australian manner.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Made good that time, Jones," said the colonel with a dry grin as the
+sergeant-major came forward.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That's the only way with these men, sir."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Glad you know it.  By the way, I know that man.  He half killed one of
+the Mounted Police two years ago.  He's three-quarters blackguard and
+one-quarter of a good fellow; but we'll make a man of him.  Put him in
+orders to-night for the lance stripe.  I always believe in making
+N.C.O.'s out of these rascals."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Splendid idea, sir," said the sergeant-major, saluting and falling out.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Next day Lance-Corporal Grouse commenced a new career&mdash;that of a
+gallant soldier and an Australian gentleman.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Another interesting incident occurred during the training.  Side by
+side with the Kangaroo Marines lay the Melbourne Nuts, a battalion of
+superior persons.  You see, the Kangaroo Marines were nominally a
+Sydney crowd.  Therefore the Melbourne boys showered on them all the
+envy which Melbourne has for Sydney.  To understand this point
+thoroughly you must have lived in Australia.  Between Melbourne and
+Sydney there exists a feud as fierce as an Italian vendetta.  This
+animosity crystallises the more general hatred of the respective
+States&mdash;Victoria and New South Wales.  Both sides think they are the
+Lord's Anointed.  A Governor-General in any speech must be careful to
+whitewash both States with the same degree of eyewash.  Friendships,
+fortunes, and reputations have been lost in this really amusing
+controversy.  Indeed, they are like the farmers of Kerry&mdash;they go to
+law if a hen roosts for a second in the enemy's barnyard.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Picture the scene then&mdash;two corps side by side, and imagine the
+language.  The first trouble arose through a pioneer of the Kangaroos
+dropping a shovelful of dirt in the lines of the Melbourne men.  The
+offender was Bill Buster.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Get out of this, ye Sydney rattlesnake," chirped a youth, looking out
+of his tent.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Worm!" exclaimed Bill contemptuously.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ye dirty-necked beachcomber, I'll split yer pumpkin head."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Take that," shouted Bill, throwing a shovelful of manure into the tent
+of his aggressor.  Honour, of course, had to be satisfied after that.
+The Melbourne man got a broken nose, and Bill had two lovely black eyes.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Both regiments decided to have revenge, and, for that purpose, secret
+meetings were called.  The Melbourne boys decided to leave their
+affairs in the hands of Happy Harry, a local comedian.  He was given
+liberty to spend anything up to twenty pounds on a scheme of revenge.
+In the case of the Kangaroos it was decided by ballot that Bill would
+plan out something to stagger the Melbourne crowd.  Meantime, armed
+neutrality reigned; yet the air seemed charged with the spirit of
+friction and the feeling of secret preparation.  Remarkable to relate,
+both schemes panned out on the morning of the same day.  The Melbourne
+Nuts woke up to see, in great, black, varnished letters, across their
+huge dining-tent, the following:
+</P>
+
+<H4 ALIGN="center">
+MELBOURNE<BR>
+IS A<BR>
+ONE-EYED TOWN<BR>
+FULL OF<BR>
+SNIVELLING SNOBS,<BR>
+PAWNSHOPS, AND GROG SALOONS.<BR>
+</H4>
+
+<P>
+This was a good stroke for the Sydney men, but the Melbourne men had,
+also, a neat revenge.  That morning, an old broken-down donkey was
+found wandering in the Kangaroos' lines, with placards flapping at his
+sides, on which the Sydney men saw:
+</P>
+
+<H4 ALIGN="center">
+THIS IS THE FATHER<BR>
+OF SYDNEY AND<BR>
+THE KANGAROO MARINES.<BR>
+</H4>
+
+<P>
+The battle of wits was a drawn affair.  But, that night, more trouble
+ensued.  While the famous quartette were casually strolling through the
+town a Melbourne man jostled Sandy.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Wha are ye pushin'?" he inquired.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'll push yer face for you&mdash;you bag of haggis," replied the cool
+Melbourne lad.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ye daur meddle wi' me," said Sandy, leering at him, for he had tasted
+deep of the national fluid.  "Hit me!" he roared, baring his chest
+towards his aggressor.  "Ma fit is on ma native heath, an' ma name's
+M'Greegor," continued the fierce, red-whiskered Scot.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Here's one for you, M'Greegor!"  And the Melbourne man let fly.  Poor
+Sandy, he buckled up and fell gasping to the ground.  Bill now set to,
+but in a minute he, Claud, and Paddy were surrounded by a gang of
+Melbourne hands.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ye miserable spalpeens," said Paddy, laying to with a great big stick,
+and between times whipping the treasures from the pockets of fallen
+men.  Claud had his monocle smashed and his nose burst, while poor old
+Bill was severely winded just as reinforcements arrived from the
+Kangaroos.  It was a bloody combat.  Indeed, it might have been a
+serious riot had Sam Killem not doubled up a company with buckets of
+water to throw over the antagonists.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then the bugle call to assembly ended the first and last fight between
+these two corps.  Afterwards they were loyal friends, and, in action,
+died nobly side by side.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap03"></A>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER III
+</H3>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+THE LAND OF SIN
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+Egypt is the land of heroes and engineers&mdash;also the land of mystery,
+the abode of intrigue, the cockpit of puerile nationalism, and the soul
+of all things topsy-turvy and contrary.  It is a land for a brave
+soldier, a skilful engineer, or the tourist in search of Rameses'
+shin-bones.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+It is a country wet with British blood and paved with British gold.
+The noblest things in Egypt are British; the vilest are the products of
+aliens who have dodged justice and cleanness through the vagaries of
+"The Capitulations" (an international treaty which makes John Bull pay
+for the privilege of entertaining alien murderers, white slavers,
+forgers, assassins, corrupt financiers, and legal twisters).  But it is
+a land worth holding, not so much for any riches it may possess, but
+for the Suez Canal, which links us to our Indian Empire.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Egyptians, on the whole, are an industrious and harmless people.
+For centuries they have been slaves to Greeks, Romans, Persians, Turks,
+and Crusaders from every land.  They have been doomed to serve because
+of their inability to lead and control.  They are content to serve so
+long as justice reigns.  Egypt to-day is better governed, more
+prosperous, happier than it has ever been in its history.   Cromer,
+Kitchener, the Tommy, the Engineer, and the men of the "Egyptian Civil"
+have given their noblest efforts to crush corruption, to kill decay, to
+make the native full-fed and serene.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Discontent in Egypt is the work of a few who have cast off their native
+garments, donned the clothes of the Westerner, and acquired a
+smattering of things.  A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.  These
+young <I>effendis</I> are the fools who would step where angels fear to
+tread.  These malcontents spurred and led Arabi Pasha (a true patriot)
+to his doom.  The self-same type have recently sent a Khedive into
+shame and exile.  These so-called "Nationalists" were the willing tools
+of German and Austrian agents who aimed at capturing Egypt and
+dominating the route to India.  Before the war there was a German spy
+in every town from Alexandria to Khartoum.  These spies even supped at
+the table of the late Khedive.  While they went their way they smiled
+and called us fools.  Eagerly they lived for the day when Enver Pasha
+(the well-paid Moslem adventurer) would lead his deluded Turks against
+the British host.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The great dream of the Khedive, his Nationalists and German agents
+failed because of the courage and shrewdness of "K" and his men.  While
+the world waited for the Holy War and the fall of Egypt, the great
+Australian host was quietly landing on Egypt's shores.  In this army
+were such men as the Kangaroo Marines&mdash;fearless, tireless, and ready
+for adventure.  The tramp, tramp of their feet made traitors shiver and
+flee; their physique, their chins, their corded arms spread over the
+Delta and the desert a sense of might and courage.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There can be no rebellion.  The Australians are too big, too strong.
+Allah is against us," said the wise men in the little hamlets by the
+Nile.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"These are white men&mdash;not black," muttered an <I>effendi</I> to his friend,
+as the Australians marched through intriguing Cairo.  Like many
+Egyptians, he had imagined Australians to be of a nigger mould.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, infidels and sons of dogs," growled a priestly fanatic.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What men&mdash;what guns&mdash;Allah preserve us!" said many more who had talked
+revolution for a while.  This, truly, was a bloodless climax to the
+schemes of Germany, Turkey, and the Khedive.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Along the sun-baked road to Mena marched the Australians.  They were
+treading a road made by a great Khedive for the Empress Eugenie to see
+the Pyramids in comfort.  When they halted they were beneath the shade
+of the historic piles of stones.  Napoleon's soldiers had been there,
+so had Gordon's and Kitchener's heroes.   Now these sons of the
+Motherland found themselves at the beginning of another historic
+mission.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There's been a lot of overtime on that job," said Bill Buster to his
+pals when nearing the Pyramids.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Wha built them?" inquired Sandy of Claud.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Rameses built one."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What for?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"To keep his fellows from getting tired."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Sure now," said Paddy, "there's a dog wid a woman's head."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That's a Sphinx," remarked Claud with a smile.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+These ancient things and the general surroundings made all open their
+eyes in wonder, and feel that there were more things on earth than
+their own little cabbage patch.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+They settled down quickly, and having received an enormous haul of cash
+in the form of arrears of pay, the Kangaroo Marines and every other
+corps set out on donkeys, motor-cars, cabs, camels and carts to see the
+sights of Cairo.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Gee whiz! this is some town," said Bill, on reaching the gay and
+dazzling city.  The wide streets, oriental buildings, the weird
+bazaars, gaily-lit cafés, and veiled women, amazed these simple
+Bushmen.  It was like "The Arabian Nights," wonderful, alluring,
+seductive and strange.  All were gripped by the subtle atmosphere of
+things.  Their blood tingled with the sensuous aroma of the East.
+Cheap wine in the cafés of the Greeks let the devil loose, and so they
+fell an easy prey to the lures of the bold and handsome wantons of
+Cairo.  Thus many were duped and robbed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Australians when wronged must have revenge.  An eye for an eye is the
+law of the bush.  The revenge came in an unexpected way.  In one of the
+streets where the wantons live an injustice had been done to one of the
+boys.  The exact reason was never told.  But Cairo was soon alarmed by
+the shrieks of women, the shouts of fire, and the galloping of mounted
+police.  Through the glare and smoke could be seen a little army of men
+wreaking revenge.  Windows were being smashed, a piano was crashed from
+above to the ground, doors were torn down, crockery clattered into the
+street.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Allah!  Allah!  Save us, save us!  The mad Australians!  The mad
+Australians!" cried the cowardly <I>effendis</I> as they fled.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Help!  Help!" screamed the wantons, as they ran like maddened hares.
+But the wrecking went on, despite the charging pickets and hoarse
+commands from officers and police.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Here's the fire brigade, boys, capture them," yelled a great hulking
+fellow.  And they did.  With a wild haloo, they captured the engines,
+cut the pipes, and terrified the poor gippy firemen out of their lives.
+It was an ugly time.  And the riot was only quelled by armed pickets
+sent from other corps.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's a great pity we interfered at all," said a Cairo dignitary that
+night.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why?" inquired his friend.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"They would have burned the whole dirty place down, and that would have
+been the greatest blessing to Cairo."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Then you don't blame them?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No.  I think Cairo has been cursed with the vilest creatures God ever
+made.  Yes, I admit, the Capitulations have hitherto tied our hands.
+Thank Heaven Egypt is now a Protectorate.  We can clean out these
+filthy dens after the war."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, it is a queer hole, but East is East, and West is West, and never
+the twain shall meet," chipped in another member of the club.  "It's a
+wonder they didn't kill that fellow Hassein."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Who's he?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"A rotter who dresses as a woman and runs a crowd of white slaves.
+And, by Jove! he looks like a woman too&mdash;all scented and faked."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, he's a law-abiding merchant of sin," said a gippy officer.
+"There's a worse person than he here."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Who's that?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Madame Mysterious, who owns dozens of these low shows in Cairo."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Isn't that the woman who used to buy and sell wives to the rich
+<I>effendis</I> and gippy <I>pashas</I>?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The same.  That old Pasha down near Alex is one of her patrons.  He's
+a proper old rascal.  Do you know that he has got women in his harem
+who have been educated in some of our greatest schools in England?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Not English women, surely?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No.  Gippy girls, daughters of rich fellows."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And why shouldn't he?" interjected an old gippy warrior who defended
+the customs of the East.  "We have no right to force our Western morals
+down an Oriental's throat.  It is easy to be a moralist in a freezing
+climate like ours.  The snow makes for virtue; the sun always warps
+morality.  The harem is as ancient as the sun.  And the harem will
+remain.  It's no good of you fellows hoping to alter it.  And, after
+all, the Oriental is, at least, honest.  He has a harem, the world
+knows he has a harem.  He is not ashamed of the fact.  But what of our
+Mayfair bloods, who have their secret 'wives,' and who hunt everybody
+else's wife.  The Oriental is straight about it&mdash;we Westerners are
+hypocritical."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I offer no defence of the harem," said a doctor, "but I've found it a
+mighty interesting place when visiting there in a professional
+capacity.  Do you fellows know that I have met some of the most
+intellectual women there.  Strange to say, they like the life.  And,
+after all, they are well cared for.  They have money&mdash;heaps of
+it&mdash;beautiful clothes, lovely rooms, servants, carriages, and motors.
+They see everything, they do almost everything, and since the
+revolution in Turkey they have had greater freedom.  Why, they travel
+abroad now without their eunuchs.  What more does a woman want?  Money,
+clothes and comfort are everything to an Easterner.  In my humble
+opinion there is no virtue in an eastern climate.  There can never be."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"We've got off the track altogether," said the father of this
+discussion.  "I am liberal-minded so far as the Egyptians are
+concerned.  In their own way they are virtuous.  And I agree that it is
+ridiculous to suggest that we should interfere with any of their social
+or religious arrangements.  But this riot has again proved to us that
+Cairo is a pretty rotten show.  We ought to clean it up, and we shall
+do so after the war.  It will pay us.  Let us make Cairo a cleaner and
+more charming place.  It means health and business to the community.
+Why should Cairo be the cesspool of European iniquity?  Personally, as
+I said before, I'm very sorry the Australians did not burn the whole of
+that rotten quarter down."
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap04"></A>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER IV
+</H3>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+TREASURE TROVE
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+"Look here, men," said Colonel Killem, "I want to talk to you about
+some interesting things, especially your conduct towards Mohammedans.
+First of all, Doolan, tell me what a Mohammedan means?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Sure, sir, it manes a nigger who jabbers 'Allah' when yis put a
+bayonet in his guts."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Not exactly; but what would you shout if you got a bayonet in your
+tummy."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"A gill of the best, sir."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, now, a Mohammedan's a sort of eastern fanatic who thinks he'll
+get a 'corner lot' in Paradise if he reads the Koran and dies on the
+edge of your bayonets.  Mecca is his holy shrine, and the old Sultan
+acts as a sort of elder or high priest who takes up the collections.
+We meet 'em ourselves&mdash;religious beggars who're always passing round
+the hat for ninepence to make up another shilling.  Religion is always
+an expensive business, except in Scotland, where you get free seats to
+support the Kirk and Government.  Isn't that so, Brown?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Jist in the Auld Kirk, sir, but I belang tae the Wee Frees."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Who are the Wee Frees?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The Wee Frees were started by a lot o' Hielan-men oot o' a job."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What were they after?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Deevidends, sir."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Colonel grinned.  Continuing, he said, "Now, men, these Mohammedans
+are very touchy.  You've got to be careful how you treat them.  For
+example, their headgear is sacred.  Don't touch it.  And when you get a
+little of home-brewed Scotch into you, don't knock their head-dress
+off.  They'll probably knife you.  It isn't a pleasant thing to get a
+rusty blade stuck into your kidneys.  Bad for the health, I assure you.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Tell me something else you must not do?" inquired the Colonel,
+assuming the rôle of regimental schoolmaster.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"They hate pigs, sir," said Sandy Brown.  "When I wis a stoker on a
+ship gaun East I flung a bit o' fried pork at a coolie.  He nearly
+knocked ma lichts oot wi' a big hammer."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, pigs are regarded by these fellows as unclean beasts.  To offer
+them pork is, as Brown says, a great insult, so be careful of that.
+Another important point is his carpet.  This is sacred.  He kneels on
+that and offers up his prayers to Allah.  When you walk into his house,
+don't wipe your feet and spit on it.  Give him a chance to remove it.
+Can anyone tell me what those buildings in Cairo are with the big domes
+on them?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Harems," piped Bill.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Chapels," said Doolan.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, they are called mosques, or temples.  Watch what you do there.
+Mohammedans always take off their shoes before entering.  Inside is
+holy ground.  If you go into them you must put a pair of shoes over
+your boots.  These are kept for the purpose.  Of course, don't walk
+away with the shoes, or there will be trouble.  I have, also, a list
+here of other things regarded as sacred either in the town or country.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Trees with rags tied to them.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Tombs.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Graveyards.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Deserted mosques.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Stones with inscriptions on them.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Fountains, and
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Isolated clumps of trees on hill tops.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Be careful, now, of all these things.  They look nothing to you, but
+they are very important to them.  You see, we are all Christians&mdash;or
+supposed to be&mdash;and a Christian is regarded by them as an infidel and
+son of a dog.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Next thing is the ladies.  We all love the ladies.  What do you know
+about them?" said the Colonel, suddenly pointing to a grinning youth.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And very nice too, sir," replied this youngster.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If it wasn't for their veils," said another.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Sure, sor, they've always a big, fat nigger trotting after them,"
+remarked Doolan.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, Doolan, and be very careful of the big fellow behind.  He's what
+is called a eunuch&mdash;a sort of guardian.  If you give these ladies the
+'glad eye,' or attempt to touch them, he'll probably slit your throat
+with a razor.  These women are veiled to all men except their husbands
+and nearest relations.  Many of them are harem women.  Out here, a
+native can have two or three wives and as many concubines as he likes.
+For example, the late Khedive had about a hundred women in his harem,
+and they say the Sultan of Turkey has over five hundred.  Some of these
+women are very beautiful, others are quite ugly.  I heard of one man
+who followed a veiled lady for about three miles, thinking she was some
+wonderful Circassian beauty.  He managed to talk to her too, but when
+she lifted her veil he was dumbstruck.  Instead of being young and
+charming, she was old, haggard, toothless and revolting.  All is not
+gold that glitters, and beauty is not always found beneath the veil.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, that reminds me, I've been hearing of one or two queer things
+which they say our fellows have been doing.  In a certain part of Cairo
+the ladies of the harems frequently ride in carriages, taking the
+evening air.  They often drive alone and use their eyes in the most
+inviting way.  Some of our boys have jumped into the carriages and had
+a most pleasant and interesting drive with these ladies.  That's risky,
+men; don't do it.  It may come off ninety-nine times out of a hundred,
+but on the hundredth occasion it may end in a knife and a bullet.  And
+quite right too.  We have no right to interfere with the preserves of
+an Egyptian Pasha.  Now I think that is all I have to say to you just
+now.  Fall out, please."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+When the Colonel had departed, the men formed up into little groups and
+discussed some of the points that had been raised.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Old Sam's pulling our leg a bit about these holy places.  I ain't had
+any bother, and I've found it quite a paying game digging up these old
+niggers' bones.  Look here, boys, this is what I've found," said Sambo,
+a big-boned bushman from Queensland, showing Bill and his cronies a
+handful of old coins, rings and a bracelet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Some curios!" said Bill.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Worth money, too," remarked Sandy.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Where did you get them?" asked Claud, his interest roused in these
+wonderful old jewels of the East.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Down in the Dead City on the other side of Cairo&mdash;behind the Citadel.
+I dig them up at nights.  I can give you a cargo of shin bones and
+skulls if you want them."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Is it safe?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I reckon so.  You see, a lot of these are ancient graves.  Nobody has
+a claim on them, so we can jump them."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Do you want some partners?" asked Claud.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, a few of us could get something.  I've had my eye on an old tomb
+there for some time."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What about to-night?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That will do.  Bring your entrenching tools in a parcel, nobody sees
+them.  We can get an old cab or motor to go in."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Right-ho!" agreed Claud, who also arranged with Paddy, Bill and Sandy
+to form part of the exploring squad.  This digging for ancient
+treasures in the graves of the dead is an old game in Egypt.  It is
+comparatively safe where there are no natives with an interest in the
+business.  And it is really remarkable what interesting finds are made.
+Rings, bangles, necklaces, brassware, beads, and jewels are often found
+in these old graveyards.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The route to this particular place lay through Cairo.  It was already
+dark when they started on a rattling old motor-car.  Down the Mena Road
+they were whirled into the dazzling streets.  The traffic sent the car
+slower through a long, narrow native quarter.  This was lined with
+dirty shops, selling everything, from mouldy Turkish delight to
+poisonous-looking firewater called native wine.  At the door of these
+places the proud owners lounged on chairs or squatted on the ground,
+haggling and dealing with the <I>fellah</I> (the peasant Egyptian, and the
+finest type in Egypt).  In Egypt everybody is in business.  You can
+find merchants dealing in broken bottles, merchants in discarded
+"fags," merchants in the manure from the streets, merchants in rags and
+bones, egg shells and cabbage stalks.  They'll do anything but work.
+Work to an Easterner is designed for women and oxen.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Leaving the lighted streets behind, the motor at length turned round
+into a long, darkened road.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This is the show," said Sambo, pointing to a wide field of little
+domes, tombs, and broken-down buildings just visible in the murky light.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's a gey queer place," said Sandy, with a tremor in his voice.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It is, and there's sure to be ghosts in this ould world?" muttered
+Mick, crossing himself.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There's diamonds, too&mdash;and tons of gold," remarked Claud.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Paddy, you'll be a rich man after to-night," laughed Sambo.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If I'm not a dead wan," said the Irishman, who, for the moment had
+become seized with a dread of the supernatural.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, boys, here we are!" exclaimed the leader of the party as they
+neared a dark bend of the road.  "Jump out!"  The car was backed out of
+sight, and the driver told to wait.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This way," and into the darkness plunged the Queenslander.  They
+followed close at his heels, stumbling over graves, stones and old
+enclosures.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What's that?" screamed Paddy, as he kicked a white-looking thing at
+his feet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's a skull, man," said Sandy, picking up the bleached headpiece of
+an ancient.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Mother of Jasus, preserve us," murmured the Irishman, crossing himself
+again.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Now, boys, here we are.  Get out your tools and start digging.  Here's
+a little torch to use, now and again, to see what you've got.  You
+fellows can pan out this show here, I'm going over a bit to do some
+prospecting."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Right you are, I'll run this bit of the business," said Claud, as the
+Queenslander went off into the darkness.   For a long time they picked
+and shovelled out the soft brown earth.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What's this?" whispered Sandy, holding something in his hand.  Claud
+switched the light on.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's a shin bone."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Here's the goods," shouted Bill, holding up a bracelet crusted with
+earth and mildew.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's gold, too," said Claud, fingering it.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And here's some quids," Paddy said, spreading some coins out in his
+hand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Coppers, you mean."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Resuming their task, they soon collected skulls, shin bones, thigh
+bones, some old brassware, a ring, some coppers, and many other things
+of an Eastern kind.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Wonderful!  Wonderful!" soliloquised Claud, as he occasionally
+surveyed the finds with the aid of his monocle and flash lamp.  But the
+greatest find was a large brass urn of beautiful workmanship.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Looks like old Rameses' whisky jar," said Bill, turning the urn round
+under the light of the lamp.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Things were really going well till the Irishman happened to look up.
+His eyes at once caught a moving spectre of white advancing slowly
+towards them.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Holy Mary, there's a ghost," said he, crossing himself and gripping
+Claud by the arm.  They all looked up, and, sure enough, there was
+something white and weird moving slowly across the plain of the dead.
+Their eyes riveted on it.  Paddy muttered a prayer; Bill eloquently
+wondered what the white thing was; Sandy, remarkably cool, picked up
+the bracelet, coins and other trinkets and placed them in his pocket.
+He did this, as he explained afterwards, "in case the ghost wid get
+them."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's mighty funny," muttered Claud, frequently adjusting his eyeglass
+to see the dread apparition more clearly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's a ghost, boys, I tell ye.  My ould father has seen them when he
+lived in Kerry.  Heaven preserve us!" he ejaculated, crossing himself
+for about the fiftieth time.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ghost or no ghost, Paddy Doolan, I'm going after it," Bill said.
+Quietly picking up his tool, he walked forward to the weird, white
+thing still advancing.  He reached it, then turned with it towards the
+crouching grave wreckers.  Halting about ten yards from them, Bill
+shouted, "Paddy Doolan."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yis, Bill," was the timorous reply.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's an Irish ghost&mdash;a Kerry one."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What is it?" said Claud, rising and shaking off the supernatural fear
+which had held him for a moment.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's a white donkey on the loose," answered Bill, bursting into
+laughter.  Paddy recovered instantly and joined with the others in the
+admiration of the innocent ass which had strayed from its usual haunts.
+After sniffing its new-found friends, the donkey let out a terrible
+bray, flung up its heels and departed into the night.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+They recommenced their digging operations; so engrossed were they with
+their discoveries that they did not hear the approach of some
+chattering natives.  These dusky gents were within fifty yards of them
+when Bill whispered, "Keep still&mdash;lie down."  They obeyed, and lying
+flat on the ground saw some Arabs go by.  They could just see their
+figures against the sky, and had time to note that they carried shovels.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"On the same game," whispered Bill.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes," said Claud, "I believe they make a speciality of digging up
+these dead folks.   Glad they weren't Kerry ghosts, anyway."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Be aisy, boys, you'll meet a ghost yet before ye die."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The work was resumed once more.  About 2 A.M., when all thought they
+had had enough of this body-snatching, they were startled with the cry
+of, "Help, boys!  Help!  They're killing me."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"By Jove!  That's the Queenslander.  These niggers are at him.  Come
+on, boys," shouted Claud, lifting his entrenching tool and running
+towards the place from whence came the cry for help.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Help!  Help!" rang out the cry again, this time it was more muffled
+and weak.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Where are you, Sambo?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"In here," came a faint reply.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The sound came from a square building, the door of which was open.
+Claud dashed in, flashing his light as he went.  Turning a corner, he
+was amazed by a strange and striking spectacle.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Sambo lay struggling and kicking surrounded by four great hulking
+Arabs, who had been beating, kicking and biting him in a furious
+struggle.  The faces of all were bleeding and bruised, and blood was
+splashed over the white sort of overall that the natives wear.  To the
+left of Sambo Claud saw an open tomb.  Inside he could just see a kind
+of coffin arrangement, and on the ground, near at hand, the most varied
+collection of brass and other beautiful Eastern wares.  This was the
+cause of the bother.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Crack! went Claud's fist into the eyes of the nearest Arab.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Take that, ye son of a sea cook," chimed in Bill, giving another the
+knock-out blow.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Here's one from Paddy Doolan," shouted the Hibernian as he, too, hit
+his man.  The fourth one was dealt with by Claud.  With shrieks and
+yells of "Allah, Allah!" the Arabs turned, and, jumping a low wall,
+fled off into the night.  Sambo was at once released.  Meantime, Sandy,
+as the unofficial cashier of the expedition, made an inventory of the
+treasure trove.  It appears that Sambo had scented out in a strange way
+a very ancient and dilapidated tomb, which these Arab robbers had
+intended to despoil at the same time.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Here, boys," said Sandy, "it's time we were hame.  I've had enough o'
+skulls, shin banes and brass beer bottles."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"An' I've had enough of ghosts," growled Paddy, as they staggered down
+the road with their load of curios.  The car whisked them back to Mena
+Camp again.  Stealthily creeping through the lines, they arrived at
+their tents.  All crept to bed, weary and wiser men.  Claud was the
+last one to fall asleep.  He was thinking of Sybil, the girl from the
+Bush.  At last Morpheus claimed him.  As he was slipping away into the
+dreamy unknown he heard Doolan muttering, "Ghosts!  Be Jasus!  Ghosts!"
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap05"></A>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER V
+</H3>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+SYBIL, THE SQUATTER'S GIRL
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+"By Jove!  What a stunning girl.  She's a peach!" whispered a Yeomanry
+subaltern to his Australian friend as a beautiful girl entered the
+spacious dining-room of Shepheard's Hotel in Cairo.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why, that's Sybil Graham&mdash;haven't seen her since she was a kid.  My
+word, she is a beauty now," said the Australian officer.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Who is she?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"One of our squatter's girls.  That's her father and mother with her.
+They've got miles of land, plenty of sheep and heaps of tin.  He'll be
+a lucky fellow who gets her."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You know, old chap, I never thought you produced women like that in
+Australia.  No offence, you know.  What I really mean is that the sun,
+the want of what we call society, and the lack of cultured institutions
+such as we have at home, must be a great handicap in bringing up a
+girl."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Young man, you're talking through your hat," was the blunt reply.  "We
+have ladies in Australia just as we have at home.  And can you guess
+what we haven't got?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Snobs!  No time for all your damned conventions&mdash;'At Home' scandals
+and Society calls.  These girls of the bush are natural, jolly,
+unconventional, but not loose.  So far and no farther is their attitude
+to mankind.  And they've got an independence of character which knocks
+you fellows sick when you meet them.  They don't want any of these
+insidious palavers and hollow attentions, and they'll tell a man pretty
+quick what they think.  My word! can't they choke a Johnny off."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But, my dear fellow, all my friends who have visited Australia say
+they haven't got manners, and all have a cockney twang.  When they open
+their mouths they always spoil the picture."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I expect your friends have been dealing with the Pitt Street toughs or
+Manly larrikins.  By the way you speak, I don't suppose they have ever
+been in the bush or visited some of our squatters' homes.  Do you know
+that some of these squatters are descendants of some of the finest
+families in England.  Apart from that, you will find better ladies on a
+squatter's veranda than you will in Park Lane.  I have been in London,
+young fellow; in fact, I'm English, although I've been a long time in
+Australia.  So don't say I'm biased.  But I am speaking from an
+intimate knowledge of the people&mdash;not from a superficial glance which a
+hen-brained tourist gets.  It isn't affectation, trinkets, dresses and
+a Society drawl that makes a lady.  That's your standard.  Society at
+home&mdash;at least, in certain circles, is the most hollow and unhappy
+creation I know.  Everyone is in it, because they've got to be, but
+every real white man or woman knows that it's the rottenest show on
+earth.  We don't stand for all that sort of thing out there.  They
+accept folks for what they are worth&mdash;I mean, if a person is decent,
+law-abiding, cheerful and ambitious, the door of the Premier, squatter
+and merchant is open to him."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Look here, old chap, you can't chuck convention overboard entirely;
+it's impossible."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Rot!  You speak as if Australia was a primitive land, without schools
+and culture.  You're entirely mistaken.  We can educate and create a
+most charming and distinctive type.  I grant you that some of our
+people may be narrow-visioned and have one-eyed views.  I admit you
+will find a few folks who think Britain is a land of peers, publicans
+and paupers.  But haven't you got in Britain the same narrow folks, the
+same crude, ill-informed men and women who ignorantly air their views
+to the disgust of every Colonial?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, there's something in that, I agree.  We have got them, but I've
+heard Australian officers talk as if Australia was the only place on
+God's earth," the subaltern ejaculated a little warmly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You condemn a nation for a few.  Young man, you haven't travelled far
+enough.  And you make me tired to hear you talk in that way.  You're a
+nice fellow spoiled, I reckon.  Why, where I live there's dozens of
+English public school men working as cockies and jackaroos.  They
+wouldn't go back home if you paid them.  They like the life.  Everybody
+makes them at home, and many of them have married our Australian girls.
+These women can milk, bake, ride, drive, sew and rear the most charming
+children.  And they can meet you in a drawing-room with a natural grace
+that is their own.  Intellectually, too, they are pleasant to meet, for
+the loneliness has given them time to think and read.  Look at that
+girl there, doesn't she look a lady?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Isn't she absolutely perfect?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, yes."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Does her dress fit?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Decidedly."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Do you think her table manners are awkward?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Isn't there something easy and natural, no false pose, a sort of
+innate grace of mind and body?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Certainly, but is this not some strange exception, just as you find in
+many parts?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, my boy.  You still seem to be unconvinced.  Hang it all, there's
+only one way to convince you.  As they are rising from the table now,
+get up and I'll introduce you."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Hallo, Sybil, how are you?" said the Australian officer going forward.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What&mdash;Jack Gordon!" she said, shaking hands.  "I haven't seen you
+since I was at school."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"How do, Jack?" said old Graham, in his blunt way.  Then Mrs. Graham
+accorded him the same warm welcome.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Let me introduce Lieutenant Gore-Jones of the Yeomanry.  Take him in
+hand, Sybil.  He's a good fellow spoiled."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"All right, Jack," said Sybil, smiling, and stepping towards the wide
+veranda with her new-found friend.  Gordon remained behind with the
+parents to talk of old times.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This <I>is</I> a pleasure," said Jones as they sat down.  "I never thought
+of meeting such a charming person from down under."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Sybil frowned a little, then looking straight into his eyes said, "I
+don't like honey, Mr. Jones, it's too sweet, and sweet things are often
+sickly."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I&mdash;I&mdash;I beg your pardon," he stammered, blushing a little.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'm afraid you expected to meet an aborigine, didn't you?" she said
+more kindly, remembering the cue she had received from Jack Gordon.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Not exactly&mdash;I'm afraid I have not met any Australians except the
+troops."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And what do you think of them?  I'm rather interested, and like other
+people's views."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You're not super-sensitive, I hope," he remarked, "because some of
+your fellows seem to be awfully touchy."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Many Australians are; I'm not, now go on."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, I like your men for their wonderful physique.  They are as tough
+as the oldest soldiers.  But they're not very respectful, you know.  I
+mean, they don't salute; they stalk past with an air of equality and
+even contempt.  That's a bad sign in a soldier."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes?" said Sybil, daintily lighting a neat cigarette and settling down
+in her cosy chair.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The officers, I hear, are excellent leaders, but, somehow, they don't
+quite look the part&mdash;sort of mixed, don't you know.  Somehow, their
+build and clothes don't give them that distinctive touch which is the
+hall-mark of the British officer.  I suppose it's really a question of
+breeding.  They say in England it takes five generations to turn out a
+gentleman.  Americans seem the same as Australians.  In fact, I've read
+that all young and democratic countries are alike.  Don't misunderstand
+me, I'm not saying they are <I>not</I> gentlemen.  The life, I suppose,
+knocks off the fine points."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I see," said Sybil, turning her face towards him.  "Then your
+conception of a leader is a thin-waisted, well-corseted man, all hair
+wash and side&mdash;a most perfect and arrogant dandy.  I can't believe that
+the tailor, manicurist and barber produce the leader.  And you say that
+our boys have not the fine touch about them.  Do you think that really
+counts in war?  I think a Tommy wants a man to lead him whether he
+looks a Caesar or Bill Sikes.  You really infer that the Australian
+blood is coarse and unrefined.  Is that so, Mr. Jones?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Not exactly.  But look over there.  See these two Australian officers.
+They seem ungainly in their clothes, and, apparently, feel awkward and
+ill at ease in this show.  They don't respect the polite conventions of
+Society, and would turn the place into a sort of cowboy saloon if left
+alone."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What nonsense, Mr. Jones.  And if I didn't feel that there was a hope
+of you knowing us better, I would leave you.  What I think you are
+suffering from is the conservatism of the Britisher, a truly appalling
+defect, as well as a lack of perception.  I grant you that our
+Australian tailors are absolutely the limit in turning out a man.
+Still, I believe a man can die as gallantly in a flour sack as in a
+Bond Street khaki suit.  You say they seem ill at ease, and don't
+lounge in their chairs as if to the manner born.  You don't realise
+that these men are men of action.  Their life is spent in a hustling
+way.  They are workers, not idlers.  Anything suggestive of luxurious
+ease is interpreted by them as effeminate."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Her companion made as though to speak.  But the girl went on:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Now, look here, Mr. Jones, I'll lay an even bet with you that they'll
+ride, jump and slice the lemon better than any of your troops in Cairo.
+They're practical people, not dreamers who worry about etiquette and
+the fine points.  Now just you take a good look at their faces.  You'll
+note that they're bronzed, strong, with a cleft in the chin, and a
+jaw-bone which speaks volumes.  In fact, their whole make-up suggests a
+sort of rude strength, which can face the rough and tumble of life.
+They get that from their fathers, who, like my dear old dad, were the
+pioneers of Australia.  These men landed poor and had to fight drought,
+aborigines, bushrangers, misfortune after misfortune.  They were up
+against it all the time.  They built their houses from the trees, dug
+their wells, fenced their land, scraped their pennies to get the
+shillings to buy their stock.  In the midst of success, disease often
+struck them bare.  Yet they stuck to it.  Gradually the hard times
+passed away, and to-day many are wealthy.  My dad is one.  I'm not
+proud of his money, but I am proud of the grit and courage that has
+made him rich.  These are just the qualities that the soldier must
+have."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, certainly," interjected Jones, fascinated by the radiant glow on
+the animated features of this most charming girl.  His logic was being
+battered to death.  He felt his position weakening.  It began to dawn
+on him that he was a conservative Britisher, who had simply been
+uttering the parrot talk of hide-bound Tories.  "You know, Miss Graham,
+you're beginning to make me feel that I should go to Australia."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If we were there now I would just whisk you away in my car and show
+you the Bush.  I do love to convince people, especially folks from the
+old land.  Then, Mr. Jones, you would see how free, how charming life
+is in the Bush.  We have all got beautiful homes, plenty of horses,
+motors, even electric light on some of the stations.  In fact, I know
+of one old squatter who can produce a butler and footmen in breeches.
+You can have joy rides on motors, picnics miles from civilisation, and
+dances with the jolliest band of girls and boys I've seen.  Everything
+is natural, all is delightful.  I love Australia.  I'm awfully proud of
+it.  And I'm proud of those boys over there and all the others who have
+come to help the old land.  Don't judge them by trivial things, Mr.
+Jones.  If they're unconventional, and not good at saluting, they'll
+stick to any man who can lead them through.  In fact, they can fight
+just as the Tommies did at Waterloo and Mons."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well," said Jones with a gasp, "you're an absolute revelation.  I have
+never quite met your type before."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'm different&mdash;Australian, eh?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And very nice too.  That's honey, as you call it.  But I have said it
+and you needn't protest," he said with boyish enthusiasm.  "Do you
+think the girls would be kind to me if I went to Australia?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"They'd spoil you; they spoil all Englishmen."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Because they like them.  They don't pick holes in them as you pick
+holes in us."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'm sorry, really I'm sorry.  I had no intention to offend."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You're a good fellow spoiled, as Jack Gordon said."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Thanks," said Mr. Jones, secretly pleased.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You know, Mr. Jones, I know a most charming Englishman.  He was our
+Jackaroo.  A public school man, he landed at our door and asked for a
+job.  He had a glass eye and insisted on wearing that and a white
+indiarubber collar when working round the show.  They ragged him, but
+he stood it all.  When they went too far he simply took off his jacket
+and punched them soft.  No matter what dirty job he got, he did it and
+never whined.  He had no airs, and never trumpeted his family lineage
+or his school.  He was just a dear, lovable English gentleman, who'd
+been a bit foolish at home.  He is here in the Australian contingent;
+in fact, he's coming to see me to-night.  Ah! here he is," she
+gleefully exclaimed, as a tall, well-built soldier, with a monocle,
+casually stepped on to the veranda.  "Come and be introduced?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What!  To a Tommy," said the surprised subaltern.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes&mdash;and a <I>gentleman</I>," Sybil emphasised.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Hallo, dear boy!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, Sybil, what a surprise when I got your wire."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Let me introduce Mr. Jones of the Yeomanry&mdash;Private Dufair."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Claud solemnly saluted.  There was a twinkle in his eye as the
+surprised subaltern started back, exclaiming, "What&mdash;Claud Dufair?  You
+were at Rugby with me!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The same, sir," said Claud, standing rigidly to attention, full of
+suppressed mirth.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, shake, old boy!  How the devil are you?  And, Tommy or no Tommy,
+you must have a bottle of fizz with me to-morrow night.  Now, I'm not
+going to spoil sport.  I've had an awful wigging from Miss Graham."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My fiancée," interjected Claud.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Lucky dog&mdash;put me down as your next-of-kin when you make your will.
+Good night."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Good night," said the happy couple, passing on to the shade of the
+palms, where they renewed that love which is mightier than the sword.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap06"></A>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER VI
+</H3>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+THE WISDOM OF "K"
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+It was a sweltering heat&mdash;a day to drink squash and be on a cool
+veranda.  But war has no respect for feelings or conditions, so the
+Australian, New Zealander, and Lancashire men had to hoof it across the
+sun-baked desert.  The troops were divided into three columns, each
+striking for a different point.  They were bent on a combined scheme in
+which the "General Idea," "Special Idea," and other vague military
+terms figured large.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ain't the heat hellish?  My nose is feeling like a banana, and my
+shirt's glued to my back!  Wish I had joined the Camel Corps or Donkey
+Brigade.  Gravel crushing's no good to me," growled Bill, changing his
+rifle for the hundredth time.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"We're suffering for the sins of our predecessors," remarked Claud,
+shifting his eyeglass to look at the Pyramids.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"How's that?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"In South Africa the Australians went any old way.  They fought well,
+but, as Roberts said, they lacked discipline.  That's why you and I are
+here.  They're going to grind the insubordination out of us.  They'll
+march us and sweat us to death.  'Trouble maketh a strong man, Pain
+maketh a true man,' so some old wag has said."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Wish ould Kitchener had me thirst, an' this ould pack on his back,"
+growled Doolan.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ay, an' these damnt moskeetes are ay chowin' ma face off," said Sandy.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Couldn't we have been trained in Australia instead of this confounded
+hole?" added Bill, who was in a nasty mood that day.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Too many pubs, too many ma's, and too many politicians about for
+that," Claud answered.  "Besides, Kitchener's a smart fellow.  He knows
+his job.  We're here to keep these bally niggers in order, and, at the
+same time, train for war.  You can't push it on to 'K'; he's too mighty
+quick for you an' me."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But when the blazes are we goin' to the war?  I'm thirstin' to cut
+some fellow's throat, but all I gets is march and sweat&mdash;sweat and
+march&mdash;and fourteen days C.B. if I look sideways at these officer
+blokes.  No good to me, boys.  I'm here for killin', not for road
+punchin'.  I've got a head like a barrel and feet like boiled tomatoes."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ye shouldna' drink beer," piped Sandy.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Wot should I drink then?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Proosic acid," Doolan muttered, giving Claud a nudge.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You've got a bad liver to-day, Bill.  I think you've been drinking the
+Gippies' firewater.  I thought the old parson had got you to sign the
+pledge."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Who could sign the pledge in an 'ole like this?  It's sand and flies,
+flies and sand, C.B., bully beef, jam, and No. 9 pills.  Wot a life!"
+concluded Bill, relapsing into silence.  They left him alone.  It was
+Bill's "off day."  He would come round again.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bill's attitude at that period of the war represented the feelings of
+many a Tommy in the Australian and New Zealand forces.  These men,
+accustomed to the life of freedom, action, and the daily use of
+initiative, cursed the seemingly endless days of drill, shooting,
+marching, manoeuvring, with the firm discipline and immediate
+punishment when rules were ignored.  Eight long months of this was
+their lot, and during that time there seemed little prospect of their
+seeing war.  It was a hard test.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+To them it seemed a cruel test.  The younger and more inexperienced
+thought it useless and a waste of time, but the officers understood the
+reason why.  It was Kitchener's way.  "K" knew that these men were the
+finest fighters in the world.  But to get the fullest value for their
+courage he realised that training and discipline, discipline,
+discipline was absolutely essential.  Every officer of the General
+Staff expected them to curse and kick.  The Staff also assumed that, in
+the end, the Australians' true sense of justice would compel them to
+admit that all this "suffering" would make them infinitely superior to
+any Australian units which had hitherto shared in fighting for the
+Motherland.  This is exactly what did occur.  Kitchener was, therefore,
+right!  Kitchener is always right.
+</P>
+
+<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%">
+
+<P>
+The Australian column had reached its rendezvous.  While the men were
+resting, General Fearless, the Australian G.O.C., was issuing his
+orders to the Brigade Commanders.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Gentlemen," he said, "the General Idea is that the Red Force, composed
+of the Lancashire Division, holds the ridge of sand hills which
+dominate the road to Cairo.  We, who represent the Blue Force, have
+orders to make a reconnaissance in force.  That means that we must so
+manoeuvre our units as to draw the enemy's fire, and, if possible,
+reveal his position, his strength, and the weakest point in his line.
+This, let me tell you, is not exactly an offensive movement.  It is a
+drawing game.  That must be distinctly understood.  Of course, in such
+a reconnaissance, if a G.O.C. saw something which <I>would</I> justify his
+assuming a vigorous offensive, then the game might develop into a
+general action.  That, however, is a matter for me, not for an
+individual brigadier.  Now, to-day, I want the Bushmen's Brigade to
+cover our advance, the remaining brigades will act as in my operation
+orders.  Remember, too, gentlemen, that units must keep up
+communication.  Don't let the show develop into a sort of Donnybrook,
+where each little unit is fighting for its own band.  That is all&mdash;fall
+out, please."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Brigadiers saluted, and returned to their units.  The scheme was
+again explained.  Ten minutes afterwards the brigades moved into
+position.  The Bushmen's Brigade took post away in front; in the centre
+of this front line was the Kangaroo Marines.  Covering the whole
+advance was a screen of men, and in front of the screen, little patrols
+with scouts ahead.  When all were in the position the G.O.C. signalled
+"Advance."  An army on the move is a fascinating sight.  It is like an
+octopus&mdash;the main body with a thousand tendrils, or arms, thrown out.
+These recoil as they touch the enemy, telling the brain that danger is
+near.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+In selecting the Bushmen's Brigade for the advanced guard, the G.O.C.
+was right.  They were born scouts, especially the Kangaroo Marines.
+These valiants wriggled, crawled, and occasionally doubled across the
+burning sands.  It was hard work&mdash;mighty hard work&mdash;but they didn't
+mind.  They were doing something useful, and as long as a Bushman is
+doing that he is all alive and interested.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bang! went a rifle ahead of them.  Bang!  Bang!  Bang! went the reply.
+The fight had commenced.  Bill, who was in command of Doolan and Sandy,
+was right ahead.  Claud was away on his right with another little
+squad.  But it was Bill's keen eyes which had first seen little groups
+of the enemy ahead.  One little group, grown tired of waiting, was
+snoozing peacefully on a sandy hollow.  Bill and his cronies crept on
+their stomachs towards them.  Nearer they drew, then, with a yell,
+leaped down on them.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Hands up, boys; we've got you."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Who are ye kiddin'?" said a Lancashire lad, jumping up with his pals.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There's no kiddin' about this business," said Bill.  "Chuck them
+rifles over here."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"All right, lad; thou can 'ave 'em&mdash;give us a fag," said the leader,
+glad to be out of the hurly-burly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+They were sent to the rear.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Meantime, the firing had become stronger.  Away ahead, Bill's party saw
+a long line of men lying about on a ridge of sand.  They were firing
+furiously at the advancing scouts.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I reckon that's a patrol.  We'd better scatter them," ordered Bill,
+going forward in the most brazen manner to capture about twenty men.
+According to the rules of war this was impossible.  Hence the sudden
+appearance of a "Brass Hat" with a white band on his arm.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Here&mdash;you!" he shouted to Bill and his men.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, matey&mdash;what's wrong?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You're out of action&mdash;clear out," said the officer, a little annoyed
+at the term "matey."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Hands up," said Bill, shoving in a round of blank and presenting his
+rifle at the man on the horse.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Confound your cheek&mdash;how dare you&mdash;&mdash;"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No lip, old cock.  Get off that gee-gee."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Don't you know who I am?  I'm Colonel Redtabs&mdash;&mdash;"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And I'm Bill Buster, boss of this scoutin' show.  You can't fool
+me&mdash;I'm an Australian."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Hang it all!  Don't you know I'm an umpire?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Look here, this ain't a cricket match.  Get off, or I'll blow you
+off," said Bill, fingering his trigger.  The old colonel, realising
+that he was dealing with a too zealous scout, unacquainted with the
+rules of mimic warfare, jumped off his horse.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Now, Sandy, get on that horse."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What?" said Sandy, a little confused.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Get on that horse or I'll blow you <I>on</I>," ordered Bill, somewhat
+annoyed at the waste of time.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Sandy jumped up.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Now, take this bloke back to Colonel Killem.  Tell him he's a poor
+fellow wot's wrong in his head, an' thinks he's at a cricket match."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The captured umpire, who was a sportsman with a real sense of humour,
+laughed heartily as he was led away.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Knew he was mad," commented Bill, as he watched him go.  "Now, Paddy,
+that patrol has scooted; let's get after them."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The attack was now well into the first stage.  The scouts of the
+Lancashires were fighting a running action with the scouts and patrols
+of the Australians.  From knoll to knoll they were pressed, both sides
+skilfully using every fold in the ground.  Bill, by this time, had
+increased his army to about twenty men.  Using the most original
+adjectives and assuming a superior air, he ordered his command about
+like some old fire-eating colonel.  His vigorous pursuit kept the enemy
+busy, but eventually they pulled him up in front of a roughly-made
+sangar.  This was a strong detached post thrown out in front of the
+outpost line.  The defenders gave his little army a fierce fusillade of
+blank.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That's up <I>you</I>, Buffalo Bill," said the mischievous Doolan.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Silence in the ranks," roared Bill, who was taking himself very
+seriously.  He carefully surveyed the position, which held fifty men.
+They were not to be moved, that was evident.  Bill determined to do so.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Fix bayonets!" he shouted.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ain't allowed," said a stripling at his side.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Fix bayonets!" he ordered again.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I tell you it ain't allowed at these sham shows.  Colonel's orders."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Look 'ere, you take Bill Buster's orders, or you'll get a thick ear."
+That settled the matter.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Charge!" roared the leader, jumping up and leading the twenty
+full-blooded desperadoes up to the redoubt.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Halt, you fellows!  Halt!" roared a Lancashire subaltern, jumping up.
+"Are you off your bally heads?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"'Ere, mate, you're supposed to be dead," said Bill, panting and
+blowing, but holding a bayonet at his chest.  The remainder of his
+party were, meantime, tickling the fast retreating Lancashire lads with
+the points of their bayonets.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Don't you know who I am?" said the indignant subaltern.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Look 'ere, young fellow, you're supposed to be dead."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"How dare you&mdash;I'm an officer!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'm Bill Buster.  Now will you lie down an' kid you're dead.  That's
+wot you've got to do at these shows."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Don't be a bally ass!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"All right, cocky; hand me that sword."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+As Bill's bayonet looked rather unpleasant, the officer complied.  Then
+Bill sat down.  Pulling a black stump of a pencil out of his pocket, he
+proceed to write a dispatch.  It was as follows:
+</P>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P>
+"DEAR CURNEL,&mdash;Paddy Doolan an' I, with twenty boys, just captured
+enemy's position.  Enemy running like blazes.  The officer bloke
+refuses to be dead.  I'm sending him to you.  We're just goin' off to
+try an' capture a general.&mdash;Yours,
+<BR><BR>
+"BILL BUSTER."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"P.S.&mdash;Did you get that mad fellow wot thinks we're playin' cricket?
+Pore chap!"
+</P>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P>
+This letter and the prisoner were dispatched under escort to Colonel
+Killem in rear.  Bill again proceeded to join the long line of scouts
+which now faced the outposts of the enemy.  This was the second stage
+of the attack.  The "screen" now came up and thickened the Australian
+line.  Many officers came with it, so Bill, without protest, vacated
+the post of "general."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Bang, bang, bang!" went the rifles.  "Z-r-r-p-rip-rip!" went the
+machine-guns, while the sullen boom of the field artillery in rear
+indicated that matters were becoming interesting.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Advance by rushes," ordered the senior Australian officer in the front
+line.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why don't you let us give 'em the bayonet?" muttered Bill, disagreeing
+with the tactics of his superior.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Shut up," ordered an old sergeant.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"All right, funny-face."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Consider yourself a prisoner," was the final word of the N.C.O. as
+they went forward on the rush.  Bill wished for more than a round of
+blank.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Section after section took up a new line.  Then the rushes started
+again.  All the time the rifles were spitting out their fire.  They
+reached within fifty yards of the outpost line.  As this was simply a
+protective screen, and not the line of resistance, the enemy's outpost
+companies commenced to fade away systematically in the direction of
+their main body.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Prepare to charge," ordered the officer.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"With bayonets?" queried Bill.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No," he snapped.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Wot's a bloomin' bayonet for?" asked Bill when the officer was out of
+hearing.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"For openin' jam tins, ye fathead," said Paddy.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Charge!"  The long line rose like one man.  With a great cheer they
+swept away the remnants of the outpost companies and occupied the
+ridge.  This gave the Australians a complete view of the main position.
+Both flanks rested on impassable obstacles.  The front was secured by
+imaginary entanglements, backed up by a series of trenches and an array
+of Maxims and guns.  This was the information required by the
+Australian G.O.C.  The reconnaissance had served its purpose.  The
+"Assembly" was sounded, and the field day seemed done.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But war is full of surprises, and it is the surprises which make or mar
+a general's name.  While General Fearless and his force were rallying
+for lunch all were suddenly surprised by a fearful roll of musketry on
+the right.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"By gad, sir&mdash;we're trapped!" said the Chief of Staff, jumping up.
+"Shall I order the brigades to form to the right, and meet this attack?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No," said Fearless, coolly eating his sandwich.  "Get me some
+information."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But they may decimate us in the meantime, sir."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Get me information, please," was the quiet and more firm command.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Two aides-de-camp were sent at the gallop towards the mysterious force
+which had suddenly appeared and was furiously firing blank.  They found
+the New Zealanders pressing on in three separate lines towards them.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's a proper trap," said one of the gallopers.  "And look to our
+rear.  There's more there.  This flank business is a feint.  They're
+trying to smash us behind, and they're 'cute enough not to fire a shot
+from that direction.  Say, Brown, gallop back and tell the general, and
+I'll try and bluff this front line here."  Away went the messenger
+while the other young staff officer galloped into the front line of New
+Zealanders.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The New Zealanders will cease fire," said the daring galloper.  His
+staff cap commanded the respect of an innocent subaltern.  He blew his
+whistle.  More whistles were heard.  In two minutes all was
+comparatively still.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You will commence firing again in fifteen minutes.  Pass it along."
+Down the line went the false order.  Smiling inwardly, the shrewd
+aide-de-camp galloped away.  Meantime the Australian G.O.C. had acted
+vigorously.  Throwing out two regiments to hold the feinting force on
+his right, he then turned the other brigades about.  These were
+deployed at the double, sent forward with a rush, and, in three
+minutes, dug shelter trenches in the sand.  They were ordered to keep
+low until the main body of the New Zealanders pressed the attack well
+home.  It was an exciting moment.  And the Maorilanders expected an
+easy win.  On they came in their long skirmishing lines.  At last they
+were within fifty yards of the hidden Australians.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Rapid fire!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bang!  Zrrrp&mdash;Boom!  Boom!  Boom! crashed rifles, Maxims, and guns.
+The New Zealanders were startled.  Before they had recovered from their
+surprise, Fearless ordered the "Charge!"  Like deerhounds, his men rose
+up and dashed pell-mell into the panic-stricken host.  There was a
+shock, a wavering, and then a pell-mell rush to the rear.  The
+Australians had won.  They had <I>not</I> been surprised.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Cease fire!  Sound the 'Officers' Call,'" ordered the chief umpire,
+galloping up.  From far and near came the leaders to the pow-wow.
+</P>
+
+<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%">
+
+<P>
+"Well, gentlemen," said the umpire (the Commander-in-Chief), "I've seen
+much to-day.  There has been little to deplore and a great deal to
+commend.  Throughout the whole show there has been shown skill,
+enthusiasm, and dash.  Leadership was good, communication fair, and
+nothing very rash was done.  Your eight months' training has improved
+you beyond recognition.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"To-day I tested our Australian friends.  I planned to trick them, to
+throw them into confusion, and to cause a general panic by a sudden
+onslaught while they were resting and apparently finished for the day.
+The trap failed because General Fearless was cool and appreciated the
+situation.  That, to me, is an important point.  The surprises of war
+are the things which make us or break us.  Surprises in South Africa
+smashed more reputations than anything else.  It is perfectly easy at
+manoeuvres to carry out a scheme laid down.  It is not easy suddenly to
+meet a dramatic development or side issue.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Now for another point.  Our colonial friends still suffer from an
+abundance of vitality and the too daring use of the initiative.  That
+is a good fault, and yet a bad one.  In guerilla warfare it would be a
+tremendous asset.  In a concerted scheme it might prove disastrous.  No
+matter how daring and clever the individual soldier or officer, if he
+forgets that there are men, sections, regiments, and brigades to his
+right or left&mdash;if he fails to appreciate the full value of
+co-ordination and co-operation, he is a danger to himself and his
+force.  Of course, gentlemen, I fully appreciate that this charming
+recklessness of our overseas cousins is due to temperament, not to
+intent or a desire to be big at the expense of their fellows.  That is
+why we have trained you so hard.  Without any desire to give offence, I
+say boldly that the Australians and New Zealanders are an infinitely
+better trained, better disciplined, and, therefore, a more useful body
+of men than was sent by these Dominions to South Africa.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It has been a very long, weary road, gentlemen.  Your men, I am sure,
+have cursed me often.  But grousing is the privilege of the soldier.
+Indeed, I always suspect the man who doesn't grouse.  He is either too
+meek, or else he is like a Quaker&mdash;far too respectable.  And this great
+camp of ours would, indeed, be dull without the original adjectives of
+our Australasians.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That is all, gentlemen, except this&mdash;and it is important&mdash;in a few
+weeks you will be in active service.  We expect great things of the
+Australasians, the Twenty-ninth Division, and our Lancashire men; and I
+know that we shall receive of your best.  Good-day, gentlemen."  And
+off rode the handsome courtier and soldier with a rousing cheer ringing
+in his ears.  There's nothing like brains; and there's a great deal in
+tact.  Ask a colonial.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap07"></A>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER VII
+</H3>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+THE LANDING
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+A great convoy of transports, guarded by destroyers, ploughed silently
+through the waters which lap the European side of the Gallipoli
+Peninsula.  The ships had the Australian force on board, and the
+destroyers were there to assist them in one of the most daring missions
+in modern war.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+All lights were out and strict silence was observed.  Each man had,
+therefore, time to commune with the spirits of those nine thousand
+miles away.  It was not a time for the buffoon; they were faced with
+all the dread perils of war.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Nearer and nearer the ships drew to their objective.  At last they
+reached the point assigned them by the Staff.  A quiet signal was
+given.  Destroyers, pinnaces, and row boats were placed at the sides of
+the transports, rough gangways thrown out, and the command to move
+quietly was passed along.  Noiselessly they stepped from the
+transports; but all the while there was an electric-like feeling around
+the heart&mdash;that peculiar something which only the soldier knows.
+However, there wasn't time to romance or moralise.  War rules out
+sentiment and fears.  There was a job to be done.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+When each boat was packed with its human freight, the gangways were
+slipped, cables thrown off, and all were quietly towed to the shore.
+It was still dark&mdash;one hour, in fact, before the dawn.  When close
+inshore, the hand of Providence proved kind.  This took the form of a
+strong current&mdash;so strong, in fact, that it pressed the boats away from
+the point previously assigned for the landing and washed them into a
+safer part for the historic encounter.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+That current saved thousands of Australian lives; indeed, it may have
+ensured the success of the mission.  Had the Australians landed at the
+point decided on, it is doubtful whether the landing would have been so
+thoroughly effective as it proved on the other beach.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Not much doing&mdash;eh?" said Colonel Killem to his adjutant as he peered
+through the darkness to the shore.  Indeed, it seemed that the enemy
+had left this shore unguarded.  But the Turks are wily soldiers.  They
+allowed the boats to near the shore, then opened up a murderous rifle
+and machine-gun fire.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Gad!  Boys, I'm hit!" said a subaltern, falling, his blood spurting in
+a stream all over his clothes.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"So'm I!" said another youngster with a ping in his arm.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Holy Father, preserve us!" muttered Doolan, crossing himself, as they
+grated on the shore.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Jump, boys, jump!" shouted the colonel.  There was no need to tell
+them, no need to show the lead.  They leaped pluckily from their boats
+and dashed up the beach.  There was a pause while a few collected.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then, seeing the Turks firing furiously from a trench ahead, somebody
+yelled out, "Charge!"  A cheer electrified the chilling dawn as they
+rushed on.  Some were killed; some fell, wounded, on the way; the
+others pressed forward, their faces grim, their eyes alert, and the
+muscles of their arms all taut with the fierce gripping of the rifles
+in their hands.  It was their first charge; but they did it like the
+veterans of Corunna and Waterloo.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Allah!  Allah!" shouted the Turks as they neared the trenches.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Too late, old cock," said Bill, plunging his bayonet home.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That's one for Paddy Doolan."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Help, Paddy; this big deevil's got me," yelled Sandy, who had been
+struck by a Turk.  Crash went the Irishman's butt on the Turk's skull,
+and he fell back dead.  Sandy's wound was dressed, and he was sent to
+the rear.  Meantime some supports had come up.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Seeing the Turks fleeing into another trench some fifty yards up the
+slope, the colonel ordered them to charge again.  The Australians'
+blood was up.  They had seen red and had felt success.  They wanted
+more.  Throwing off their cumbersome packs, they charged forward again.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"They've got me," shouted an officer, throwing up his arms and letting
+out the awful shriek of death.  But this withering fire did not appal
+these young Australians.  The sight of their comrades, dead and
+wounded, roused them more.  Revenge set their faces hard, and with many
+a fierce and terrible oath they leaped into the second trench.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The Australians will retire," said an officer, jumping in front of the
+attacking line.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Who said so?" asked Colonel Killem, looking at the man.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I say so.  I'm one of zee Staff."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You damned German!" shouted the colonel, shooting him dead.  The game
+which had been so well played in France did not come off.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The remnants of the Turks were bayoneted and butted to death; but the
+main body were fleeing up the hill.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Rapid fire!" roared the colonel; but the eager men were already after
+the enemy with the bayonet.  Up the steep, steep sides of the cliff
+they clambered and stumbled.  It was more like a race for a prize than
+a juggle with death.  Occasionally the morning light showed the red
+blood on the bayonets and hands of the charging men.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+These blood-stained, panting soldiers terrified the Turks at the top of
+the hill.  Their tactics had surprised them.  They had looked for the
+usual musketry assault; instead, they had received the chilling steel.
+And the bayonet on a cold morning is a sight that sickens the best.
+Furiously they pumped another dose of lead into the gallant
+Australians.  More fell dead, others dropped wounded, blood spattered
+the grass, and above the din of musketry and guns could be heard the
+cries of:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Bearers&mdash;stretcher bearers!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Water, for God's sake!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Send up the doctor."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'm done, boys&mdash;I'm d-o-n-e!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The units, by this time, had become mixed.  Many officers had been
+killed.  There was that confusion which is found in all attacks.
+Still, all these men knew that "forward&mdash;forward" was the game.  The
+roughest and most daring took charge of little groups, and, with these,
+they cheered, cursed, and leaped into the trench at the edge of the
+green plateau.  Again, the main body had fled, leaving the more weary
+and stubborn to defend the hill.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Kill the beggars!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Plug his bread-basket!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+These were some of the things that were shouted, for all soldiers, in a
+charge, curse like Marlborough's troops did in Flanders.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A charge seems a terrible thing when reading of it at one's fireside.
+Folks shiver and ask, "How can they do it?  Don't they feel afraid?"
+They may at the outset; but the noise, the swing, the officers'
+inspiration, the sight of blood and a fleeing foe damp down the
+sensitiveness of culture and recreate the primitive lust to kill.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+For the moment the man is a savage; Nature blinds him to the perils of
+wounds and death.  Duty steels him harder still, and pride of race
+tells him that he must do as his fathers did&mdash;die like a gentleman and
+a soldier.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The success of the first troops inspired the following reserves.  They
+all wanted to emulate the Kangaroo Marines and other dashing corps.
+Without waiting for their complete units, these little groups crawled,
+floundered, and wriggled their way up the gully on to the hill.  It was
+now daylight.  As they gained the summit the Turks greeted them with
+terrific bursts of shrapnel and common shell.  The crack, the white
+puff of smoke, then the scattering balls of lead did not dismay these
+warriors.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+It roused their curiosity, and, like schoolboys, some stopped to see
+the fun of the show.  Cover they disdained.  They were too proud to
+duck and hide in a hole or trench.  This was the recklessness for which
+they had to pay.  Yet it was useful.  It taught them that to take
+advantage of all cover was the modern soldier's game.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Extend, boys, extend!" roared an officer as the reserves came up.
+They ran out and tried to make a long, rough line.  They could see the
+fleeing Turks, and behind them the Kangaroo Marines and other members
+of the first landing force.  Ahead was a little valley and then a
+slope.  This was commanded by the Turks.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Come on, boys," shouted an officer.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Little groups, under subalterns, N.C.O.'s, or privates with the
+leader's instinct, dashed towards this hill.  More were killed, more
+wounded on the way; but, undaunted, they pushed on.  Up the slopes
+crawled, clambered, and cursed the dashing infantry.  They reached
+their objective, and, again, the Turks had gone.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My God&mdash;what a sight!" said Claud, looking behind.  The ground was
+dotted with dead and dying.  Wounded men crawled and limped to the
+rear, their clothes soaked in blood.  Men with limbs shattered to pulp
+lay moaning and pleading for death.  Others, slightly wounded, poured
+water down the parched throats of the suffering.  It was a shambles.
+It was war.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Yet the touch of mercy and humanity was not absent.  Doctors and
+bearers, disdaining death, tended the wounded and dying.  Under a
+ruthless fire orderlies carried the sufferers down to the beach below.
+Many were killed at the job.  Nobly they stuck to it.  The heroism of
+these Red Cross men is one of the finest things in the Gaba Tepe show.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The attack had now developed into a galloping pursuit.  Turks were
+demoralised, and after them went the Australians like whippets on the
+course.  There was no regular line.  Little units were here and there.
+It was the day for the born leader.  Having no precise information as
+to where the pursuit should end and a defensive line made, many pushed
+right on with a courage that was amazing.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+One group was caught in a gully and decimated; others, who pushed
+almost across the Peninsula, were either killed, wounded, or captured.
+The remainder, realising the need of consolidating into a general line,
+came back to the main body.  With their entrenching tools they dug
+holes in the ground, and from behind these little mounds of earth they
+kept up a steady fire.  Without rations, without water&mdash;and, at times,
+without ammunition&mdash;they patiently hung on.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+All this, too, in a sweltering heat and in the centre of a terrific
+bombardment.  It was the greatest trial any force could have
+experienced.  The Australians exceeded all expectations.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"They're coming back again," said an officer late that afternoon.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Sure enough, there was the Turkish host.  Rapid fire wiped many out;
+still on they came right up to the line.  The Australians charged.  And
+all day it was charge and counter-charge.  Officers have seldom
+displayed the tenacity and courage of these Australians' leaders.  They
+played the game as well as the scions of Eton and other historic
+schools.  And then God, in His mercy, sent down the fall of night.
+This hid the shambles, gave ease to the wounded and dying, and allowed
+the living to snatch a drink and bite.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But none were idle.  On their knees, on their backs, on their sides,
+they had to dig in, for the fire was still deadly and many were being
+killed and wounded.  The sailors worked like Trojans, bringing rations,
+ammunition, and reserves ashore.  Thanks to them, the gunners, and the
+untiring zeal of the Staff, the line next day was fairly well
+established.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The landing was complete; they had achieved what the Germans had
+advertised as the impossible.  Australians have, therefore, every right
+to feel proud.  And all Britishers ought to feel proud of them too.
+</P>
+
+<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%">
+
+<P>
+"Well, boys&mdash;how's things?" asked Colonel Killem, one day, when
+visiting his men in the trenches.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"A1 at Lloyd's, colonel.  But I reckon we ought to pull old Johnny
+Turk's leg."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"How?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Play tricks on him.  Give a cheer an' kid we're going to charge.
+They'll fire every bally round they've got."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Good idea, Buster&mdash;good idea!  We'll do that to-night."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+About 8 P.M. that night the whole front line fixed bayonets and showed
+them above the parapet.  At a given signal all let out a ringing cheer.
+The poor old Turks got into an awful stew.  Machine-guns, field-guns,
+and rifles opened up a terrific fire.  They kept it up for over half an
+hour, firing thousands of rounds.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Another cheer, boys," ordered the colonel.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Bang!  Bang!  Bang!" went the Turks again.  The ruse was a splendid
+one.  But the wily Turk tumbled to the game at last.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"We'll need to get something new, boys; that game's played out," said
+the colonel next day.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+After consulting his men they hit on another scheme.  About twenty men
+were ordered to fix bayonets and continually pass along the line,
+allowing their bayonets to show above the parapet as they marched along.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+On reaching the end they pulled their rifles down and crept back to
+where they had started from.  Again they marched along, showing their
+bayonets, as before.  The old Turks simply saw this constant stream of
+bayonets.  They concluded that the Australians were massing for the
+attack.  The Turks lined their trenches and opened up another furious
+fusillade, supported by machine-guns and shrapnel.  Thousands of rounds
+were expended before they realised that they had been fooled once more.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+There was a lull next day, so Bill and his friends shaved off their
+whiskers and had a bath in a cupful of water.  Claud cleaned his
+eyeglass, and Paddy went in search of a glass of rum from some of the
+sailors.  Sandy, then on light duty, opened up a business as a curio
+agent.  He swapped Turkish rifles, bullet clips, and other things for
+pieces of bread, a tin of jam, a tasty Maconochie, and some tea.  This
+was a godsend to his famished pals in the trenches.  Bill also wrote a
+letter home to Mrs. McGinnes, his old Sydney landlady and financier:
+</P>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P>
+"DEAR OLD SPORT,&mdash;Hope's your well.  I'm well, but the Turks ain't
+well.  Reckon we've killed millions of 'em.  Ain't got the V.C. yet.
+There's a shipload comin' next week for The Kangaroo Boys.  You can
+'ave mine for a brooch.  Likin' the life fine here&mdash;except the bullets.
+They generally kills a feller wot ain't careful.  There ain't no
+undertakers out here.  When we wants a new kit we generally borrows the
+clothes an' boots of a dead feller.  We live in little 'oles jist like
+rabbits, an' the old Turks keep throwin' nasty things called bombs.
+They ain't nice&mdash;one blew a feller's head off last night.  Pore chap,
+an' he had such a nice pair of trousers&mdash;I've got 'em on now.  The
+snipers are nasty fellers, 'demned annoyin',' as my ole friend Claud
+says.  One keeps hittin' my loop-'ole, but I'm going to 'ave the dirty
+ole rascal's blood to-night.  Now, ta ta, old girl.  Love to the
+children.&mdash;Your ole friend,
+<BR><BR>
+"BILL BUSTER.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"<I>P.S.</I>&mdash;Lend me a quid.  What a thirst I've got.  We can generally buy
+rum from the sailors.  Make it two quid an' I'll send you a lot of
+kurios.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"<I>P.P.S.</I>&mdash;I needs tobacco&mdash;couple of pounds 'll do.  An' throw in some
+cigarettes.  Wot a life!
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"<I>P.P.P.S.</I>&mdash;x x x x x x x x.  These are for you&mdash;don't tell yer hubby.
+Bye-bye."
+</P>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P>
+That night Claud spotted Bill crawling out of the trenches.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Where are you going, you silly ass?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Who's silly?" said Bill, looking back at his friend in the trench.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Ping! went a bullet from the sniper.  It went right through his
+trousers, but missed his leg.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's that feller I'm after."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Before Claud could detain him he disappeared.  Dropping on to his
+knees, he crawled for some distance, then lay flat.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Ping went the sniper's bullet again.  He saw the flash.  This
+incidentally revealed the position of the Turk.  Fixing his bayonet,
+Bill made a wide detour, At last he arrived in rear of his object.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Ping! went the rifle again.  So intent was the sniper on his job that
+he did not hear the crawling man behind.  Like a snake, Bill wriggled
+along.  He finished up ten yards behind his man.  This sniper had
+killed and wounded thirty men in two days.  He did not deserve a quick
+dispatch, and Bill had no intention of giving him that.  With a bound,
+he jumped on him, and pinned him right through the shoulders with his
+bayonet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Allah!  Allah!" shrieked the man, in the most dreadful pain.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Old Allah ain't no good to you now.  Get up!"  And he was lifted up
+with the bayonet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+When he rose from the ground Bill found he had a green bush tied all
+round him.  His face and hands were afterwards found to be painted
+green.  All this the Turks had acquired from their German masters.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Now, old cock, run!" said Bill, pushing the man in front.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Screaming with pain the sniper was pushed at the double right up to the
+Australian trench.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What's all that row there?" roared the Colonel.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Jest been catchin' a sniper, Colonel," answered Bill, throwing his man
+off the bayonet into the trench.  He dropped dead at the Colonel's feet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"A good death for him, too," said Sam, thinking of the fine fellows
+this man had killed and wounded.  A sniper, let it be known, does not
+play the clean game of war, and any punishment is justifiable.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bill had given him his deserts.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap08"></A>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER VIII
+</H3>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+"HELL-FIRE POST"
+</H3>
+
+<P CLASS="poem">
+"<I>Bullets here, bullets there,<BR>
+Bullets, bullets everywhere.</I>"<BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P>
+Such is trench life.  Death at every corner, death at every moment of
+the day.  Bullets plunk against the parapet with a monotonous
+regularity; others crack in the air like a whip, while some whiz past
+the ear like a great queen bee.  At odd intervals a dose of shrapnel
+heightens the nerves, and now and again a high-explosive comes down
+with a shuddering boom!
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A trench isn't the place for a lady, it isn't the place for a
+mild-mannered curate.  It's the place for blunt, hard and active men.
+In fact, the nearer man is to the brute creation the better he is at
+this game.  The highly strung, carefully fed, hot-house plant, such as
+a mamma's darling, hasn't a look in.  He finds it a beastly bore, and
+longs for the drawing-room cushions and afternoon tea.  Trench life
+reveals the best and shows the worst.  A man's nature stands out like a
+statue.  For trench life a man needs the stomach of a horse, the
+strength of a lion, and the nerves of a navvy.  Any man can do a
+bayonet charge; any man can shoot down the charging host; but it takes
+a braver man to live in a trench month after month.  His nostrils are
+filled with the stench of the fallen, for his parapet is frequently
+built up with the dead.  His tea is made with water polluted with
+germs, the bully beef stew is generally soaked in dust and sand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And the flies!  They're worse than all, the pestilential breed!  Flies
+kill more men than bullets.  Flies were surely invented by some ancient
+Hun.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Trench life in France is a picnic compared with the Dardanelles.  In
+France, one <I>can</I> get soft bread, fresh coffee and yesterday's <I>Times</I>.
+But, in the Dardanelles it is biscuits and bully, bully and
+biscuits&mdash;without the news of Pollokshields and Mayfair.  Yet, despite
+the severity of things, the Australasians were ever serene.  To them it
+was a sporting game.  They had been used to boiling their own billy
+cans; used to looking for firewood; used to making a shanty wherein to
+lay their heads.  Where the Cockney might die from heat and thirst, the
+Australasian can thrive like a Zulu or aborigine.  City bred troops
+demand an organisation of things; Australasian troops organise things
+for themselves.  And where our friends of The Kangaroo Marines were
+certainly demanded all their cunning and courage.  It was called
+"Hell-Fire Post."  This was on the left of the Australian line, within
+thirty yards of the Turks.  The post had developed from a thin line of
+holes into a strong redoubt.  Many had died, more had been wounded in
+defending this place, but it was worth it.  This was the key of the
+whole line.  That was why The Kangaroo Marines were there.  When they
+took it over, they found the parapets thin and bullets coming in all
+round.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Hot shop, by Jove!" said Claud, adjusting his monocle to look through
+an aperture.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Crack! came a bullet, just missing his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Better take that window out of yer face," said Bill.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Them ole snipers thinks yer a general."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My dear fellow, you're a positive bore&mdash;now, lend me a hand."  And
+Claud, despite the whizzing bullets, filled more sandbags and shoved
+them up with a shovel.  Bill helped him to make a V-shaped aperture.
+This work was continued all along the line.  But all the sandbags and
+crack shots could not keep the rifle fire down.  To move a hand or head
+above the level of the ground meant a wound.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This won't do," said the Colonel, as he made his morning visit on his
+hands and knees.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's like a penny shooting show, Colonel," said Bill.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Me an' the boys are doin' running man for them fellers over there.
+They chip bits on yer head, an' bits on yer chest.  It ain't
+comfortable.  It ain't war."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's sudden daith," chipped in Sandy Brown.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"All right, boys, I'll send up something to-day.  Cheer up, you'll soon
+be at Manly amongst the girls," and off went Killem on his rounds.
+That afternoon a dozen big iron plates came up.  These were square with
+a hole in the centre.  This hole was covered by a little iron door,
+which could be lifted at will.  Bill and his pals seized one and
+commenced to fix it in position.  Under a hail of lead they worked
+sweating, grousing and cursing all the time.  At last it was fixed and
+ready for business.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This is my shot," said Bill, taking hold of his rifle.  Slowly he
+opened the door, then peeped through.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I see one, boys!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Where?" they whispered.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Behind some bags.  Gosh, ain't he ugly.  He's got a face like a black
+puddin', and the eyes of a snake.  He ain't a bit of Turkish delight,
+anyhow, I wouldn't like to lick his old face.  Wheesht, boys, he's
+goin' to shoot."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"At you?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No!  Some fathead down the line.  But I'll get the one-eyed Moslem
+blighter," muttered Bill, taking careful aim.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Mind yis don't hit the ould fellow up in the moon," said Paddy just as
+Bill let go.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ye spud-faced Paddy.  Ye&mdash;ye&mdash;ye&mdash;&mdash;" blurted out Bill, throwing down
+his gun in anger.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Missed, be Jasus&mdash;yis couldn't hit the town of Sydney at a hundred
+yards.  Paddy Doolan's the man for that job."  He seized the rifle, but
+just as he was going to open the little iron door there was a rattle of
+bullets all over the plate.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Down, boys, down," he shouted.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's a beastly Maxim," said Claud, looking up.  And a Maxim it was.
+In ten minutes the so-called armoured plate was riddled.  This was the
+experience with nearly all the other plates&mdash;one of the many annoying
+problems of war.  However, the new plates were doubled and bolted.
+Then they were covered with sandbags and erected so as not to be too
+obvious on the parapet.  This scheme defied the sniper and the Maxim,
+and, in this way, the Turks' fire was subdued.  This was important.  In
+trench warfare the enemy must be terrorised.  Not a head must be
+allowed to bob up, not a rifle and eye seen.  Snipers must be hunted to
+death and given such a hefty and quick dispatch as to intimidate their
+successors.  Water parties and ration parties have to be set on the
+run; reinforcements spotted and scattered; officers, too, must be kept
+in their place&mdash;below the parapet, if not below the sod.  All of this
+means that the enemy gets demoralised and sickened.  And when he has
+had a month or two of this gentle treatment he is easily dealt with
+when the time comes for an offensive and bayonet charge.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Of course, the Turks did not let the Australasians have it entirely
+their own way.  When sniping and rifle fire became too dangerous, they
+resorted to the bomb.  The bomb isn't a respectable thing.  It
+sometimes takes your head off, and frequently punctures the system in
+rather an ugly manner.  When a bomb hits, you know it.  It is something
+like a railway engine striking a match-box.  These Turkish
+bomb-throwers had some idea of making a sort of Irish slew out of their
+opponents' bodies.  They bombed <I>and</I> bombed <I>and</I> bombed.  Now, this
+wasn't at all polite, and it was most uncomfortable, especially when
+sitting down to a stolen Maconochie&mdash;an appetising dish.  These bombs
+burst the parapets, ripped up the sandbags, and knocked men's brains
+into other men's eyes.  Most annoying!  One morning a bomb just missed
+Bill's head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What the&mdash;who the&mdash;why the&mdash;&mdash;  These blamed ole Turks think my head's
+a coconut," said Bill.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I hope they'll never hit your head," remarked Claud.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's too full&mdash;&mdash;"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Of water," interjected Paddy.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, there <I>would</I> be a flood," concluded Claud, as he lit his pipe.
+Just then an order was sent down to pass all empty jam tins to the rear.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Wot's the jam tins for?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Fly traps," said Paddy.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"'Spect we'll have to dig the lead out of the dead men's bodies next,"
+groused Bill, as he went down the trenches to collect the fly-covered
+jam tins.  These were sent down to the beach in bags, causing many a
+grouse on the way.  Rumour had it that some Jew had made a contract for
+the empty tins, another yarn was that they were for growing flowers
+round the General's dug-out.  But mysterious and resourceful are the
+ways of the General Staff!  These jam tins were redelivered to The
+Kangaroo Marines next day in the shape of bombs.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well I'm jiggered!" said Bill.  "First they puts jam in tins, next
+they puts bombs in them."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And then they'll shove you in them," interjected Claud.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What for?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Prime Australian beef, fresh tinned, straight from the Dardanelles.
+That would look well on a label."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yis couldn't do that with Bill," said Paddy.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"He's a bit high&mdash;&mdash;"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bang! came a Turkish bomb at that moment, scattering the group into
+their shelters below the parapets.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ye dirty, mouldy-faced sons of dog-eatin', blue-nosed spalpeens&mdash;Oi'll
+bomb yis," roared Paddy, gripping a jam tin and lighting the fuse.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bang! it went.  Bang!  Bang!  Bang! went more.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"<I>Some</I> jam," said Bill, as he watched through the periscope.  And then
+they heard moaning, shrieks, and shouts of "Allah, Allah."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"More jam," ordered Bill.  And more jam they received.  It wasn't
+sweet, and certainly unpalatable.  And it didn't stick.  Tins labelled
+"Apricot," "Marmalade," "Black Currant," and "Raspberry," went hurtling
+through the air, then burst in a very nasty way above the poor old
+Turks' trenches.  This battle of jam bombs made the Turks much more
+respectful for a time.  Indeed, one of the officers, who must have been
+a sportsman, flung over a note, on which was written:
+</P>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P>
+"DEAR AUSTRALIANS,&mdash;We like jam&mdash;in fact, we could do with a tin of it,
+but not that dam&mdash;jam&mdash;jammy stuff you were putting over last
+night.&mdash;Yours fraternally,
+<BR><BR>
+"YUSSEF BEY."
+</P>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P>
+"By Jove!  He's a sport&mdash;let's chuck him a tin," said Claud.  And over
+it went.  The Turks scattered and waited, but there was no explosion.
+With a smile the Turkish officer picked up the tin.  Unfastening a note
+tied round it, he read:
+</P>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P>
+"DEAR YUSSEF,&mdash;This is the <I>real</I> stuff.  By the way, you were at Rugby
+with me.  Shall be sorry to kill you.&mdash;Yours, etc.,
+<BR><BR>
+"CLAUD DUFAIR."
+</P>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P>
+Plunk! came a stone into the Australian lines; round it was fixed a
+note:
+</P>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P>
+"DEAR CLAUD,&mdash;Many thanks&mdash;it was a god-send.  Fancy you being here.  I
+thought you would have been guarding the Marys and Mauds of London from
+the Zepps.  Congrats!  Of course, I shall be sorry to kill
+<I>you</I>.&mdash;Yours, etc.,
+<BR><BR>
+"YUSSEF BEY.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"<I>P.S.</I>&mdash;There will be no firing to-day&mdash;go to bed."
+</P>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P>
+And there was no firing.  This Turkish officer, like every other
+Turkish soldier, was a gentleman.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+It is remarkable how circumstances produce the inventor.  At Hell-Fire
+Post the men found that the ordinary square periscope was almost
+useless.  Every time one went up, bang went a Turk's rifle, and the
+periscope was blown to smithereens.  Indeed, The Kangaroos lost nearly
+all their periscopes in the first few days.  Now this was awkward.
+Periscopes are life-savers, for the periscope prevents a man pushing
+his head above the parapet to see if Johnny Turk is coming over to say
+"Good morning."  Something had to be done, so the famous quartette
+began to cudgel their brains.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I've got it," said Claud, picking up a walking-stick.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Got what," inquired Bill.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"An idea&mdash;you watch."  Taking a penknife out of his pocket, he deftly
+and quickly cut away the inner portion of the stick.  This kept him
+busy for a couple of hours.  When finished, he took a little pocket
+mirror out of his haversack.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Too big," said Bill.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, it isn't," answered Claud, slipping a diamond ring off his finger.
+He scratched the mirror, then cut two pieces out of it.  These he fixed
+into the walking-stick.  "There you are now&mdash;a brand new periscope."
+And it proved just the thing.  The field of vision was quite good.
+Being small it did not attract attention.  The result of this discovery
+was that every officer's stick was immediately commandeered, and with
+the aid of Claud's ring and other people's mirrors, a good supply of
+periscopes were made.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You think you're smart fellers, I suppose," said Bill, his envy roused
+by this success.   "But I'll show you fellers something in a day or
+two."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What is it?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"'Wait and see,' as old Asquith says."  For the next few days Bill was
+seen in close communion with a fellow Australian.   They went about the
+trenches picking up bits of wood, nails, mirrors, and other odds and
+ends.  These were carried into the little hole of the inventive genius,
+and there all gradually saw the growth of a wonderful invention.  It
+wasn't Bill's idea exactly.  He was simply the managing director, who
+stimulated curiosity, and fetched the mysterious genius the necessary
+supplies of material.  Anyone who ventured too near the sacred sanctum
+was told to "hop it."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What's that ould rascal doin'?" Paddy remarked one day.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"A bomb-thrower," said Sandy.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Barbed wire burster," suggested Claud.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, it ain't," interjected Bill, who happened to come along at the
+time.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What is it, then?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's a man-killer.  You can sit down in yer bed and kill all the ole
+Turks in front.  They can't see who's killin' them."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"When do you try it?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"To-day."  And he did.  That afternoon the inventor allowed Bill to
+have the trial shot.  The instrument, in brief, was a periscope rifle.
+With the aid of an ordinary rifle, mirrors and wood fixed up in a
+rough, but ingenious way, there had been produced a killing instrument,
+which allowed the user to see and to kill without being seen.  This was
+a godsend, for many of the casualties at this post were due to men
+aiming through the loopholes or over the parapet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Here goes," said Bill, fixing the rifle in position.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"See anything?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, a big feller.  I'll get him in his ole fat head."  Slowly and
+steadily he took aim, then bang went his rifle.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Got him!  Got him!  Right in his coconut," shouted Bill with a grim
+delight.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The invention was hailed as a great success, and the inventor
+complimented all round.  His orders were many, and his instrument soon
+became general throughout the whole line.  Indeed, it was owing to this
+wonderful invention that the rifle fire of the Turks was again subdued
+to a remarkable extent.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Other remarkable things were invented by these resourceful fellows.
+The General Staff also supplied them with new machines of war.  One of
+the finest was the Japanese bomb-thrower, an instrument which threw a
+great, big bomb like a well-filled melon.  This went tumbling over and
+over, like an acrobat doing a somersault, then burst in the most
+startling way.  The explosion was terrific and destruction amazing.
+Parapets, trenches, men and Maxims were all destroyed if near the point
+of contact.  "<I>Some</I> bomb!" as the boys said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+In this sort of warfare it is always the progressive and alert man who
+wins.  It is useless sitting down and grousing.  Every means, every
+trick is justifiable so long as the methods are fair and according to
+the rules of war.  When the history of this war is written special
+attention ought to be devoted to the many devices which have been
+employed by the soldier.  For example, the Turks opposite to The
+Kangaroos were always sapping towards the Australasian lines.  This was
+a nuisance.  The constant pick! pick! pick! upset everybody.  Night
+after night these Turkish moles had to be bombed away.  One evening a
+sapping party recommenced operations quite near to Claud and his
+friends.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"At it again," Bill remarked.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, they're a beastly nuisance, I'll have to worry them a bit," said
+Claud, picking up a little paper bag.  He fixed a piece of thin white
+string round it, then jumped over the parapet.  It was quite dark, so
+he was perfectly safe.  Crawling on his hands and knees, he at last
+reached within ten yards of the sapping Turks.  For a few minutes he
+lay still.  His eyes got used to the darkness, enabling him to get a
+glimpse of the diggers.  Pulling out the paper bag, he threw it smartly
+towards the hole.  It burst on the edge of the parapet and the contents
+scattered all round.  Claud waited.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Aitchoo! went one.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Aitchoo! went another.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Aitchoo! went a third.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Aitchoo!  Aitchoo!  Aitchoo! sneezed all the Turks between their
+oriental grunts and curses.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Claud burst out laughing and so gave himself away.  A head popped out
+of the hole.  Claud was seen.  Down it went, and up came a rifle, but
+before the Turk could fire, Claud, who had a couple of bombs prepared,
+flung them into the hole.  There was a loud bang! bang! followed by a
+series of shouts, shrieks and moans.  The sapping party fled for their
+lives.  This was as Claud desired, so he quietly crawled back to his
+trench.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Got 'em that time, Dufair," said an officer as he tumbled in.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, sir."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"By the way, what was all the sneezing about?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"A little trick, sir," laughed Claud.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Was it snuff you chucked at them?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, common or garden pepper, issued with the rations."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Good," said the officer pursuing his rounds.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Now it was on this same evening that Paddy Doolan roused the whole
+regiment to a state of alarm.  He was on sentry go on the extreme left
+of his regiment's line.  Being dark, Paddy began to feel the effects of
+things supernatural.  Every sound, every moving leaf or blade was a
+Turk.  He had fired at a few nothings, and during a spell of silence he
+was amazed to hear on his left a chattering in a strange tongue.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Turks, be Jasus, they're in our trenches.  Mother of Mary, preserve
+us," said Paddy, crossing himself.  He listened again.  They were
+chanting a weird dirge.  It was something between a Highland lament and
+a Hindoo snake song.  Paddy was amazed.  Life seemed to be a shorter
+affair, and he pictured himself lying dead on the parapet with his
+throat cut.  His teeth were chattering, and his nerves on the run.  At
+last he managed to bellow out, "Stand to!"  The half-sleeping men
+jumped to their rifles and waited below the parapet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What's up, Doolan?" said the officer on reaching them.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Turks in our trenches, sor.  Heaven preserve us."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Where?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There, sor!  There, sor!  Listen to them."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The officer listened.  He heard the weird chanting.  It wasn't English,
+it didn't seem Turkish.  What on earth was it, he wondered.  At last he
+made up his mind.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Here, six of you fix bayonets, follow me," and down the communication
+trench he crouched and crawled towards the left.  They now neared the
+weird chanting noise.  The officer cocked his revolver and whispered
+back, "Get ready, boys." Then, dashing round a bend, he burst on to a
+dark-skinned group.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Hands up!" he shouted.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What's up, boss?" said a smiling dusky gent in khaki, with a New
+Zealand badge on his shoulder.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Who the deuce are you?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Maoris, boss, Maoris."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Hang it all, I thought you were Turks.  Good night."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Good night, boss," shouted the laughing Maoris&mdash;the finest
+dark-skinned gentlemen in the world.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap09"></A>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER IX
+</H3>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+A BRAVE NEW ZEALANDER
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+There's a difference between the New Zealander and Australian, and the
+difference is this: when an Australian says "Home," he means Australia;
+when a New Zealander says "Home," he means the Old Country.  The sense
+of nationality is deep in the Australian's soul; the sense of
+dependence and kinship is wrapped round the New Zealander's heart.
+Australia is the older Dominion, and the Australian, like the Canadian,
+is keen on running his own affairs.  New Zealand is younger; many of
+its first settlers are still alive, so their eyes and their children's
+eyes are always turned to the land called "Home."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Fifty years hence the New Zealander will be like the Australian&mdash;a keen
+exponent of nationhood and all that that means.  But, understand, when
+I speak of nationhood as applied to the Australian and New Zealander, I
+mean pride of race, pride of dominion, pride of achievement, and the
+ability to be a partner in the great Empire that is ours.  Our
+forefathers resented this attitude of our colonial cousins.  For that
+reason we lost the American colonies.  That lesson was good.  We now
+realise that it is good business to let such as the Australian and New
+Zealander manage their own affairs.  It saves us worry, it saves
+expense, it breeds a distinct type&mdash;a type conscious of their ability,
+but aware of the need of co-operation and co-ordination in Imperial
+defence and Imperial trade.  Wise men ask no more.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Now in affairs of war there is also a difference between the New
+Zealander and Australian.  The Australian resembles the
+Irishman&mdash;daring, desperate, and frequently reckless; the New Zealander
+resembles the Scot&mdash;equally daring, equally determined, but more canny
+and cautious.  In brief, the New Zealander is more ready to weigh the
+issues and count the cost.  Both types are necessary in war; both are
+extremely useful.  Now I have reached my tale.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The General Staff had heard that the Turks were concentrating men and
+munitions for a great attack.  Information was scarce; information was
+imperative, for on information the modern general depends.  And this
+information had to come from the very centre of the Turkish defence.
+It was the hour for a man, and that man had to be found.  That was the
+problem which faced the Chief of Staff.  He knew that almost every
+officer would volunteer.  He thought of many Australians; but no, their
+reckless bravery might wreck his schemes.  And then he pictured in his
+eye the New Zealanders he knew.  One by one they passed in review.  At
+last he recalled "Tony," a young subaltern from Hawkes Bay.  He was a
+graduate of an Auckland school&mdash;a strong, well-built, swarthy youth,
+with that coolness, daring, and acumen necessary for the job.  "Yes,
+he'll do," muttered the Chief as he rang up the New Zealand Dragoons.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Send Lieutenant Tony Brown to headquarters at once."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Very good, sir," answered an orderly.  In two hours Tony entered the
+dug-out and saluted.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I've a job for you, Mr. Brown.  It might mean your death; it might
+mean the D.S.O.  Are you on?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'm on, sir; but please explain."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Get one of the Navy boats.  Go up the coast for two miles.  Land and
+get across into the Turkish camp.  Find out the strength of these
+reinforcements, the guns, the ammunition, food and water supplies, and,
+more important, the probable date, if not the hour, of this big attack.
+I'll give you two days to do it.  If you're not back on the third day
+I'll count you as dead.  Understand?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, sir."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Very well, my lad.  Here's an order to the commander of the torpedo
+boat at the beach.  Make your own arrangements.  Good luck to you,"
+concluded the Chief, shaking him by the hand.  And out went Tony on his
+job.  It was a tough proposition for a youngster to tackle, yet he
+deemed it an honour.  And there was no time for delay.  He secured the
+services of two Maoris because of their strength and swarthy
+complexion.  Turkish uniforms would make them "Turks," if need be.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The commander of the destroyer gave him a boat.  This was loaded up
+with water, biscuits, some Turkish uniforms, and rifles, with other
+necessaries for the job.  At night they pulled out.  It was quite dark,
+so all was favourable at the outset.  For hours the Maoris seemed to
+row, their only guide being the stars and dark coast-line.  And then
+came the first peep of dawn.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Come on, you fellows; get into these things," said the subaltern,
+pointing to the Turkish clothes.  He did likewise.  The disguise was
+perfect.  They looked thoroughly respectable members of the Sultan's
+community.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ease in now, boys," ordered Tony as the light grew better.  Gently
+they pulled to the shore.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That place will do," muttered the observant sub, looking towards a
+shingly sort of beach beneath some cliffs.  The boat grated on the
+pebbles.  They had arrived on their daring mission.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Now, look here, you boys; you've got to loaf round here for two days.
+Hide the boat and get into a dug-out.  Keep a look-out for me.  If I
+don't come back at the end of the second day, go back and tell them
+I've gone to Kingdom Come.  Understand?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"All right, boss," said the elder of the Maoris, a full corporal.  And
+off went Tony.  He climbed up the cliffs and found himself on a scrubby
+sort of soil dotted here and there with stunted trees.  Away to his
+right he could just discern the Turkish defences, while immediately in
+front lay some scattered redoubts of the flanking outposts of the
+enemy.  In the distance was a high, grassy knoll&mdash;a perfect place for
+observing things.  He made for it, avoiding contact with some
+straggling Turkish soldiers on the way.  By the way, it is really
+remarkable how one can walk through an enemy's lines when dressed in
+their uniform; but it takes a stout heart to do it.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Tony reached the foot of the knoll and commenced to ascend.  Just as he
+reached the top he was startled by a Turk who cried out a greeting.  He
+mumbled something in a boorish style and dropped down in a friendly way
+beside his man.  Before the old Turk realised what was happening he lay
+dead with a revolver bullet in his brains.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Phew!  What a noise!" muttered Tony as he looked at his victim and
+then all round the hill to see if the noise had alarmed the land.  Luck
+favoured him.  A random shot is nothing in war.  Finding a hole near
+by, he dumped the body in, then covered it over with grass.  This done,
+he whipped out his glasses and commenced to study things.  Away in
+front he could see the convoys slowly moving past.  There were guns,
+ammunition wagons, water-carts, ration wagons, and streams of men.
+This was not the usual reliefs and supplies.  There was something
+doing.  The troops were new, their equipment was good, their bearing
+fresh and alert.  All this was very interesting; but Tony was not near
+enough to get what he wanted.  He decided to walk right through the
+lines.  Leaving his rifle and placing his revolver and glasses in the
+Turkish haversack, he set off.  He was soon one of the many straggling
+Turkish troops on various errands.  They hailed him in their oriental
+way, but Tony simply grunted in reply.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+That is a way of the East, so all went well.  At last the daring
+officer was close behind the Turkish lines.  He stumbled on the
+batteries well placed and well hid.  Stacks of shells lay to hand in
+preparation for their attack.  In another part he located a
+searchlight, and down in a little gully he found a forward base for gun
+and rifle ammunition.  This was a sound discovery.  He memorised the
+spot and tried to locate it on the map.  Passing on, he came to a field
+hospital.  This was being cleared, for wagons were taking the wounded
+men away to the ships which lay in the offing.  When a hospital is
+being cleared, look out for a fight.  A soldier understands what it
+means.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Tony finally arrived in a sort of rest camp.  It was alive with
+men&mdash;fresh ones from Constantinople.  There were plenty of German
+officers, too, also some sailors with <I>Goeben</I> and <I>Breslau</I> on their
+caps.  He wondered what the sailors were there for.  They seemed to be
+camped round an artillery park.  He solved it; they were serving the
+guns.  Down the lines he stumbled, grunting like an old horse, and,
+occasionally, sitting down to view the scene.  They had plenty of
+biscuits, and even such luxuries as coffee, bread, and water melons.
+No signs of starvation or lack of supplies.  That was an important
+point.  Tony was doing well.  His scheme was succeeding beyond his
+dreams.  Indeed, he was beginning to feel quite cocky, till, on looking
+round, he found a swarthy little fellow behind him.  He was being
+followed.  Something gripped his heart.  He had shot his bolt.  Still
+he did not lose his head.  This little man must be led on a little
+farther.  Tony retraced his steps.  The man followed him.  He sat down;
+the Turk also sat down.  This was unnerving, and the young sub. almost
+shouted in anger and agony.  Rising again, he went on, striking into
+the open and less populated part.  And, all the while, the officer
+wondered how he was going to deal with his sleuth-hound.  He could not
+shoot him there.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+At last his eye caught sight of the little knoll where his dead Turk
+lay buried.  Good!  He would lead him up there.  He plodded on, and,
+behind him, stalked the patient-looking Turk.  Oh! the agony of those
+moments.  It was like a knife sinking by degrees into the human heart.
+It was the hour for nerve, coolness and caution.  Tony reached the top
+of the hill.  With a sigh he sat down, pulled out his pipe and
+commenced to smoke.  The Turk also sat down, but at the foot of the
+hill.  He too started to smoke.  His face had the sense of ease, his
+eyes a humorous gleam.  He, apparently, was in no hurry.  What the
+devil did he mean?  Tony wondered, and wondered.  This torture was
+insufferable; so insufferable that the subaltern waved his arm,
+signalling the Turk to come up beside him.  He obeyed.  As he reached
+the top he took off his cap and said, "Good days, Mr. Ingleesman."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Who's English?" said Tony, smiling at his own audacity and apparent
+admission.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You very Inglees&mdash;you smokit pipe, your boots, your walk.  I plenty
+savvy," he said, tapping his head.  "I no seely Turk.  Me Syrian."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What the devil are you doing here?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"They maket me fight.  I no' wants fight.  Me Christian.  I likes
+Inglees."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But what are you following me for?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well&mdash;monees&mdash;backsheesh.  Me poor man."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"How did you spot me?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You droppit this when you down there," said the Syrian, pulling an
+identity disc out of his pocket.  This was stamped, "Lieut. Tony Brown,
+New Zealand Dragoons."  The subaltern paled as he looked at this
+damning proof.  He must have dropped it when fumbling with his pockets
+in the camp below.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He inwardly cursed his stupidity.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Have a cigarette?" said he, offering a Virginian to his new-found
+friend.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, wery nice&mdash;wery Inglees <I>too</I>," said the Syrian, looking at the
+inscription: "Three Castles.  W. D. &amp; H. O. Wills."  "No maket these in
+Stamboul&mdash;eh?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Not till we get there," said Tony with a yawn, at the same time
+measuring the distance between his man and debating whether it would be
+better to kill him or capture him and then take him back in the boat.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Meanwhile the Syrian was smoking airily, almost casually.   He was a
+born scoundrel.  Intrigue was his game.  This Syrian had Mammon all
+over his body and soul.  Good gold could buy him any time.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You spy?" he said, looking up at Tony in a casual yet cunning way.
+The word "spy" was a dagger into the subaltern's nerves and heart.  It
+left him breathless for a moment.  Recovering his wits, he airily
+answered, "Well&mdash;&mdash;"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Me poor man&mdash;me tell you things.  How much?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Fifty pounds&mdash;eh?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"One hundreds&mdash;it worth it&mdash;good beesness.  Me plenty savvy&mdash;me know."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Plentee news 'bout guns, men and&mdash;beeg attacks&mdash;&mdash;"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh!" said Tony, startled out of his casual way.  The Syrian smiled.
+He had divined his quest.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Tell me then."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Monees," said the Syrian, holding out his hand.  The ways of the East
+are, at least, direct.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There you are," said the subaltern, handing him ten crisp Bank of
+England notes.  He had come prepared for this contingency.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"When is the attack, now?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Friday mornings early."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The exact time I want."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Half past fours."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"How do you know?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I orderleys and interpreeters to arteelery's staff."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh!  Now, isn't there a battery down there?" said Tony, pointing to a
+piece of rising ground which he had passed over.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No&mdash;one batterees there," said the Syrian, directing his eyes to the
+exact place where Tony had discovered the first battery.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Good!" muttered the New Zealander.  He knew he was telling the truth.
+Pulling out a pocket-book, he made a rough sketch of the ground round
+about, and then cross-examined the Syrian.  Batteries, magazines,
+stores, trenches, headquarters, beaches, water and food supplies were
+all duly noted and placed on the map.  Tony Brown, at one scoop, had
+entered the highest realms of the Intelligence Service.  It was dusk
+when he had finished.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Me go now," said the Syrian, rising.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No you won't.  You'll come with me and guide the way."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But I geeves you informations, what more?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Look here, old cock, I believe you, but you're a Syrian."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Syrian good man," protested the informer.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Sometimes.  Hands up!" said Tony, cocking his revolver suddenly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No' keels me&mdash;no' keels me!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I won't if you keep quiet.  Now, push ahead&mdash;that way," said Tony,
+directing him on the return route.  The Syrian cursed and mumbled in
+his own fiery way as he stumbled down the hill.  He was annoyed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Here&mdash;look at this," said Tony, calling him back.  The New Zealander
+bent down, and, uncovering the body of the dead Turk, showed it to him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Uh!" shuddered the man.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Now, keep quiet," ordered the officer, pushing him down the hill.
+Stealthily they went, avoiding dug-outs, tents, and other hives of the
+Turkish army.  For hours they seemed to walk.  Something was wrong.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Stop!" said Tony suddenly.  Instinct suggested danger.  He had been
+led astray.  Pulling out a compass, he fixed it.  The direction was
+wrong.  This Syrian was playing his own game.  He wanted another
+hundred pounds for this officer's body.  It was worth more than that to
+the Turkish army.  And he knew it.  War breeds parasites and rogues.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You scoundrel!" said Tony, springing at the Syrian's throat.  The
+latter fought, kicked, and bit like a tiger.  To have shot him would
+have been madness, for they were now back in the centre of the Turkish
+lines.  Placing his great hands round the man's throat, Tony slowly
+choked him into a state of collapse.  Another knock on his head with
+the butt of the revolver placed him in such a condition that he would
+be unable to recollect his thoughts for many days.  That was all the
+subaltern desired.  He left him.  Taking a compass bearing again, he
+struck out towards the beach.  Luck favoured him almost till the end.
+As he neared the top of the cliff which guarded the beach his foot
+slipped, and he fell into a dug-out, right on the top of three Turkish
+soldiers.  Curses were mixed with shouts of "Allah!"  Then questions
+were asked.  But Tony could answer none.  A little flashlamp next shone
+in his face.  He was discovered.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Inglees!  Inglees!" exclaimed a Turk.  The other two started and
+chattered volubly.  One lifted a rifle to finish him off, but the man
+with the lamp stopped him.  He knew his job.  He wanted to know what
+this man was doing there.  Tony was searched, and the map discovered
+secreted down the leg of his stocking.  His heart quailed.  He seemed
+doomed.  He had been so near success; now he seemed so far.  He
+inwardly shuddered at the prospect ahead.  It would be death, and death
+of a cruel and unrefined kind.  Oh, the mental horror of that moment.
+It was worse than a bayonet in the stomach, and that is bad enough.  He
+longed for death&mdash;death, sure and sharp.  But it did not come.  He was
+seized and bound, then thrown into a corner to await the dawn, when
+this coast patrol would take him back to the Turkish lines.  His cords
+cut into his hands and legs; his tongue was parched; his heart beating
+at the coming of the dawn.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Still, the light of day brought a certain physical and mental relief.
+He was given a drink; his cords were cut, and he was pushed out into
+the open and marched off to the Turkish lines.  He stumbled along, in
+pain and confused.  But deliverance was at hand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+True to their trust, his faithful Maoris were on the watch.  One lay on
+top of the cliffs as a guard for the boat hidden away in the cove
+below; the other was a thousand yards ahead, directly in front of the
+line of march which two out of the three Turkish soldiers were taking
+him.  This Maori's eyes were alert.  A glance made him understand it
+all.  Filling his magazine, he lay low.  They were then six hundred
+yards away.  Too far for a sure aim.  He waited.  Five hundred.  Four
+hundred.  Three hundred.  Yes; that would do.  He settled down and
+aimed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bang!  The bullet told.  The man on Tony's right dropped dead.  The
+subaltern realised the cause.  He let drive with his fist at the other
+man.  The Turk stumbled back, recovered, then fled.  But the Maori
+nipped him like a farmer does a running hare.  He, too, fell dead.
+This was the one with the map which Tony had made.  It was wrenched
+from his haversack.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Near shave, boss," said the Maori corporal, running up.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes; but come on."  They ran towards the cliff.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bang! went a rifle.   The faithful Maori corporal dropped dead at his
+officer's feet.  Tony looked to his front, and there was the third man
+of the Turkish patrol coolly aiming at him too.  He ducked just as a
+rifle banged.  For a minute he lay flat, and then a strange thing
+happened.  The second Maori, on the top of the cliff, unable to sight
+his rifle at this assassin of his friend, was charging wildly down on
+the Turk with his bayonet fixed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Allah!  Allah!" shouted the Turk as he turned about and threw up his
+arms.  A moment later he was bayoneted to death.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Tony jumped up and ran on, for in the distance he saw other patrols
+running towards the scene.  The surviving Maori followed him to the
+beach.  The boat was launched, and they pulled out from the shore.
+Danger, however, was not passed.  Turkish patrols had found them.
+Volley after volley rattled through the air.  They splashed all round;
+some hit the boat, one struck Tony in the arm, two more pierced the
+oars.  But out and out pulled the plucky pair till, at last, they were
+clear of the fire.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Hot shop, boss," said the Maori.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, a bit too hot!" muttered Tony as he bandaged his bleeding arm.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+That night the Chief of Staff received the information desired.  And a
+few days later Lieut. Tony Brown added the letters "D.S.O." to his
+name.  Everybody said, "Why?"  But the Chief of Staff simply smiled and
+passed on.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap10"></A>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER X
+</H3>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+VICTORY
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+Night was falling fast over the Australasian lines.  The darkness was
+welcome, for it brought a certain rest and coolness to the thousands of
+sun-baked and weary men.  For two days they had slaved like
+navvies&mdash;digging, sand-bagging, reorganising trenches, improving
+communications, and bringing up supplies, Maxims, and ammunition.  It
+was not the usual thing.  Indeed, it was most unusual.  Only the Staff
+knew why, for this war has taught us that we must not advertise our
+coming events.  Of course the Tommies groused.  They always do.  It is
+the privilege of the soldier.  And Bill Buster was not behind in this
+land of moaning.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Thinks I'm an old mule.  Me feet's skinned, me back's skinned, me
+heart's skinned carryin' them blessed boxes of crackers.  Oh, why did I
+leave me little happy home?" he exclaimed, wiping the sweat off his
+sunburnt brow.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Had to&mdash;ye frizzly-faced bushwhacker," said Paddy.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"All this means that there's something doing," remarked Claud, cleaning
+his monocle with a piece of rag.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ay, there's gaun tae be an attack.  Say yer prayers the nicht, boys,"
+added Sandy.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Thank God!" uttered Claud.  "I'm sick of inaction.  I don't mind
+death; but it's a beastly bore waiting to be killed.  One can't quite
+regulate supplies.  Now, if to-morrow was the day for our dispatch, we
+might have a beano out of our spare biscuits and Woodbines to-night."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It ain't all beer and skittles, as you say," Bill said.  "Next war I'm
+goin' to be a general or a Navy bloke.  Them's the safe jobs.  These
+ole Turks have a spite at me.  Think I'm a sort o' runnin' man."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Let them come!" Paddy exclaimed.  "We'd bate the life out of thim.
+Teach thim manners, the dirty blaggards!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Don't be too cocky about that.  We're only hanging on the edge of this
+cliff by the skin of our teeth.  The German Staff say they'll push us
+into the sea, and you bet they'll have a good try."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's a soft snap, if they come.  They can't beat us," interjected
+Bill, who had all the self-assurance of the Australian born.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That's where our boys always err," answered Claud.  "They
+underestimate the power of the enemy.  That isn't the thing in war.
+It's all very well to be confident, but it's equally important to be
+prepared to the last cartridge and bomb.  Pluck's a very good thing,
+but pluck without brains is as useless as an engine without coal.  If
+these Turks make a big show, they'll give us a run for our money.  Now
+I'm going to sleep."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Claud wrapped himself in his coat for a snooze.  The others followed
+suit, little dreaming what the dawn would bring.  While they slept,
+secure in their innocence of things, the General and Chief of Staff sat
+keen and anxious in their dug-outs; for the dawn was the time stated
+for the attack.  Everything was prepared; still, they had all that
+mental worry which only an officer knows.  They smoked and talked&mdash;and
+talked.  While they passed these anxious hours their subordinate
+commanders were quietly filling up the reserve trenches with supporting
+troops.  The gunners, too, were busy checking ranges and noting down
+the approximate position of the magazines and other stores as supplied
+by the map of Tony Brown.  The doctors were also alive.  They were
+clearing out the field hospitals preparatory to the gruesome slaughter
+ahead.  Out at sea a flotilla of gunboats and destroyers had quietly
+arrived and were circling round, waiting for the coming fray.
+Everything had been thought of; everything was ready.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's getting light, sir," said the chief, looking out of his dug-out
+about 3.30 A.M.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Very well; 'phone the brigadiers.  Tell them to be prepared for the
+bombardment in accordance with our pow-wow of yesterday."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Very good, sir."  The 'phone transmitted the order and the chief sat
+down again.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Boom! echoed a gun in the Turkish line.  A shell crashed right over the
+General's dug-out.  Tony Brown's information was right.  The battle had
+commenced.  A sense of relief spread over the General's face.  His
+suspense was at an end.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Boom!  Boom!  Boom! went the other guns.  More shells, more splinters,
+and here and there the moan of a dying or wounded man.  But this was
+only the preliminary business.  In ten minutes every Turkish gun, from
+the giant howitzers to the more simple field pieces, were pounding
+shrapnel, common shell, and high explosives into the Australasian
+lines.  There was no excitement; the men were used to the game.  They
+crouched in holes or hard against the stony sides of the trenches.
+Still, the noise was deafening, and the gunners' aim was often good.
+Shells burst on the parapets and destroyed them, frequently killing or
+burying the men behind.  Others burst above and sent their balls of
+death into the heads or backs of the crouching men.  High explosives
+crashed with an unnerving boom in and around the trenches, pounding,
+killing, and maiming.  Maxims rattled out a hail of lead, rifles
+squirted bullets into every corner where a living soul was likely to be
+found.  There was no romance in this sort of business.  It was
+butchery, blood, anguish, and death.  Hell is the only word that fits
+such a bombardment.  Those who read such things sit at home in tears
+and terror.  Yet the men who live through them sit calm, even cool, and
+often in smiles.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Bit hot," said Claud, looking at his hat, which had been pierced by a
+shrapnel bullet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bill ejaculated something unprintable and dropped a hot piece of shell
+he had intended to collar as a curio.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I weesht I had a hauf o' whisky; this is a dry job," said Sandy, as he
+cuddled closer against the side of the trench.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"May ould Allah have mercy on yis when I get yis wid me can-opener!"
+muttered Paddy as he fingered his bayonet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Boom!  Boom!  Boom! crashed three more shrapnels above them, scattering
+lead and iron in all directions.  Old keys, brass fittings, nails, iron
+knobs and other things tumbled in, too.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Queer shrapnel&mdash;eh?" said Claud, picking up one of these curios&mdash;and a
+sign that the Turks were surely scarce of the real stuff.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Don't mind bullets," growled Bill; "but I objects to them chuckin' an
+ironmonger's shop at my ole head.  It ain't nice&mdash;&mdash;"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Boom!  Boom! came two more.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"A miss!" said Sandy, signalling a "wash-out" with a shovel.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Boom! crashed another almost overhead.  It was a narrow shave.  Sandy,
+with that caution of his clan, resigned the post of marker.  The gods
+were favouring this genial quartette, but in many parts of the line men
+lay dead, dying, and maimed.  They bore their wounds with a wonderful
+patience, and few complained.  Comrades ripped out their field
+dressings and staunched the blood.  Doctors, regardless of whizzing
+shells and bullets, crept from patient to patient.  Stretcher-bearers
+manfully did their job.  Over shell-swept zones they carried and pulled
+the wounded to succour and safety.  Despite the danger, men even found
+time to note and praise the deeds of these Red Cross heroes.  The name
+of the R.A.M.C. ought to be printed in letters of gold on the dome of
+St. Paul's.  It is one reminiscent of heroism, faith, hope, and charity.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Now, during all this gun and rifle firing not a reply was sent.  The
+Staff allowed the Turks to expend their shells and bullets.  That is
+always good business in war.  It adds to the enemy's problem of supply.
+This bombardment lasted for two hours.  No doubt the Turks were well
+pleased.  But immediately they ceased their fire there was a universal
+Boom! from the Australian lines.  Battleships, cruisers, torpedo boats,
+howitzer batteries, field batteries, and Maxim guns sent back salvo
+after salvo of a deafening and devilish kind.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The unerring aim of our gunners paralysed, for a time, the initiative
+of the Turkish Staff.  This tremendous reply was unexpected.  And the
+British shells burst in their magazines, their supply depôts, their
+headquarters dug-outs in a startling way.  Never was gunnery so deadly.
+Never was slaughter so sure.  Regiments waiting <I>en masse</I> for the
+assault were torn and butchered.  Trenches were burst and destroyed.
+It was death, desolation, and disaster of an unexpected and amazing
+kind.  Such is the value of information in war.  A good Intelligence
+Officer is equal to a complete division of all arms.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Yet this bombardment did not deter the Turkish assault.  It had been
+arranged; it had to go on.  When the British bombardment ceased, they
+leaped boldly from their trenches and came on <I>en masse</I>.  A strange
+silence now pervaded the Australasian lines.  Not a shot was heard.  It
+was the calm before the storm.  They allowed the Turks to advance.  On
+they came, great, dark, strong-looking men.  They shouted "Allah!"
+"Allah!" as they ran.  This cry for "Allah" was a bad sign.  The Turks
+expected "Allah" to do what they felt they had not the confidence to do
+themselves.  Still, the German task-masters had given them a certain
+assurance by sending them forward elbow to elbow, line upon line.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+In brief, this attack was meant as an overwhelming flood of bayonets
+upon the Australasians' lines.  The Turkish Staff argued that, after
+all, these troops were only volunteers; they could not withstand a
+violent offensive movement.  But they did; they even surprised their
+General and the Staff.  And the ability to wait for a signal to shoot
+was in itself a sign of perfect control, excellent fire discipline.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Turks were now close to the barbed wire entanglements.  This was
+the moment desired.  A whistle sounded in the lines.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bang!  Bang!  Bang!  Z-r-r-p! went thousands of rifles and dozens of
+machine-guns.  Gad!  How these Turks withered and fell.  It was brutal,
+yet it was inspiring.  Shrieks, curses, and groans were mixed with
+pitiful cries for "Allah!" "Allah!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bravely these Turkish soldiers died, and bravely the more fortunate
+came on.  They tore through the barbed wire with a fiendish frenzy and
+leaped down on to parts of their enemy's lines.  With that mad ferocity
+which only a Moslem fanatic can display, they plugged their bayonets
+into the first opposing man.  Cold steel is hard to face.  Few armies
+can face it.  Only Russians, Britishers, and Japs are good at the game.
+And these sons of John Bull stood up to the test with a magnificent
+courage.  They plunged, thrust, hacked, butted, cursed, and fumed in
+this awful combat.  Civilisation had gone.  Primitive lusts were
+triumphant.  Blood flowed in streams, men fought with gaping wounds,
+dying men fell crying to Allah or to God according to their race and
+creed.  There was no time to moralise on the hellish side of modern
+war.  There was only time to fight or die.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And in this awful combat The Kangaroos had a terrible time.  Their
+redoubt was invaded.  Yet they did not yield.  One great Turk charged
+down on Claud.  Sandy parried the thrust, the Turk recovered and thrust
+again straight into poor Sandy's heart.  He gasped, and fell lifeless
+at Bill's feet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+With maddened fury Bill crashed his butt down on the foeman's skull.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Another Turk almost pinned Colonel Killem, but Paddy dashed forward,
+struck up the bayonet, and killed the man with a blow.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Thanks, Doolan, thanks!" shouted the Colonel as he turned to deal with
+another man.  This gallant defence, combined with the deadly musketry
+on the less exposed parts of the line, completely smashed the first
+Turkish attack.  The enemy withered away, their survivors and wounded
+creeping back into the shelter of their trenches.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Don't fire, men!  Don't fire at those poor devils," shouted the
+officers as they watched them limp away.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+This was chivalry, and chivalry can always be found in a British heart.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Thank God for a breath," said Claud, leaning wearily against the
+parapet.  But the attack was not finished.  The Turkish reserves were
+swarming up the gullies and through the communicating lines.  Lyddite,
+shrapnel, and Maxims tore great gaps in their ranks.  Yet on they came.
+One regiment deployed from the top of a gully and made the charge.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Rapid fire!" roared Killem.   A terrific fusillade burst forth.  The
+Turks fell in heaps, moaning, shrieking, and yelling.  The sight was
+sickening.  Heaps of dead and dying all around.  But <I>again</I> the
+Turkish host came on.  Two great columns of men burst out in front of
+the New Zealanders and The Kangaroos.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+This was really the most critical moment of the day.  Here entered the
+Drill Book maxim: "An attack should be met with a counter-attack."  For
+this was to be the last and desperate throw of the Turkish Staff.  If
+it broke the Australasian lines, the enemy would realise their boast of
+pushing them into the sea.  The New Zealanders and Kangaroos
+appreciated the danger to the full.  And so the command rang out:
+"Prepare to charge!"  Every man placed his foot for the jump.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Charge!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Up leaped Killem and his willing men, and at their side charged the New
+Zealand boys.  Grimly they gripped their rifles, bravely they ran and
+cheered.  A charge is a thrilling and soul-inspiring affair.  Danger
+and death pass away from the soldier's heart.  He is alive, he is
+filled with the tingling blood and full of the traditions of his race.
+The Kangaroos met the Turkish host midway.  A shock of men, a shock of
+arms, a blind confusion, a horrible fierceness and hacking of human
+flesh.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Give it 'em, boys," roared Killem above the din.  A Turkish officer
+heard him and aimed his revolver at Killem's head.  But Doolan was
+there again.  He pinned his man through the chest, and, with an oath,
+flung him off his bayonet&mdash;dead.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Claud got lost in the <I>męlée</I>.  He found himself surrounded.  Bravely
+he fought, but a bayonet was stuck in his shoulder, and he fell into
+the struggling mass of wounded men.  Bill, though wounded in the head,
+fought with the madness of a fiend.  With Doolan, he kept close to the
+Colonel's heels, preserving the body and life of the bravest man in the
+Australasian force.  In that awful hour Killem could often be heard
+shouting out, "Thanks, boys, thanks!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+At last tenacity and courage told.  The Turks broke and fled, yelling
+in pain and fear.  But the price of victory had indeed been costly.
+Still, it was worth it all.  The position had been saved.
+Australasians had again written deep in the annals of war a story of
+valour as great as Corunna or Waterloo.
+</P>
+
+<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%">
+
+<P>
+"Paddy," shouted Bill as they jumped back into the trenches.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yis."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Where's Claud?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"He's hit," interjected a sergeant.  "I saw him fall."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What&mdash;dead?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Couldn't say."  And the sergeant passed on.  War does not allow of
+sentiment or lengthy harangues.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Curse them!" said Bill, throwing down his rifle in anger.  And then
+this great, strong man collapsed with grief.  When a soldier weeps it
+is sad.  This was but the climax of a highly nervous day.  Bill's
+heart, like every bushman's heart, was full of that faith and devotion
+which passes all understanding.  Claud was a pal whom he loved like a
+mother or a brother.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"D&mdash;&mdash; their bullets!  I'm going back to get him," he muttered,
+preparing to jump out again.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Paddy Doolan's wid you," said the Irishman.  They both jumped out into
+the still bullet-swept zone.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Come back, you fools," roared a sergeant.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+There was no answer.  Bill would not allow discipline or danger to
+interfere with the call of duty or friendship.  On their hands and
+knees they crawled round the heaps of dead and dying.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Here he is&mdash;here he is, poor boy!  Poor boy!" said Paddy as he gazed
+at the pale, bloodless face of Claud below some battered Turks.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"He's livin', he's livin'.  God be thanked!" mumbled the faithful
+Irishman as he crossed himself.  Bending near, he pulled the listless
+form from under the dead weight of the men above.  Claud groaned.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That's a good sign, Paddy, eh?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Sure, an' he'll drink a glass wid us yet!  But, Heavens! what a hole!"
+exclaimed the Irishman, looking at the gaping wound in Claud's shoulder.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Get his dressing out," said Bill.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Paddy made to rip the dressing out of Claud's jacket.  Alas! man
+proposes and the Turk disposes.  A sniper's rifle pinged, and a bullet
+hit Paddy in the arm.  It fell, shattered and useless.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Back, Paddy&mdash;into the trenches for your life.  I'll carry Claud."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The brave Irishman, realising he was now useless, reluctantly obeyed.
+Bill then heaved Claud over his shoulder and followed hard.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bang!  Bang! Bang! went the Turkish rifles.  Claud was hit in the hand,
+and poor Bill struck in the leg and back; then he fell exhausted into
+the trench, the wounded Claud on top.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Bravo!  Buster&mdash;you're a white man, anyway," said the Colonel.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"A done man, Colonel," said Bill with a wan smile as he fainted away.
+His wounds and Claud's wounds were bound with the Colonel's own hand.
+Then commenced the weary procession through trench after trench to the
+hospital below.  They were but two in a cavalcade of thousands.  They
+passed from the zones of dead into the camp of tears and moaning.  Men
+shattered and dying were there; others, more fortunate, wetted their
+lips and eased their way to God.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Poor Claud and Bill arrived, senseless, almost lifeless.  But kind
+hands staunched their wounds, allayed their thirst, and carried them on
+board the ship for Alexandria.  There they found the first taste of
+that gentle peace which is soothing to the heart of every nerve-racked
+soldier.  Nourishment soon brought them round.  And, strange to say,
+both returned from the land of wanderings to the delights of reality at
+the same time.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Bill!  Bill!" muttered Claud as he came round.  "I'm here, ole sport,"
+said Bill, holding out his pale, wan hand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Good!  But where's Paddy?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Sure, an ould Paddy's here," roared Doolan from a berth on the other
+side of the deck.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Thank God!"  And Claud tumbled into a more natural sleep, refreshed
+with the thought that at least two out of his three friends still lived.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Sips of brandy, drops of milk, clean bandages, and willing Australian
+nurses soon brought the genial three round to a more normal state.  And
+in speaking of Australian nurses, let me say that they are the finest
+girls in the hospital world.  They may laugh, they may flirt, but they
+can work.  They have no side and no false airs.  They want to do their
+job in the quickest, kindest, quietest way that can be found.
+</P>
+
+<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%">
+
+<P>
+The great ship slipped through the breakwater of Alexandria.  Hundreds
+awaited her coming&mdash;nurses, doctors, and friends.  Bill and Claud could
+not get up to view the scene.  But Paddy watched it all.  His eyes
+scanned the faces on shore.  At last they rested on a familiar
+figure&mdash;a girl with a beautiful form, a charming but an anxious face.
+Yes, it was Sybil Graham.  He slipped down to the ward below and
+stepped to Claud's bed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I've seen her, and doesn't she look swate?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Who?" said Claud in a knowing way.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Sybil, ye fathead!  And, mind ye, mine's a kiss for bringing the news."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Right, old chap; and I'll see that you get it," said the now excited
+owner of this Australian girl's heart.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The boat was now alongside.  Ropes were down and fixed.  The shore
+gangway was up, and, in response to the somewhat wild and frantic
+shouts and grins of Paddy Doolan, Sybil Graham dashed up the steps
+three at a time.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, Paddy!" she said, with tears in her eyes.  "Where is he?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This way, ye darlint."  And down into the ward leaped the now madly
+excited Irishman.  Sybil followed.  As she reached the foot of the
+stairs she saw her lover.  Nurses, doctors, and patients were then
+startled with a shriek of delight from a beautiful vision who pounced
+to a bed and smothered her hero with kisses.  Bill and Paddy watched it
+all.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Say, Miss Sybil, where do I come in?" said Bill with a sort of
+well-feigned growl.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Surely!  There's <I>one</I> for you, you dear, dear old bushman," she said,
+kissing his black-bearded lips.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Here, Sybil, isn't it Paddy's turn now?  He brought the news of you."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, you lovable Irish rogue&mdash;you're worth the kissing&mdash;you helped my
+boy to safety too."  And so Paddy received his dues.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And now, miss," said a smiling nurse, "we're going to take those three
+lovers of yours to hospital in Cairo."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"How mean of you," said Sybil with a smile.  "Of course, you can't
+prevent me from seeing them there?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Certainly not, my girl.  That will be the biggest part of their cure."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, by the way, I've news for you, boys," said Sybil, turning again:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Bill, you've got the V.C."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Paddy, you've got the V.C."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Claud, you've got a commission."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And you&mdash;eh?" smiled Claud.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well&mdash;yes."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And very nice too," whispered a doctor into the nurse's ear as the
+very happy girl went out.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap11"></A>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XI
+</H3>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+WHAT LADY READERS LIKE
+</H3>
+
+<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center">
+(<I>Extract from Cairo Press</I>)
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"At Shepheard's Hotel, Cairo, Lieutenant Claud Dufair, eldest son of
+Lord Dufair, to Sybil Graham, daughter of "Bob" Graham, of New South
+Wales.  Private Bill Buster, V.C., and Private Doolan, V.C., acted as
+groomsmen.  Colonel Killem, D.S.O., also attended the ceremony.  The
+happy couple left for a three days' honeymoon, as Lieutenant Dufair is
+returning to the trenches."
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR><BR>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Kangaroo Marines, by R. W. Campbell
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Kangaroo Marines
+
+Author: R. W. Campbell
+
+Release Date: February 1, 2009 [EBook #25452]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE KANGAROO MARINES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Al Haines
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: Cover art]
+
+
+
+
+
+The
+
+Kangaroo Marines
+
+
+By
+
+CAPT. R. W. CAMPBELL
+
+
+_Author of "Private Spud Tamson"_
+
+
+
+
+CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD
+
+London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne
+
+
+
+
+First Published 1915
+
+
+
+
+DEDICATED
+
+TO THE
+
+CONQUERORS OF ANZAC
+
+AND THE
+
+MANY KIND FRIENDS I MET
+
+IN
+
+AUSTRALASIA, EGYPT, AND THE DARDANELLES
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+I am not an Australasian, I am a Scot.  Therefore, I hold no special
+brief for the folks down under.  But I am an Imperialist--one filled
+with admiration for our overseas Dominions and the self-sacrifice of
+our colonial cousins.  They have played the game.  They have astonished
+the world.  They have even exceeded our own expectations.  Let us not
+stint our praise.  Let us write deep in the annals of our literature
+and military history this supreme devotion, this noble heroism.  And in
+the greater Councils of Empire let us see to it that these sons of the
+Motherland have a say in settling affairs.
+
+And I can claim at least the right to write about our gallant
+Australasians.  I have lived in Australia and New Zealand.  I have
+served on a Sydney paper and with the New Zealand _Herald_.  I have met
+every Premier (Federal and otherwise), from "Andrew" Fisher to "Bill"
+Massey.  And, during my stay, I made it my duty to study the Citizen
+Army--a National Service organisation.
+
+This was before the war.  And this army was founded by "K" and the
+Governments of Australia and New Zealand.  Did they see ahead?  One is
+almost tempted to think so.  In any case, the possession of a General
+Staff and the framework of a National Army ensured the rapid
+mobilisation of a voluntary force to assist the Motherland.  This force
+was armed, clothed, equipped and staffed from the existing military
+organisations in Australia and New Zealand.  You have heard of their
+courage at Anzac; you have read of how many have died.
+
+Anzac is the cope-stone of Imperialism.  It is the grim expression of a
+faith that is everlasting, of a love that shall endure the shocks of
+years, and all the cunning devilry of such as the Barbarous Huns.
+Hence this little book.  It is an inspiration of the Dardanelles, where
+I met many of our Australasian friends.  It is not an official history.
+I have, in my own way, endeavoured to picture what like these warring
+Bohemians are.  The cloak of fiction has here and there been wound
+round temperamental things as well as around some glorious facts.
+
+I hope I shall please all and offend none.
+
+R. W. CAMPBELL, _Capt._
+
+_October_, 1915.
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+CHAPTER
+
+  1. A NOTABLE QUARTETTE
+  2. MELBOURNE VERSUS SYDNEY
+  3. THE LAND OF SIN
+  4. TREASURE TROVE
+  5. SYBIL, THE SQUATTER'S GIRL
+  6. THE WISDOM OF "K"
+  7. THE LANDING
+  8. "HELL-FIRE POST"
+  9. A BRAVE NEW ZEALANDER
+ 10. VICTORY
+ 11. WHAT LADY READERS LIKE
+
+
+
+
+THE KANGAROO MARINES
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+A NOTABLE QUARTETTE
+
+WANTED.--One Thousand cheerful toughs to enlist for the period of the
+war in the Kangaroo Marines.  Boosers, scrimshankers and loonies
+barred.  Gents with big waists and little hearts are warned off.
+Sharpshooters on the wallaby, able to live on condensed air and boiled
+snakes, are cordially invited.  No parson's references are required.
+Jackaroos, cattlemen, rouseabouts, shearers--every sort of handy-man
+welcome.  Pay, 6s. per day, and all the "jewels" in the Sultan's harem.
+
+This is to be the crack corps of the Australian Force.
+
+Hurry up and join.
+
+(_Signed_) SAM KILLEM, _Lt. Col. Commanding_.
+
+
+This alluring advertisement appeared on the front page of _The
+Bushmen's Weekly_, a Sydney production, renowned for its wit and
+originality.  It was designed to tickle the sides of the horny-handed
+men of the Bush, and to rope in the best of them.  For these men of the
+Never-Never Land are soldiers born and heroes in the toughest job.
+They think deep and know the way of things.  If they appear wild and
+uncouth, they carry beneath that scrubby exterior the will of men and
+the open heart of the child.
+
+Moreover, they love the Motherland.  This was specially true of the
+four who tenanted a little shanty on the sheep station of "Old Graham,"
+one of the wealthiest men in Australia.  The quartette consisted of
+Bill Buster, a typical Cornstalk with a nut-brown face, twinkling eyes
+and a spice of the devil and the Lord in his soul.  Next came Claud
+Dufair, a handsome remittance man with an eye-glass and a drawl.  This
+fellow had personality.  He insisted on wearing a white collar and
+using kid gloves when doing anything, from dung lifting to sheep
+shearing.  Paddy Doolan was the third member.  He was an Irishman by
+birth, but Australian by adoption.  He had been in the Bush since he
+was a kid.  A kind soul was Paddy, with the usual weakness--the craving
+for the "cratur."  Fourth, and by no means least, was Sandy Brown, a
+Glasgow stoker, who had skipped away in a tramp from the Broomielaw
+because of another fellow's wife.
+
+A mixed bunch, these four, you will agree.  All with a history, part of
+it bad, but the main part certainly good.  It takes a good heart to be
+a Bushman.  Work is hard, the heat is trying, pleasures few, and the
+chances of wealth are only meagre.  But the Australian Bush has a lure
+of its own.  It calls the bravest and the best.  It calls and holds the
+men primed for adventure, unafraid of death, and full of that innate
+charm and gallantry which is always the particular prerogative of the
+wanderer.  No questions are asked in this land.  A man's soul is never
+probed, nor is he expected to reveal his birth, or the cause of his
+being there.  It is the place to hide a broken heart or mend an erring
+past.  But it is only a place for men.  And this quartette was full of
+the war.  They were itching to fight.  This advertisement, therefore,
+cheered their hearts and clinched their hopes.
+
+"Well, boys," said Bill, "this is our call.  We'd better join."
+
+"Hear, hear!" remarked the others.  That was all.  They immediately
+packed their swag for the road.  That afternoon they received their pay
+from the squatter.  While Buster, Brown, and Doolan said good-bye to
+the master and mistress on the veranda, Claud was kissing Sybil, the
+charming daughter of the house, a tender farewell.  For Sybil Graham
+loved the "English Johnny," as her friends called Claud.  Her love was
+returned--not in the way he had treated some women in England, but with
+that reverence which is born out of true affection.  This Englishman,
+despite his faults, had a veneration for the straightforward type which
+can be found in the Australian squatter's home.
+
+"Come on, Claud--here's the coach," yelled Bill from the veranda.  They
+embraced once more, then stepped out of doors.
+
+"Good-bye, boys--God bless you!" said old Graham with a husky throat.
+
+"Good-bye--Good-bye!" said his wife, with tears in her eyes, while
+Sybil had only strength to wave her arm to the fast disappearing figure
+of Claud as he drove with his friends to the railway station twenty
+miles beyond.
+
+"You're queer lookin', Claud," said Sandy, as they went down the road.
+
+"Shut up!" interjected Bill, who, like all Bushmen, had a true respect
+for the sentiment inspired by the dangers of war.  However, the sadness
+of parting was soon forgotten.  They were, also, cheered to see, coming
+over the plains, little groups of cookies, shearers and others, bent on
+their own errand.
+
+"Sakes alive! where's all you mad fellows goin'?" inquired the wizened
+old stationmaster.
+
+"Berlin," said Bill.
+
+"Ach sure, stationmaster, we're goin' to kiss the little darlints in
+the Sultan's harem."
+
+"Well, hurry up, boys; the train's ready."
+
+With a wild whoop fifty of them dashed for tickets, some "tucker," and
+a bottle or two of Scotch.  Into the train they jumped, and in a jiffy
+were rolling over the line to Sydney.  Song and story helped to cheer
+the long and somewhat tiring journey.  During a sort of lull in the
+proceedings Claud looked up and said: "Here, Bill, can't you recite us
+some of that impromptu sort of doggerel that you get into the Sydney
+weeklies now and then."
+
+"Well--yes," said Bill, rising and clearing his throat.
+
+"Order, order! ye sheep-eatin' blackguards," shouted Paddy, hitting a
+table with his riding-whip.  The gathering ceased their chatter, and
+Bill rhymed out:
+
+  "We're the Kangaroo Marines,
+  We're not Lager-fed machines,
+    But Bushmen, Bushmen, Bushmen from the plains.
+  We can ride, and we can cook,
+  Ay, in shooting know our book,
+    We're out to wipe off Kaiser Billy's stains.
+
+  "We're not trim--and not polite,
+  And, perchance, get on the skite--
+    We're Bushmen, Bushmen, Bushmen from the plains.
+  Yet though we can't salute,
+  We can bayonet and can boot
+    The wily, wily Turk from our domains.
+
+  "So when we ride away,
+  Off hats and shout 'Hooray'
+    For Bushmen, Bushmen, Bushmen from the plains.
+  And, parsons, say your prayers
+  That we may pass "Upstairs"
+    Should a nasty little bullet hit our veins.
+
+  "Now, boys, stand up and sing
+  God save our good old King,
+    And Bushmen, Bushmen, Bushmen from the plains."
+
+
+"Good, Bill, good!" shouted Claud, gripping the rough rhymster by the
+hand.
+
+"Hear, hear!" shouted the crowd.
+
+"Rot!  D---- rotten jingo slush!  What the hades has the King done for
+you and me?" roared a red-faced passenger at the other end of the car.
+This was none other than Bill Neverwork, secretary of the Weary
+Willies' Union and Socialist M.P. for the town of Wearyville.
+
+"Go an' boil yer old fat 'ead!" said Bill, calmly lighting his pipe.
+
+"Ye turnip-faced spalpeen, oi'll cut yer dirty thrapple wid my gully
+knife."
+
+"Rot!"
+
+"You beastly fellow!" said Claud, giving him a scornful look.
+
+But this Socialist gentleman was not to be denied.  He would speak.
+"Listen, boys," he roared above the din.
+
+"All right, father--we'll listen," said Bill, giving the others a nod.
+Peace reigned, then Neverwork commenced.
+
+"Boys, you've been fooled.  Why should you fight for Hengland----"
+
+"Britain, please--I'm a Scot," interjected Sandy.
+
+"Well, what has Britain done for Australia?  We don't want Hengland to
+hinterfere with our business and get hour boys killed.  We've enough
+work 'ere to do.  This is the working man's paradise.  And we can make
+it a sight bigger paradise.  We want more men like me."
+
+"'Ave a banana," chirped Bill.
+
+"Yes, mates; we want Socialism.  We're going to get a Republic.  We'll
+cut the painter.  Curse England!"
+
+"Britain, auld cock!" interjected Sandy again.
+
+"Curse Britain--and you, ye porridge-faced hemigrant!  It's the
+hemigrants that spoil this country.  Kick them out, I say.  Australia
+for Australians.  That's my motto, mates.  I know what I'm talking
+about.  I'm Bill Neverwork----"
+
+"B.F. for Wearyville," interjected Bill as he got up.  "And now, you
+puddin'-headed red flagger, if you'll sit down, I'll have a cut in."
+The bucolic M.P. collapsed in his seat, wiping the perspiration off his
+beetled brow with the aid of a navvy's red handkerchief.
+
+"Now, boys, you know me."
+
+"Good old Bill--give it him!"
+
+"This gent, what is called M.P., is a worm.  I'm a Union man--we're all
+Union men.  Andy Fisher's a Union man, and so is Pearce, the chap
+that's defending Australia.  But there's Union men and Union men.
+They're mainly good, but some are bad.  That's one of the bad ones
+there.  His name is Neverwork, and he never worked in his life.  He's a
+blowhard, a gasbagger, a balloon full of curses and twaddle.  This
+bloke thinks we're fools.  He's kidded his Union on that he's a smart
+fellow--a sort of High Priest of Salvation.  He's talked himself into a
+job, and he's drawing about five hundred a year out of another fellow's
+pockets.  He's called a Socialist to-day, but he'd call himself a Jew,
+a nigger, a polecat to-morrow, if, by doing that, he'd get a hundred
+more.  In short, mates, he's a politician--you know what that means.
+Now, Andy Fisher and Pearce don't shout like this thing here.  They're
+men, they're Australians.  They want us to fight side by side with the
+boys from the old country.  That's why we're here.  And we'll fight,
+and so much for a fat-headed M.P. that couldn't write his own name ten
+years ago.  This chap's an insult to Australia."
+
+"Hear, hear!" chorused all the Bushmen volunteers.
+
+"Listen, boys!  Listen!" roared the M.P. above the din; but they simply
+howled him down.  In the middle of this row Claud rose up, and putting
+up his hand, asked for order.  Again silence reigned.
+
+"Well, gentlemen--I mean, boys," said Claud, fumbling with his
+eyeglass, "I wish to make a motion----"
+
+"You're a new chum--sit down," roared Neverwork.
+
+"And that's why I want to speak," said Claud, in such a quiet, cynical
+way that the M.P. almost choked.  "I'm a new chum--yes.  And I am,
+also, one of the boys.  I'm in the Shearers' Union, too.  I have been
+treated well here--don't cher know, and here are my good friends.  And
+we're all going to fight, for what----"
+
+"For financiers and Jews," roared the M.P.
+
+"No, my apoplectic friend!  We're going to fight for Australia--not
+Britain--and we're going to fight to prevent fools like you handing
+this land over to German or Yellow men.  It's the proper thing, don't
+cher know.  Now, gentlemen----"
+
+"Not so much of the gentlemen," shouted Neverwork.
+
+"My dear friend, you were not included in the term.  I am addressing
+these gentlemen from the Bush.  You're too beastly dirty and lazy to be
+a Bushman," said Claud, adjusting his eyeglass and surveying the squat
+figure of the M.P. as if he were examining a maggot.
+
+"My motion, boys, is simply this, that we stop the train by pulling the
+communication cord, and hold the driver up for ten minutes.  Meantime,
+we might seize our political gasbag, secure him with a few bits of
+rope, hoist him out of the carriage, and tie him up to one of the
+signal posts, leaving a suitable inscription attached to his
+corporation, so that all the world shall know what a delightful idiot
+this gentleman--I mean politician--is."
+
+"Carried, be jabers!" roared Paddy Doolan, pulling the communication
+cord, while Bill, Sandy and some more, seized the Socialist.  He
+kicked, cursed, bit, screamed and wriggled, but to no purpose.  As the
+train slowed down, Bill jumped out, and, running along to the driver,
+held him up with a masonic wink and a Scotch refreshment.  The trussed
+form of the M.P. was then carried out of the train.  He was still
+cursing.  But the Bushmen quietly tied him to a signal post.  This
+completed, Claud pinned a great white sheet of paper with an
+inscription on it.
+
+"Good-bye, old cock," shouted the Bushmen, jumping into the train
+again.  The whistle blew, and as the train went slowly past the enraged
+captive, the eyes of all read the notice fixed to his waist:
+
+  "THIS IS NOT AN AUSTRALIAN,
+    HE'S A D---- FOOL.
+      (_Signed_) KANGAROO MARINES."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+MELBOURNE VERSUS SYDNEY
+
+Sam Killem, Commanding Officer of the Kangaroo Marines, sat in his
+Recruiting Office chewing a cigar in the usual Australian style.  Now
+and again he looked at his recruiting figures and smiled.  "Five
+hundred men in three days," he mused.  "Not bad for you, Sam; and good
+stuff at that"--for Sam was a judge of men.  He was a squatter and as
+rich as Croesus.  His big, bony frame spoke of strength, while his eye
+and face told the tale of shrewdness and resource.  He was forty, and
+successful.  Three hundred miles of land was chartered as his own.  His
+sheep were counted in thousands, and his brand as familiar as a postage
+stamp.  Yet, in all his struggles for success, Sam had found time to be
+a patriot.  He had served as a Tommy in the African War, and since then
+had commanded a corps of mounted men in the back of beyond.  He was the
+fairest yet fiercest, the most faithful and fearless man in the force.
+A man who disobeyed his orders always received a knock-out blow, for
+Sam boxed like a pro. and hit like a hammer.
+
+"Some more recruits, sir," said his sergeant-major, opening the door.
+
+"Right, Jones; show them in."
+
+The door closed on the now famous quartette--Claud, Bill, Paddy, and
+Sandy.  They were still in their rough bush-whacking clothes, while
+their eyes told the tale of a merry night before.
+
+"Well, boys--glad to see you."
+
+"We've met before, Sam," said Bill.
+
+"Guess we have, but cut out the 'Sam,' click your heels together, say
+'sir,' when you answer, and salute when you meet me.  I'm bossing this
+show.  And we can't have sheep-shearing familiarities--understand!"
+
+"Bit sudden like!" smiled Bill, trying to comply.
+
+"Not so sudden as death, or a shrapnel.  Now, to business.  You fellows
+look fit.  What's your names?"
+
+"Bill Buster's mine."
+
+"Age?"
+
+"About thirty--that's near enough."
+
+"Religion?"
+
+"Ain't got any."
+
+"That means you're officially C. of E."
+
+"What's that, Sam--eh--sir?"
+
+"Church of England--they father queer birds like you."
+
+"Now, your father and mother?"
+
+"None."
+
+"How's that?"
+
+"I was found as a kid on the Woolamaloo Road, with a newspaper for a
+bellyband and a rubber tit in my mouth.  The old woman who found me
+said I dropped from heaven."
+
+"The other's the most likely place.  Now, sign.
+
+"Right!  Next."
+
+Paddy Doolan described himself as an Irishman, born in Kerry, and an
+egg-merchant by trade.
+
+"Your religion?" asked Sam.
+
+"Sure, I'm a Catholic."
+
+"When were you at Confession last?"
+
+"It's a long time now, yer riverance; but if yis'll lend me a pound
+I'll have something worth confessing by early Mass to-morrow."
+
+"_Your_ name, now?"
+
+"Sandy Brown."
+
+"Where from?"
+
+"Glesca, sir."
+
+"Where's Glesca?"
+
+"The place whaur they mak' gunboats an' bailies."
+
+"Trade?"
+
+"Coal merchant--I mean stoker."
+
+"Married?"
+
+"Often."
+
+A few more questions settled Sandy.  Then Claud came forward, adjusting
+his eyeglass.
+
+"Better take that window out of your face, young fellow.  What's your
+name?"
+
+"Claud Dufair."
+
+"Father?"
+
+"Lord Dufair."
+
+"You're the goods, young fellow.  Now, do you think you can stand up to
+me for five rounds?"
+
+"Boxing's a beastly bore, sir; but I would have a go--certainly."
+
+"Right!  I'll make you corporal.  We've need of your brains.  By the
+way, why did you leave home--women and wine, eh?"
+
+"Well--yes, sir."
+
+"Human failing--we're all like that," soliloquised Sam, who had been
+one of the lads in his day.  "Now, boys, about turn, and off for your
+uniform--good day."
+
+"Good day, sir," replied the four, attempting to salute.
+
+"Good lads--good lads!" muttered Sam to himself as they stumbled
+through the door.
+
+Three days afterwards Sam had his thousand men.  He quartered them in
+tents, selected some old soldiers for instructors, and commenced to
+train for war.  Sergeant-Major Jones, an ex-Imperial Army man, was the
+terror of the show.  This warrant officer realised what he was up
+against--a thousand rebels against convention, hypocrisies, and shams.
+They called a spade a spade.  "Red tape" they cursed, and stupid
+officialdom they loathed.  They were freemen, Bohemians of the plains.
+In the Bush they had learned to fight, cook, scheme, and generally look
+after themselves.  Pioneers of the toughest kind.  The type that has
+made our Empire what it is to-day.  In drink they were like savages,
+ready to shoot the men they hated, ready to give a drunken embrace to
+the men they liked and respected.
+
+And few of them were fools.  Many could rip off Shakespeare by the
+yard; others could recite, in a feeling way, the best of Byron,
+Tennyson, Kipling, and Burns.  The lonely plains and self-communion had
+given each a soul.  Indeed, they were the oddest bunch of daring,
+devilry, romance, and villainy that had ever gathered for war.  For
+such men there is only one type of leader, that is--the gentleman.  Not
+the gentleman who says, "Please," like a drawing-room lady; but the
+gentleman who says, "Come on, boys--here's a job," in a kindly, but
+firm manner, with that touch of authority in the words which spells the
+master and the man, and reveals to the skunk that if he refuses a great
+fist will crack right under his chin and lay him out.  Sergeant-Major
+Jones was, therefore, the gentleman required.  He represented the
+finest virtues of the British N.C.O.--a class which has made the
+British Army what it is to-day, and a class meanly paid and shockingly
+neglected by the Governments of the past.
+
+Sergeant-Major Jones had a breast of medals.  He knew his job.  Now
+that was important to these Australians.  Australians are always up
+against what they call "the imported man."  But if the imported man is
+what they call "a good fellow," and knows his job better than they do,
+they are fair enough to shake him by the hand and call him "friend."
+And the sergeant-major knew that he had to find an opportunity in the
+first week to show that he _was_ the sergeant-major and that they were
+there to be disciplined.  The opportunity came on the third day.  A
+weak-looking sergeant, with a shrill, piping voice, was moving a squad
+up and down.
+
+"Left--rights-left----  Stop  your  talking, Private Grouse," he
+shouted to a tall, burly-built and dour-looking man in his squad.
+
+"Wot the deuce are you chippin' at?"
+
+"Hold your tongue."
+
+"Swank," replied the insolent man.
+
+Sergeant-Major Jones heard him.  "Halt!" he bellowed to the squad.
+
+"Now, young fellow, what do you mean?"
+
+"Just 'aving a little lark, major," he answered casually.
+
+"Stand to attention, and 'sir' me when you speak."
+
+"You'll make us laugh," said the man in a familiar way.  The other
+Bushmen craned their necks.  They were interested.  They knew that
+Grouse had gone over the score, and they waited to see the stuff that
+the sergeant-major was made of.  It was, in fact, the psychological
+moment which makes or mars the reputation of a sergeant-major in such a
+corps.  The sergeant-major knew it.
+
+"Look here, young man, I make great allowance for inexperience, for
+none of you have been soldiers before, but I make no allowance for
+insolence.  Take off your coat."
+
+"What!"
+
+"Take off your coat," said the sergeant-major with emphasis, at the
+same time throwing off his own.  The man followed suit.
+
+"Now step out here, and we'll decide who's going to run this show."
+
+Then the unexpected happened.  The man shoved out his hand.  "Shake,
+sir; you're a good fellow.  I'm afeard of no man, but I won't fight
+you, for I'm in the wrong."
+
+"Well, you're a man, anyway," said Jones, shaking him cordially by the
+hand, while the whole squad gave out a thrilling cheer.
+
+Colonel Sam Killem had watched it all from the corner of the parade
+ground.  For him it was an anxious moment.  He was a broad-minded
+Australian who realised the need of experienced Britishers like Jones
+for the training of his men.  But he was also aware of the national
+prejudice against the imported man.  If Jones had adopted the usual way
+in the British regiment, that is, clapping the offender in the guard
+room and formally charging him with "insubordination in the ranks," Sam
+knew that his prestige as a sergeant-major would have dropped fifty per
+cent.  However, he was well pleased to see him handle the man in the
+Australian manner.
+
+"Made good that time, Jones," said the colonel with a dry grin as the
+sergeant-major came forward.
+
+"That's the only way with these men, sir."
+
+"Glad you know it.  By the way, I know that man.  He half killed one of
+the Mounted Police two years ago.  He's three-quarters blackguard and
+one-quarter of a good fellow; but we'll make a man of him.  Put him in
+orders to-night for the lance stripe.  I always believe in making
+N.C.O.'s out of these rascals."
+
+"Splendid idea, sir," said the sergeant-major, saluting and falling out.
+
+Next day Lance-Corporal Grouse commenced a new career--that of a
+gallant soldier and an Australian gentleman.
+
+Another interesting incident occurred during the training.  Side by
+side with the Kangaroo Marines lay the Melbourne Nuts, a battalion of
+superior persons.  You see, the Kangaroo Marines were nominally a
+Sydney crowd.  Therefore the Melbourne boys showered on them all the
+envy which Melbourne has for Sydney.  To understand this point
+thoroughly you must have lived in Australia.  Between Melbourne and
+Sydney there exists a feud as fierce as an Italian vendetta.  This
+animosity crystallises the more general hatred of the respective
+States--Victoria and New South Wales.  Both sides think they are the
+Lord's Anointed.  A Governor-General in any speech must be careful to
+whitewash both States with the same degree of eyewash.  Friendships,
+fortunes, and reputations have been lost in this really amusing
+controversy.  Indeed, they are like the farmers of Kerry--they go to
+law if a hen roosts for a second in the enemy's barnyard.
+
+Picture the scene then--two corps side by side, and imagine the
+language.  The first trouble arose through a pioneer of the Kangaroos
+dropping a shovelful of dirt in the lines of the Melbourne men.  The
+offender was Bill Buster.
+
+"Get out of this, ye Sydney rattlesnake," chirped a youth, looking out
+of his tent.
+
+"Worm!" exclaimed Bill contemptuously.
+
+"Ye dirty-necked beachcomber, I'll split yer pumpkin head."
+
+"Take that," shouted Bill, throwing a shovelful of manure into the tent
+of his aggressor.  Honour, of course, had to be satisfied after that.
+The Melbourne man got a broken nose, and Bill had two lovely black eyes.
+
+Both regiments decided to have revenge, and, for that purpose, secret
+meetings were called.  The Melbourne boys decided to leave their
+affairs in the hands of Happy Harry, a local comedian.  He was given
+liberty to spend anything up to twenty pounds on a scheme of revenge.
+In the case of the Kangaroos it was decided by ballot that Bill would
+plan out something to stagger the Melbourne crowd.  Meantime, armed
+neutrality reigned; yet the air seemed charged with the spirit of
+friction and the feeling of secret preparation.  Remarkable to relate,
+both schemes panned out on the morning of the same day.  The Melbourne
+Nuts woke up to see, in great, black, varnished letters, across their
+huge dining-tent, the following:
+
+           MELBOURNE
+             IS A
+         ONE-EYED TOWN
+            FULL OF
+       SNIVELLING SNOBS,
+  PAWNSHOPS, AND GROG SALOONS.
+
+
+This was a good stroke for the Sydney men, but the Melbourne men had,
+also, a neat revenge.  That morning, an old broken-down donkey was
+found wandering in the Kangaroos' lines, with placards flapping at his
+sides, on which the Sydney men saw:
+
+   THIS IS THE FATHER
+     OF SYDNEY AND
+  THE KANGAROO MARINES.
+
+
+The battle of wits was a drawn affair.  But, that night, more trouble
+ensued.  While the famous quartette were casually strolling through the
+town a Melbourne man jostled Sandy.
+
+"Wha are ye pushin'?" he inquired.
+
+"I'll push yer face for you--you bag of haggis," replied the cool
+Melbourne lad.
+
+"Ye daur meddle wi' me," said Sandy, leering at him, for he had tasted
+deep of the national fluid.  "Hit me!" he roared, baring his chest
+towards his aggressor.  "Ma fit is on ma native heath, an' ma name's
+M'Greegor," continued the fierce, red-whiskered Scot.
+
+"Here's one for you, M'Greegor!"  And the Melbourne man let fly.  Poor
+Sandy, he buckled up and fell gasping to the ground.  Bill now set to,
+but in a minute he, Claud, and Paddy were surrounded by a gang of
+Melbourne hands.
+
+"Ye miserable spalpeens," said Paddy, laying to with a great big stick,
+and between times whipping the treasures from the pockets of fallen
+men.  Claud had his monocle smashed and his nose burst, while poor old
+Bill was severely winded just as reinforcements arrived from the
+Kangaroos.  It was a bloody combat.  Indeed, it might have been a
+serious riot had Sam Killem not doubled up a company with buckets of
+water to throw over the antagonists.
+
+Then the bugle call to assembly ended the first and last fight between
+these two corps.  Afterwards they were loyal friends, and, in action,
+died nobly side by side.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE LAND OF SIN
+
+Egypt is the land of heroes and engineers--also the land of mystery,
+the abode of intrigue, the cockpit of puerile nationalism, and the soul
+of all things topsy-turvy and contrary.  It is a land for a brave
+soldier, a skilful engineer, or the tourist in search of Rameses'
+shin-bones.
+
+It is a country wet with British blood and paved with British gold.
+The noblest things in Egypt are British; the vilest are the products of
+aliens who have dodged justice and cleanness through the vagaries of
+"The Capitulations" (an international treaty which makes John Bull pay
+for the privilege of entertaining alien murderers, white slavers,
+forgers, assassins, corrupt financiers, and legal twisters).  But it is
+a land worth holding, not so much for any riches it may possess, but
+for the Suez Canal, which links us to our Indian Empire.
+
+The Egyptians, on the whole, are an industrious and harmless people.
+For centuries they have been slaves to Greeks, Romans, Persians, Turks,
+and Crusaders from every land.  They have been doomed to serve because
+of their inability to lead and control.  They are content to serve so
+long as justice reigns.  Egypt to-day is better governed, more
+prosperous, happier than it has ever been in its history.   Cromer,
+Kitchener, the Tommy, the Engineer, and the men of the "Egyptian Civil"
+have given their noblest efforts to crush corruption, to kill decay, to
+make the native full-fed and serene.
+
+Discontent in Egypt is the work of a few who have cast off their native
+garments, donned the clothes of the Westerner, and acquired a
+smattering of things.  A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.  These
+young _effendis_ are the fools who would step where angels fear to
+tread.  These malcontents spurred and led Arabi Pasha (a true patriot)
+to his doom.  The self-same type have recently sent a Khedive into
+shame and exile.  These so-called "Nationalists" were the willing tools
+of German and Austrian agents who aimed at capturing Egypt and
+dominating the route to India.  Before the war there was a German spy
+in every town from Alexandria to Khartoum.  These spies even supped at
+the table of the late Khedive.  While they went their way they smiled
+and called us fools.  Eagerly they lived for the day when Enver Pasha
+(the well-paid Moslem adventurer) would lead his deluded Turks against
+the British host.
+
+The great dream of the Khedive, his Nationalists and German agents
+failed because of the courage and shrewdness of "K" and his men.  While
+the world waited for the Holy War and the fall of Egypt, the great
+Australian host was quietly landing on Egypt's shores.  In this army
+were such men as the Kangaroo Marines--fearless, tireless, and ready
+for adventure.  The tramp, tramp of their feet made traitors shiver and
+flee; their physique, their chins, their corded arms spread over the
+Delta and the desert a sense of might and courage.
+
+"There can be no rebellion.  The Australians are too big, too strong.
+Allah is against us," said the wise men in the little hamlets by the
+Nile.
+
+"These are white men--not black," muttered an _effendi_ to his friend,
+as the Australians marched through intriguing Cairo.  Like many
+Egyptians, he had imagined Australians to be of a nigger mould.
+
+"Yes, infidels and sons of dogs," growled a priestly fanatic.
+
+"What men--what guns--Allah preserve us!" said many more who had talked
+revolution for a while.  This, truly, was a bloodless climax to the
+schemes of Germany, Turkey, and the Khedive.
+
+Along the sun-baked road to Mena marched the Australians.  They were
+treading a road made by a great Khedive for the Empress Eugenie to see
+the Pyramids in comfort.  When they halted they were beneath the shade
+of the historic piles of stones.  Napoleon's soldiers had been there,
+so had Gordon's and Kitchener's heroes.   Now these sons of the
+Motherland found themselves at the beginning of another historic
+mission.
+
+"There's been a lot of overtime on that job," said Bill Buster to his
+pals when nearing the Pyramids.
+
+"Wha built them?" inquired Sandy of Claud.
+
+"Rameses built one."
+
+"What for?"
+
+"To keep his fellows from getting tired."
+
+"Sure now," said Paddy, "there's a dog wid a woman's head."
+
+"That's a Sphinx," remarked Claud with a smile.
+
+These ancient things and the general surroundings made all open their
+eyes in wonder, and feel that there were more things on earth than
+their own little cabbage patch.
+
+They settled down quickly, and having received an enormous haul of cash
+in the form of arrears of pay, the Kangaroo Marines and every other
+corps set out on donkeys, motor-cars, cabs, camels and carts to see the
+sights of Cairo.
+
+"Gee whiz! this is some town," said Bill, on reaching the gay and
+dazzling city.  The wide streets, oriental buildings, the weird
+bazaars, gaily-lit cafes, and veiled women, amazed these simple
+Bushmen.  It was like "The Arabian Nights," wonderful, alluring,
+seductive and strange.  All were gripped by the subtle atmosphere of
+things.  Their blood tingled with the sensuous aroma of the East.
+Cheap wine in the cafes of the Greeks let the devil loose, and so they
+fell an easy prey to the lures of the bold and handsome wantons of
+Cairo.  Thus many were duped and robbed.
+
+Australians when wronged must have revenge.  An eye for an eye is the
+law of the bush.  The revenge came in an unexpected way.  In one of the
+streets where the wantons live an injustice had been done to one of the
+boys.  The exact reason was never told.  But Cairo was soon alarmed by
+the shrieks of women, the shouts of fire, and the galloping of mounted
+police.  Through the glare and smoke could be seen a little army of men
+wreaking revenge.  Windows were being smashed, a piano was crashed from
+above to the ground, doors were torn down, crockery clattered into the
+street.
+
+"Allah!  Allah!  Save us, save us!  The mad Australians!  The mad
+Australians!" cried the cowardly _effendis_ as they fled.
+
+"Help!  Help!" screamed the wantons, as they ran like maddened hares.
+But the wrecking went on, despite the charging pickets and hoarse
+commands from officers and police.
+
+"Here's the fire brigade, boys, capture them," yelled a great hulking
+fellow.  And they did.  With a wild haloo, they captured the engines,
+cut the pipes, and terrified the poor gippy firemen out of their lives.
+It was an ugly time.  And the riot was only quelled by armed pickets
+sent from other corps.
+
+"It's a great pity we interfered at all," said a Cairo dignitary that
+night.
+
+"Why?" inquired his friend.
+
+"They would have burned the whole dirty place down, and that would have
+been the greatest blessing to Cairo."
+
+"Then you don't blame them?"
+
+"No.  I think Cairo has been cursed with the vilest creatures God ever
+made.  Yes, I admit, the Capitulations have hitherto tied our hands.
+Thank Heaven Egypt is now a Protectorate.  We can clean out these
+filthy dens after the war."
+
+"Yes, it is a queer hole, but East is East, and West is West, and never
+the twain shall meet," chipped in another member of the club.  "It's a
+wonder they didn't kill that fellow Hassein."
+
+"Who's he?"
+
+"A rotter who dresses as a woman and runs a crowd of white slaves.
+And, by Jove! he looks like a woman too--all scented and faked."
+
+"Oh, he's a law-abiding merchant of sin," said a gippy officer.
+"There's a worse person than he here."
+
+"Who's that?"
+
+"Madame Mysterious, who owns dozens of these low shows in Cairo."
+
+"Isn't that the woman who used to buy and sell wives to the rich
+_effendis_ and gippy _pashas_?"
+
+"The same.  That old Pasha down near Alex is one of her patrons.  He's
+a proper old rascal.  Do you know that he has got women in his harem
+who have been educated in some of our greatest schools in England?"
+
+"Not English women, surely?"
+
+"No.  Gippy girls, daughters of rich fellows."
+
+"And why shouldn't he?" interjected an old gippy warrior who defended
+the customs of the East.  "We have no right to force our Western morals
+down an Oriental's throat.  It is easy to be a moralist in a freezing
+climate like ours.  The snow makes for virtue; the sun always warps
+morality.  The harem is as ancient as the sun.  And the harem will
+remain.  It's no good of you fellows hoping to alter it.  And, after
+all, the Oriental is, at least, honest.  He has a harem, the world
+knows he has a harem.  He is not ashamed of the fact.  But what of our
+Mayfair bloods, who have their secret 'wives,' and who hunt everybody
+else's wife.  The Oriental is straight about it--we Westerners are
+hypocritical."
+
+"I offer no defence of the harem," said a doctor, "but I've found it a
+mighty interesting place when visiting there in a professional
+capacity.  Do you fellows know that I have met some of the most
+intellectual women there.  Strange to say, they like the life.  And,
+after all, they are well cared for.  They have money--heaps of
+it--beautiful clothes, lovely rooms, servants, carriages, and motors.
+They see everything, they do almost everything, and since the
+revolution in Turkey they have had greater freedom.  Why, they travel
+abroad now without their eunuchs.  What more does a woman want?  Money,
+clothes and comfort are everything to an Easterner.  In my humble
+opinion there is no virtue in an eastern climate.  There can never be."
+
+"We've got off the track altogether," said the father of this
+discussion.  "I am liberal-minded so far as the Egyptians are
+concerned.  In their own way they are virtuous.  And I agree that it is
+ridiculous to suggest that we should interfere with any of their social
+or religious arrangements.  But this riot has again proved to us that
+Cairo is a pretty rotten show.  We ought to clean it up, and we shall
+do so after the war.  It will pay us.  Let us make Cairo a cleaner and
+more charming place.  It means health and business to the community.
+Why should Cairo be the cesspool of European iniquity?  Personally, as
+I said before, I'm very sorry the Australians did not burn the whole of
+that rotten quarter down."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+TREASURE TROVE
+
+"Look here, men," said Colonel Killem, "I want to talk to you about
+some interesting things, especially your conduct towards Mohammedans.
+First of all, Doolan, tell me what a Mohammedan means?"
+
+"Sure, sir, it manes a nigger who jabbers 'Allah' when yis put a
+bayonet in his guts."
+
+"Not exactly; but what would you shout if you got a bayonet in your
+tummy."
+
+"A gill of the best, sir."
+
+"Well, now, a Mohammedan's a sort of eastern fanatic who thinks he'll
+get a 'corner lot' in Paradise if he reads the Koran and dies on the
+edge of your bayonets.  Mecca is his holy shrine, and the old Sultan
+acts as a sort of elder or high priest who takes up the collections.
+We meet 'em ourselves--religious beggars who're always passing round
+the hat for ninepence to make up another shilling.  Religion is always
+an expensive business, except in Scotland, where you get free seats to
+support the Kirk and Government.  Isn't that so, Brown?"
+
+"Jist in the Auld Kirk, sir, but I belang tae the Wee Frees."
+
+"Who are the Wee Frees?"
+
+"The Wee Frees were started by a lot o' Hielan-men oot o' a job."
+
+"What were they after?"
+
+"Deevidends, sir."
+
+The Colonel grinned.  Continuing, he said, "Now, men, these Mohammedans
+are very touchy.  You've got to be careful how you treat them.  For
+example, their headgear is sacred.  Don't touch it.  And when you get a
+little of home-brewed Scotch into you, don't knock their head-dress
+off.  They'll probably knife you.  It isn't a pleasant thing to get a
+rusty blade stuck into your kidneys.  Bad for the health, I assure you.
+
+"Tell me something else you must not do?" inquired the Colonel,
+assuming the role of regimental schoolmaster.
+
+"They hate pigs, sir," said Sandy Brown.  "When I wis a stoker on a
+ship gaun East I flung a bit o' fried pork at a coolie.  He nearly
+knocked ma lichts oot wi' a big hammer."
+
+"Yes, pigs are regarded by these fellows as unclean beasts.  To offer
+them pork is, as Brown says, a great insult, so be careful of that.
+Another important point is his carpet.  This is sacred.  He kneels on
+that and offers up his prayers to Allah.  When you walk into his house,
+don't wipe your feet and spit on it.  Give him a chance to remove it.
+Can anyone tell me what those buildings in Cairo are with the big domes
+on them?"
+
+"Harems," piped Bill.
+
+"Chapels," said Doolan.
+
+"No, they are called mosques, or temples.  Watch what you do there.
+Mohammedans always take off their shoes before entering.  Inside is
+holy ground.  If you go into them you must put a pair of shoes over
+your boots.  These are kept for the purpose.  Of course, don't walk
+away with the shoes, or there will be trouble.  I have, also, a list
+here of other things regarded as sacred either in the town or country.
+
+"Trees with rags tied to them.
+
+"Tombs.
+
+"Graveyards.
+
+"Deserted mosques.
+
+"Stones with inscriptions on them.
+
+"Fountains, and
+
+"Isolated clumps of trees on hill tops.
+
+"Be careful, now, of all these things.  They look nothing to you, but
+they are very important to them.  You see, we are all Christians--or
+supposed to be--and a Christian is regarded by them as an infidel and
+son of a dog.
+
+"Next thing is the ladies.  We all love the ladies.  What do you know
+about them?" said the Colonel, suddenly pointing to a grinning youth.
+
+"And very nice too, sir," replied this youngster.
+
+"If it wasn't for their veils," said another.
+
+"Sure, sor, they've always a big, fat nigger trotting after them,"
+remarked Doolan.
+
+"Yes, Doolan, and be very careful of the big fellow behind.  He's what
+is called a eunuch--a sort of guardian.  If you give these ladies the
+'glad eye,' or attempt to touch them, he'll probably slit your throat
+with a razor.  These women are veiled to all men except their husbands
+and nearest relations.  Many of them are harem women.  Out here, a
+native can have two or three wives and as many concubines as he likes.
+For example, the late Khedive had about a hundred women in his harem,
+and they say the Sultan of Turkey has over five hundred.  Some of these
+women are very beautiful, others are quite ugly.  I heard of one man
+who followed a veiled lady for about three miles, thinking she was some
+wonderful Circassian beauty.  He managed to talk to her too, but when
+she lifted her veil he was dumbstruck.  Instead of being young and
+charming, she was old, haggard, toothless and revolting.  All is not
+gold that glitters, and beauty is not always found beneath the veil.
+
+"Yes, that reminds me, I've been hearing of one or two queer things
+which they say our fellows have been doing.  In a certain part of Cairo
+the ladies of the harems frequently ride in carriages, taking the
+evening air.  They often drive alone and use their eyes in the most
+inviting way.  Some of our boys have jumped into the carriages and had
+a most pleasant and interesting drive with these ladies.  That's risky,
+men; don't do it.  It may come off ninety-nine times out of a hundred,
+but on the hundredth occasion it may end in a knife and a bullet.  And
+quite right too.  We have no right to interfere with the preserves of
+an Egyptian Pasha.  Now I think that is all I have to say to you just
+now.  Fall out, please."
+
+When the Colonel had departed, the men formed up into little groups and
+discussed some of the points that had been raised.
+
+"Old Sam's pulling our leg a bit about these holy places.  I ain't had
+any bother, and I've found it quite a paying game digging up these old
+niggers' bones.  Look here, boys, this is what I've found," said Sambo,
+a big-boned bushman from Queensland, showing Bill and his cronies a
+handful of old coins, rings and a bracelet.
+
+"Some curios!" said Bill.
+
+"Worth money, too," remarked Sandy.
+
+"Where did you get them?" asked Claud, his interest roused in these
+wonderful old jewels of the East.
+
+"Down in the Dead City on the other side of Cairo--behind the Citadel.
+I dig them up at nights.  I can give you a cargo of shin bones and
+skulls if you want them."
+
+"Is it safe?"
+
+"I reckon so.  You see, a lot of these are ancient graves.  Nobody has
+a claim on them, so we can jump them."
+
+"Do you want some partners?" asked Claud.
+
+"Yes, a few of us could get something.  I've had my eye on an old tomb
+there for some time."
+
+"What about to-night?"
+
+"That will do.  Bring your entrenching tools in a parcel, nobody sees
+them.  We can get an old cab or motor to go in."
+
+"Right-ho!" agreed Claud, who also arranged with Paddy, Bill and Sandy
+to form part of the exploring squad.  This digging for ancient
+treasures in the graves of the dead is an old game in Egypt.  It is
+comparatively safe where there are no natives with an interest in the
+business.  And it is really remarkable what interesting finds are made.
+Rings, bangles, necklaces, brassware, beads, and jewels are often found
+in these old graveyards.
+
+The route to this particular place lay through Cairo.  It was already
+dark when they started on a rattling old motor-car.  Down the Mena Road
+they were whirled into the dazzling streets.  The traffic sent the car
+slower through a long, narrow native quarter.  This was lined with
+dirty shops, selling everything, from mouldy Turkish delight to
+poisonous-looking firewater called native wine.  At the door of these
+places the proud owners lounged on chairs or squatted on the ground,
+haggling and dealing with the _fellah_ (the peasant Egyptian, and the
+finest type in Egypt).  In Egypt everybody is in business.  You can
+find merchants dealing in broken bottles, merchants in discarded
+"fags," merchants in the manure from the streets, merchants in rags and
+bones, egg shells and cabbage stalks.  They'll do anything but work.
+Work to an Easterner is designed for women and oxen.
+
+Leaving the lighted streets behind, the motor at length turned round
+into a long, darkened road.
+
+"This is the show," said Sambo, pointing to a wide field of little
+domes, tombs, and broken-down buildings just visible in the murky light.
+
+"It's a gey queer place," said Sandy, with a tremor in his voice.
+
+"It is, and there's sure to be ghosts in this ould world?" muttered
+Mick, crossing himself.
+
+"There's diamonds, too--and tons of gold," remarked Claud.
+
+"Paddy, you'll be a rich man after to-night," laughed Sambo.
+
+"If I'm not a dead wan," said the Irishman, who, for the moment had
+become seized with a dread of the supernatural.
+
+"Well, boys, here we are!" exclaimed the leader of the party as they
+neared a dark bend of the road.  "Jump out!"  The car was backed out of
+sight, and the driver told to wait.
+
+"This way," and into the darkness plunged the Queenslander.  They
+followed close at his heels, stumbling over graves, stones and old
+enclosures.
+
+"What's that?" screamed Paddy, as he kicked a white-looking thing at
+his feet.
+
+"It's a skull, man," said Sandy, picking up the bleached headpiece of
+an ancient.
+
+"Mother of Jasus, preserve us," murmured the Irishman, crossing himself
+again.
+
+"Now, boys, here we are.  Get out your tools and start digging.  Here's
+a little torch to use, now and again, to see what you've got.  You
+fellows can pan out this show here, I'm going over a bit to do some
+prospecting."
+
+"Right you are, I'll run this bit of the business," said Claud, as the
+Queenslander went off into the darkness.   For a long time they picked
+and shovelled out the soft brown earth.
+
+"What's this?" whispered Sandy, holding something in his hand.  Claud
+switched the light on.
+
+"It's a shin bone."
+
+"Here's the goods," shouted Bill, holding up a bracelet crusted with
+earth and mildew.
+
+"It's gold, too," said Claud, fingering it.
+
+"And here's some quids," Paddy said, spreading some coins out in his
+hand.
+
+"Coppers, you mean."
+
+Resuming their task, they soon collected skulls, shin bones, thigh
+bones, some old brassware, a ring, some coppers, and many other things
+of an Eastern kind.
+
+"Wonderful!  Wonderful!" soliloquised Claud, as he occasionally
+surveyed the finds with the aid of his monocle and flash lamp.  But the
+greatest find was a large brass urn of beautiful workmanship.
+
+"Looks like old Rameses' whisky jar," said Bill, turning the urn round
+under the light of the lamp.
+
+Things were really going well till the Irishman happened to look up.
+His eyes at once caught a moving spectre of white advancing slowly
+towards them.
+
+"Holy Mary, there's a ghost," said he, crossing himself and gripping
+Claud by the arm.  They all looked up, and, sure enough, there was
+something white and weird moving slowly across the plain of the dead.
+Their eyes riveted on it.  Paddy muttered a prayer; Bill eloquently
+wondered what the white thing was; Sandy, remarkably cool, picked up
+the bracelet, coins and other trinkets and placed them in his pocket.
+He did this, as he explained afterwards, "in case the ghost wid get
+them."
+
+"It's mighty funny," muttered Claud, frequently adjusting his eyeglass
+to see the dread apparition more clearly.
+
+"It's a ghost, boys, I tell ye.  My ould father has seen them when he
+lived in Kerry.  Heaven preserve us!" he ejaculated, crossing himself
+for about the fiftieth time.
+
+"Ghost or no ghost, Paddy Doolan, I'm going after it," Bill said.
+Quietly picking up his tool, he walked forward to the weird, white
+thing still advancing.  He reached it, then turned with it towards the
+crouching grave wreckers.  Halting about ten yards from them, Bill
+shouted, "Paddy Doolan."
+
+"Yis, Bill," was the timorous reply.
+
+"It's an Irish ghost--a Kerry one."
+
+"What is it?" said Claud, rising and shaking off the supernatural fear
+which had held him for a moment.
+
+"It's a white donkey on the loose," answered Bill, bursting into
+laughter.  Paddy recovered instantly and joined with the others in the
+admiration of the innocent ass which had strayed from its usual haunts.
+After sniffing its new-found friends, the donkey let out a terrible
+bray, flung up its heels and departed into the night.
+
+They recommenced their digging operations; so engrossed were they with
+their discoveries that they did not hear the approach of some
+chattering natives.  These dusky gents were within fifty yards of them
+when Bill whispered, "Keep still--lie down."  They obeyed, and lying
+flat on the ground saw some Arabs go by.  They could just see their
+figures against the sky, and had time to note that they carried shovels.
+
+"On the same game," whispered Bill.
+
+"Yes," said Claud, "I believe they make a speciality of digging up
+these dead folks.   Glad they weren't Kerry ghosts, anyway."
+
+"Be aisy, boys, you'll meet a ghost yet before ye die."
+
+The work was resumed once more.  About 2 A.M., when all thought they
+had had enough of this body-snatching, they were startled with the cry
+of, "Help, boys!  Help!  They're killing me."
+
+"By Jove!  That's the Queenslander.  These niggers are at him.  Come
+on, boys," shouted Claud, lifting his entrenching tool and running
+towards the place from whence came the cry for help.
+
+"Help!  Help!" rang out the cry again, this time it was more muffled
+and weak.
+
+"Where are you, Sambo?"
+
+"In here," came a faint reply.
+
+The sound came from a square building, the door of which was open.
+Claud dashed in, flashing his light as he went.  Turning a corner, he
+was amazed by a strange and striking spectacle.
+
+Sambo lay struggling and kicking surrounded by four great hulking
+Arabs, who had been beating, kicking and biting him in a furious
+struggle.  The faces of all were bleeding and bruised, and blood was
+splashed over the white sort of overall that the natives wear.  To the
+left of Sambo Claud saw an open tomb.  Inside he could just see a kind
+of coffin arrangement, and on the ground, near at hand, the most varied
+collection of brass and other beautiful Eastern wares.  This was the
+cause of the bother.
+
+Crack! went Claud's fist into the eyes of the nearest Arab.
+
+"Take that, ye son of a sea cook," chimed in Bill, giving another the
+knock-out blow.
+
+"Here's one from Paddy Doolan," shouted the Hibernian as he, too, hit
+his man.  The fourth one was dealt with by Claud.  With shrieks and
+yells of "Allah, Allah!" the Arabs turned, and, jumping a low wall,
+fled off into the night.  Sambo was at once released.  Meantime, Sandy,
+as the unofficial cashier of the expedition, made an inventory of the
+treasure trove.  It appears that Sambo had scented out in a strange way
+a very ancient and dilapidated tomb, which these Arab robbers had
+intended to despoil at the same time.
+
+"Here, boys," said Sandy, "it's time we were hame.  I've had enough o'
+skulls, shin banes and brass beer bottles."
+
+"An' I've had enough of ghosts," growled Paddy, as they staggered down
+the road with their load of curios.  The car whisked them back to Mena
+Camp again.  Stealthily creeping through the lines, they arrived at
+their tents.  All crept to bed, weary and wiser men.  Claud was the
+last one to fall asleep.  He was thinking of Sybil, the girl from the
+Bush.  At last Morpheus claimed him.  As he was slipping away into the
+dreamy unknown he heard Doolan muttering, "Ghosts!  Be Jasus!  Ghosts!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+SYBIL, THE SQUATTER'S GIRL
+
+"By Jove!  What a stunning girl.  She's a peach!" whispered a Yeomanry
+subaltern to his Australian friend as a beautiful girl entered the
+spacious dining-room of Shepheard's Hotel in Cairo.
+
+"Why, that's Sybil Graham--haven't seen her since she was a kid.  My
+word, she is a beauty now," said the Australian officer.
+
+"Who is she?"
+
+"One of our squatter's girls.  That's her father and mother with her.
+They've got miles of land, plenty of sheep and heaps of tin.  He'll be
+a lucky fellow who gets her."
+
+"You know, old chap, I never thought you produced women like that in
+Australia.  No offence, you know.  What I really mean is that the sun,
+the want of what we call society, and the lack of cultured institutions
+such as we have at home, must be a great handicap in bringing up a
+girl."
+
+"Young man, you're talking through your hat," was the blunt reply.  "We
+have ladies in Australia just as we have at home.  And can you guess
+what we haven't got?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Snobs!  No time for all your damned conventions--'At Home' scandals
+and Society calls.  These girls of the bush are natural, jolly,
+unconventional, but not loose.  So far and no farther is their attitude
+to mankind.  And they've got an independence of character which knocks
+you fellows sick when you meet them.  They don't want any of these
+insidious palavers and hollow attentions, and they'll tell a man pretty
+quick what they think.  My word! can't they choke a Johnny off."
+
+"But, my dear fellow, all my friends who have visited Australia say
+they haven't got manners, and all have a cockney twang.  When they open
+their mouths they always spoil the picture."
+
+"I expect your friends have been dealing with the Pitt Street toughs or
+Manly larrikins.  By the way you speak, I don't suppose they have ever
+been in the bush or visited some of our squatters' homes.  Do you know
+that some of these squatters are descendants of some of the finest
+families in England.  Apart from that, you will find better ladies on a
+squatter's veranda than you will in Park Lane.  I have been in London,
+young fellow; in fact, I'm English, although I've been a long time in
+Australia.  So don't say I'm biased.  But I am speaking from an
+intimate knowledge of the people--not from a superficial glance which a
+hen-brained tourist gets.  It isn't affectation, trinkets, dresses and
+a Society drawl that makes a lady.  That's your standard.  Society at
+home--at least, in certain circles, is the most hollow and unhappy
+creation I know.  Everyone is in it, because they've got to be, but
+every real white man or woman knows that it's the rottenest show on
+earth.  We don't stand for all that sort of thing out there.  They
+accept folks for what they are worth--I mean, if a person is decent,
+law-abiding, cheerful and ambitious, the door of the Premier, squatter
+and merchant is open to him."
+
+"Look here, old chap, you can't chuck convention overboard entirely;
+it's impossible."
+
+"Rot!  You speak as if Australia was a primitive land, without schools
+and culture.  You're entirely mistaken.  We can educate and create a
+most charming and distinctive type.  I grant you that some of our
+people may be narrow-visioned and have one-eyed views.  I admit you
+will find a few folks who think Britain is a land of peers, publicans
+and paupers.  But haven't you got in Britain the same narrow folks, the
+same crude, ill-informed men and women who ignorantly air their views
+to the disgust of every Colonial?"
+
+"Yes, there's something in that, I agree.  We have got them, but I've
+heard Australian officers talk as if Australia was the only place on
+God's earth," the subaltern ejaculated a little warmly.
+
+"You condemn a nation for a few.  Young man, you haven't travelled far
+enough.  And you make me tired to hear you talk in that way.  You're a
+nice fellow spoiled, I reckon.  Why, where I live there's dozens of
+English public school men working as cockies and jackaroos.  They
+wouldn't go back home if you paid them.  They like the life.  Everybody
+makes them at home, and many of them have married our Australian girls.
+These women can milk, bake, ride, drive, sew and rear the most charming
+children.  And they can meet you in a drawing-room with a natural grace
+that is their own.  Intellectually, too, they are pleasant to meet, for
+the loneliness has given them time to think and read.  Look at that
+girl there, doesn't she look a lady?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Isn't she absolutely perfect?"
+
+"Well, yes."
+
+"Does her dress fit?"
+
+"Decidedly."
+
+"Do you think her table manners are awkward?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Isn't there something easy and natural, no false pose, a sort of
+innate grace of mind and body?"
+
+"Certainly, but is this not some strange exception, just as you find in
+many parts?"
+
+"No, my boy.  You still seem to be unconvinced.  Hang it all, there's
+only one way to convince you.  As they are rising from the table now,
+get up and I'll introduce you."
+
+"Hallo, Sybil, how are you?" said the Australian officer going forward.
+
+"What--Jack Gordon!" she said, shaking hands.  "I haven't seen you
+since I was at school."
+
+"How do, Jack?" said old Graham, in his blunt way.  Then Mrs. Graham
+accorded him the same warm welcome.
+
+"Let me introduce Lieutenant Gore-Jones of the Yeomanry.  Take him in
+hand, Sybil.  He's a good fellow spoiled."
+
+"All right, Jack," said Sybil, smiling, and stepping towards the wide
+veranda with her new-found friend.  Gordon remained behind with the
+parents to talk of old times.
+
+"This _is_ a pleasure," said Jones as they sat down.  "I never thought
+of meeting such a charming person from down under."
+
+Sybil frowned a little, then looking straight into his eyes said, "I
+don't like honey, Mr. Jones, it's too sweet, and sweet things are often
+sickly."
+
+"I--I--I beg your pardon," he stammered, blushing a little.
+
+"I'm afraid you expected to meet an aborigine, didn't you?" she said
+more kindly, remembering the cue she had received from Jack Gordon.
+
+"Not exactly--I'm afraid I have not met any Australians except the
+troops."
+
+"And what do you think of them?  I'm rather interested, and like other
+people's views."
+
+"You're not super-sensitive, I hope," he remarked, "because some of
+your fellows seem to be awfully touchy."
+
+"Many Australians are; I'm not, now go on."
+
+"Well, I like your men for their wonderful physique.  They are as tough
+as the oldest soldiers.  But they're not very respectful, you know.  I
+mean, they don't salute; they stalk past with an air of equality and
+even contempt.  That's a bad sign in a soldier."
+
+"Yes?" said Sybil, daintily lighting a neat cigarette and settling down
+in her cosy chair.
+
+"The officers, I hear, are excellent leaders, but, somehow, they don't
+quite look the part--sort of mixed, don't you know.  Somehow, their
+build and clothes don't give them that distinctive touch which is the
+hall-mark of the British officer.  I suppose it's really a question of
+breeding.  They say in England it takes five generations to turn out a
+gentleman.  Americans seem the same as Australians.  In fact, I've read
+that all young and democratic countries are alike.  Don't misunderstand
+me, I'm not saying they are _not_ gentlemen.  The life, I suppose,
+knocks off the fine points."
+
+"I see," said Sybil, turning her face towards him.  "Then your
+conception of a leader is a thin-waisted, well-corseted man, all hair
+wash and side--a most perfect and arrogant dandy.  I can't believe that
+the tailor, manicurist and barber produce the leader.  And you say that
+our boys have not the fine touch about them.  Do you think that really
+counts in war?  I think a Tommy wants a man to lead him whether he
+looks a Caesar or Bill Sikes.  You really infer that the Australian
+blood is coarse and unrefined.  Is that so, Mr. Jones?"
+
+"Not exactly.  But look over there.  See these two Australian officers.
+They seem ungainly in their clothes, and, apparently, feel awkward and
+ill at ease in this show.  They don't respect the polite conventions of
+Society, and would turn the place into a sort of cowboy saloon if left
+alone."
+
+"What nonsense, Mr. Jones.  And if I didn't feel that there was a hope
+of you knowing us better, I would leave you.  What I think you are
+suffering from is the conservatism of the Britisher, a truly appalling
+defect, as well as a lack of perception.  I grant you that our
+Australian tailors are absolutely the limit in turning out a man.
+Still, I believe a man can die as gallantly in a flour sack as in a
+Bond Street khaki suit.  You say they seem ill at ease, and don't
+lounge in their chairs as if to the manner born.  You don't realise
+that these men are men of action.  Their life is spent in a hustling
+way.  They are workers, not idlers.  Anything suggestive of luxurious
+ease is interpreted by them as effeminate."
+
+Her companion made as though to speak.  But the girl went on:
+
+"Now, look here, Mr. Jones, I'll lay an even bet with you that they'll
+ride, jump and slice the lemon better than any of your troops in Cairo.
+They're practical people, not dreamers who worry about etiquette and
+the fine points.  Now just you take a good look at their faces.  You'll
+note that they're bronzed, strong, with a cleft in the chin, and a
+jaw-bone which speaks volumes.  In fact, their whole make-up suggests a
+sort of rude strength, which can face the rough and tumble of life.
+They get that from their fathers, who, like my dear old dad, were the
+pioneers of Australia.  These men landed poor and had to fight drought,
+aborigines, bushrangers, misfortune after misfortune.  They were up
+against it all the time.  They built their houses from the trees, dug
+their wells, fenced their land, scraped their pennies to get the
+shillings to buy their stock.  In the midst of success, disease often
+struck them bare.  Yet they stuck to it.  Gradually the hard times
+passed away, and to-day many are wealthy.  My dad is one.  I'm not
+proud of his money, but I am proud of the grit and courage that has
+made him rich.  These are just the qualities that the soldier must
+have."
+
+"Oh, certainly," interjected Jones, fascinated by the radiant glow on
+the animated features of this most charming girl.  His logic was being
+battered to death.  He felt his position weakening.  It began to dawn
+on him that he was a conservative Britisher, who had simply been
+uttering the parrot talk of hide-bound Tories.  "You know, Miss Graham,
+you're beginning to make me feel that I should go to Australia."
+
+"If we were there now I would just whisk you away in my car and show
+you the Bush.  I do love to convince people, especially folks from the
+old land.  Then, Mr. Jones, you would see how free, how charming life
+is in the Bush.  We have all got beautiful homes, plenty of horses,
+motors, even electric light on some of the stations.  In fact, I know
+of one old squatter who can produce a butler and footmen in breeches.
+You can have joy rides on motors, picnics miles from civilisation, and
+dances with the jolliest band of girls and boys I've seen.  Everything
+is natural, all is delightful.  I love Australia.  I'm awfully proud of
+it.  And I'm proud of those boys over there and all the others who have
+come to help the old land.  Don't judge them by trivial things, Mr.
+Jones.  If they're unconventional, and not good at saluting, they'll
+stick to any man who can lead them through.  In fact, they can fight
+just as the Tommies did at Waterloo and Mons."
+
+"Well," said Jones with a gasp, "you're an absolute revelation.  I have
+never quite met your type before."
+
+"I'm different--Australian, eh?"
+
+"And very nice too.  That's honey, as you call it.  But I have said it
+and you needn't protest," he said with boyish enthusiasm.  "Do you
+think the girls would be kind to me if I went to Australia?"
+
+"They'd spoil you; they spoil all Englishmen."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because they like them.  They don't pick holes in them as you pick
+holes in us."
+
+"I'm sorry, really I'm sorry.  I had no intention to offend."
+
+"You're a good fellow spoiled, as Jack Gordon said."
+
+"Thanks," said Mr. Jones, secretly pleased.
+
+"You know, Mr. Jones, I know a most charming Englishman.  He was our
+Jackaroo.  A public school man, he landed at our door and asked for a
+job.  He had a glass eye and insisted on wearing that and a white
+indiarubber collar when working round the show.  They ragged him, but
+he stood it all.  When they went too far he simply took off his jacket
+and punched them soft.  No matter what dirty job he got, he did it and
+never whined.  He had no airs, and never trumpeted his family lineage
+or his school.  He was just a dear, lovable English gentleman, who'd
+been a bit foolish at home.  He is here in the Australian contingent;
+in fact, he's coming to see me to-night.  Ah! here he is," she
+gleefully exclaimed, as a tall, well-built soldier, with a monocle,
+casually stepped on to the veranda.  "Come and be introduced?"
+
+"What!  To a Tommy," said the surprised subaltern.
+
+"Yes--and a _gentleman_," Sybil emphasised.
+
+"Hallo, dear boy!"
+
+"Well, Sybil, what a surprise when I got your wire."
+
+"Let me introduce Mr. Jones of the Yeomanry--Private Dufair."
+
+Claud solemnly saluted.  There was a twinkle in his eye as the
+surprised subaltern started back, exclaiming, "What--Claud Dufair?  You
+were at Rugby with me!"
+
+"The same, sir," said Claud, standing rigidly to attention, full of
+suppressed mirth.
+
+"Well, shake, old boy!  How the devil are you?  And, Tommy or no Tommy,
+you must have a bottle of fizz with me to-morrow night.  Now, I'm not
+going to spoil sport.  I've had an awful wigging from Miss Graham."
+
+"My fiancee," interjected Claud.
+
+"Lucky dog--put me down as your next-of-kin when you make your will.
+Good night."
+
+"Good night," said the happy couple, passing on to the shade of the
+palms, where they renewed that love which is mightier than the sword.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE WISDOM OF "K"
+
+It was a sweltering heat--a day to drink squash and be on a cool
+veranda.  But war has no respect for feelings or conditions, so the
+Australian, New Zealander, and Lancashire men had to hoof it across the
+sun-baked desert.  The troops were divided into three columns, each
+striking for a different point.  They were bent on a combined scheme in
+which the "General Idea," "Special Idea," and other vague military
+terms figured large.
+
+"Ain't the heat hellish?  My nose is feeling like a banana, and my
+shirt's glued to my back!  Wish I had joined the Camel Corps or Donkey
+Brigade.  Gravel crushing's no good to me," growled Bill, changing his
+rifle for the hundredth time.
+
+"We're suffering for the sins of our predecessors," remarked Claud,
+shifting his eyeglass to look at the Pyramids.
+
+"How's that?"
+
+"In South Africa the Australians went any old way.  They fought well,
+but, as Roberts said, they lacked discipline.  That's why you and I are
+here.  They're going to grind the insubordination out of us.  They'll
+march us and sweat us to death.  'Trouble maketh a strong man, Pain
+maketh a true man,' so some old wag has said."
+
+"Wish ould Kitchener had me thirst, an' this ould pack on his back,"
+growled Doolan.
+
+"Ay, an' these damnt moskeetes are ay chowin' ma face off," said Sandy.
+
+"Couldn't we have been trained in Australia instead of this confounded
+hole?" added Bill, who was in a nasty mood that day.
+
+"Too many pubs, too many ma's, and too many politicians about for
+that," Claud answered.  "Besides, Kitchener's a smart fellow.  He knows
+his job.  We're here to keep these bally niggers in order, and, at the
+same time, train for war.  You can't push it on to 'K'; he's too mighty
+quick for you an' me."
+
+"But when the blazes are we goin' to the war?  I'm thirstin' to cut
+some fellow's throat, but all I gets is march and sweat--sweat and
+march--and fourteen days C.B. if I look sideways at these officer
+blokes.  No good to me, boys.  I'm here for killin', not for road
+punchin'.  I've got a head like a barrel and feet like boiled tomatoes."
+
+"Ye shouldna' drink beer," piped Sandy.
+
+"Wot should I drink then?"
+
+"Proosic acid," Doolan muttered, giving Claud a nudge.
+
+"You've got a bad liver to-day, Bill.  I think you've been drinking the
+Gippies' firewater.  I thought the old parson had got you to sign the
+pledge."
+
+"Who could sign the pledge in an 'ole like this?  It's sand and flies,
+flies and sand, C.B., bully beef, jam, and No. 9 pills.  Wot a life!"
+concluded Bill, relapsing into silence.  They left him alone.  It was
+Bill's "off day."  He would come round again.
+
+Bill's attitude at that period of the war represented the feelings of
+many a Tommy in the Australian and New Zealand forces.  These men,
+accustomed to the life of freedom, action, and the daily use of
+initiative, cursed the seemingly endless days of drill, shooting,
+marching, manoeuvring, with the firm discipline and immediate
+punishment when rules were ignored.  Eight long months of this was
+their lot, and during that time there seemed little prospect of their
+seeing war.  It was a hard test.
+
+To them it seemed a cruel test.  The younger and more inexperienced
+thought it useless and a waste of time, but the officers understood the
+reason why.  It was Kitchener's way.  "K" knew that these men were the
+finest fighters in the world.  But to get the fullest value for their
+courage he realised that training and discipline, discipline,
+discipline was absolutely essential.  Every officer of the General
+Staff expected them to curse and kick.  The Staff also assumed that, in
+the end, the Australians' true sense of justice would compel them to
+admit that all this "suffering" would make them infinitely superior to
+any Australian units which had hitherto shared in fighting for the
+Motherland.  This is exactly what did occur.  Kitchener was, therefore,
+right!  Kitchener is always right.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+The Australian column had reached its rendezvous.  While the men were
+resting, General Fearless, the Australian G.O.C., was issuing his
+orders to the Brigade Commanders.
+
+"Gentlemen," he said, "the General Idea is that the Red Force, composed
+of the Lancashire Division, holds the ridge of sand hills which
+dominate the road to Cairo.  We, who represent the Blue Force, have
+orders to make a reconnaissance in force.  That means that we must so
+manoeuvre our units as to draw the enemy's fire, and, if possible,
+reveal his position, his strength, and the weakest point in his line.
+This, let me tell you, is not exactly an offensive movement.  It is a
+drawing game.  That must be distinctly understood.  Of course, in such
+a reconnaissance, if a G.O.C. saw something which _would_ justify his
+assuming a vigorous offensive, then the game might develop into a
+general action.  That, however, is a matter for me, not for an
+individual brigadier.  Now, to-day, I want the Bushmen's Brigade to
+cover our advance, the remaining brigades will act as in my operation
+orders.  Remember, too, gentlemen, that units must keep up
+communication.  Don't let the show develop into a sort of Donnybrook,
+where each little unit is fighting for its own band.  That is all--fall
+out, please."
+
+The Brigadiers saluted, and returned to their units.  The scheme was
+again explained.  Ten minutes afterwards the brigades moved into
+position.  The Bushmen's Brigade took post away in front; in the centre
+of this front line was the Kangaroo Marines.  Covering the whole
+advance was a screen of men, and in front of the screen, little patrols
+with scouts ahead.  When all were in the position the G.O.C. signalled
+"Advance."  An army on the move is a fascinating sight.  It is like an
+octopus--the main body with a thousand tendrils, or arms, thrown out.
+These recoil as they touch the enemy, telling the brain that danger is
+near.
+
+In selecting the Bushmen's Brigade for the advanced guard, the G.O.C.
+was right.  They were born scouts, especially the Kangaroo Marines.
+These valiants wriggled, crawled, and occasionally doubled across the
+burning sands.  It was hard work--mighty hard work--but they didn't
+mind.  They were doing something useful, and as long as a Bushman is
+doing that he is all alive and interested.
+
+Bang! went a rifle ahead of them.  Bang!  Bang!  Bang! went the reply.
+The fight had commenced.  Bill, who was in command of Doolan and Sandy,
+was right ahead.  Claud was away on his right with another little
+squad.  But it was Bill's keen eyes which had first seen little groups
+of the enemy ahead.  One little group, grown tired of waiting, was
+snoozing peacefully on a sandy hollow.  Bill and his cronies crept on
+their stomachs towards them.  Nearer they drew, then, with a yell,
+leaped down on them.
+
+"Hands up, boys; we've got you."
+
+"Who are ye kiddin'?" said a Lancashire lad, jumping up with his pals.
+
+"There's no kiddin' about this business," said Bill.  "Chuck them
+rifles over here."
+
+"All right, lad; thou can 'ave 'em--give us a fag," said the leader,
+glad to be out of the hurly-burly.
+
+They were sent to the rear.
+
+Meantime, the firing had become stronger.  Away ahead, Bill's party saw
+a long line of men lying about on a ridge of sand.  They were firing
+furiously at the advancing scouts.
+
+"I reckon that's a patrol.  We'd better scatter them," ordered Bill,
+going forward in the most brazen manner to capture about twenty men.
+According to the rules of war this was impossible.  Hence the sudden
+appearance of a "Brass Hat" with a white band on his arm.
+
+"Here--you!" he shouted to Bill and his men.
+
+"Well, matey--what's wrong?"
+
+"You're out of action--clear out," said the officer, a little annoyed
+at the term "matey."
+
+"Hands up," said Bill, shoving in a round of blank and presenting his
+rifle at the man on the horse.
+
+"Confound your cheek--how dare you----"
+
+"No lip, old cock.  Get off that gee-gee."
+
+"Don't you know who I am?  I'm Colonel Redtabs----"
+
+"And I'm Bill Buster, boss of this scoutin' show.  You can't fool
+me--I'm an Australian."
+
+"Hang it all!  Don't you know I'm an umpire?"
+
+"Look here, this ain't a cricket match.  Get off, or I'll blow you
+off," said Bill, fingering his trigger.  The old colonel, realising
+that he was dealing with a too zealous scout, unacquainted with the
+rules of mimic warfare, jumped off his horse.
+
+"Now, Sandy, get on that horse."
+
+"What?" said Sandy, a little confused.
+
+"Get on that horse or I'll blow you _on_," ordered Bill, somewhat
+annoyed at the waste of time.
+
+Sandy jumped up.
+
+"Now, take this bloke back to Colonel Killem.  Tell him he's a poor
+fellow wot's wrong in his head, an' thinks he's at a cricket match."
+
+The captured umpire, who was a sportsman with a real sense of humour,
+laughed heartily as he was led away.
+
+"Knew he was mad," commented Bill, as he watched him go.  "Now, Paddy,
+that patrol has scooted; let's get after them."
+
+The attack was now well into the first stage.  The scouts of the
+Lancashires were fighting a running action with the scouts and patrols
+of the Australians.  From knoll to knoll they were pressed, both sides
+skilfully using every fold in the ground.  Bill, by this time, had
+increased his army to about twenty men.  Using the most original
+adjectives and assuming a superior air, he ordered his command about
+like some old fire-eating colonel.  His vigorous pursuit kept the enemy
+busy, but eventually they pulled him up in front of a roughly-made
+sangar.  This was a strong detached post thrown out in front of the
+outpost line.  The defenders gave his little army a fierce fusillade of
+blank.
+
+"That's up _you_, Buffalo Bill," said the mischievous Doolan.
+
+"Silence in the ranks," roared Bill, who was taking himself very
+seriously.  He carefully surveyed the position, which held fifty men.
+They were not to be moved, that was evident.  Bill determined to do so.
+
+"Fix bayonets!" he shouted.
+
+"Ain't allowed," said a stripling at his side.
+
+"Fix bayonets!" he ordered again.
+
+"I tell you it ain't allowed at these sham shows.  Colonel's orders."
+
+"Look 'ere, you take Bill Buster's orders, or you'll get a thick ear."
+That settled the matter.
+
+"Charge!" roared the leader, jumping up and leading the twenty
+full-blooded desperadoes up to the redoubt.
+
+"Halt, you fellows!  Halt!" roared a Lancashire subaltern, jumping up.
+"Are you off your bally heads?"
+
+"'Ere, mate, you're supposed to be dead," said Bill, panting and
+blowing, but holding a bayonet at his chest.  The remainder of his
+party were, meantime, tickling the fast retreating Lancashire lads with
+the points of their bayonets.
+
+"Don't you know who I am?" said the indignant subaltern.
+
+"Look 'ere, young fellow, you're supposed to be dead."
+
+"How dare you--I'm an officer!"
+
+"I'm Bill Buster.  Now will you lie down an' kid you're dead.  That's
+wot you've got to do at these shows."
+
+"Don't be a bally ass!"
+
+"All right, cocky; hand me that sword."
+
+As Bill's bayonet looked rather unpleasant, the officer complied.  Then
+Bill sat down.  Pulling a black stump of a pencil out of his pocket, he
+proceed to write a dispatch.  It was as follows:
+
+
+"DEAR CURNEL,--Paddy Doolan an' I, with twenty boys, just captured
+enemy's position.  Enemy running like blazes.  The officer bloke
+refuses to be dead.  I'm sending him to you.  We're just goin' off to
+try an' capture a general.--Yours,
+
+"BILL BUSTER."
+
+"P.S.--Did you get that mad fellow wot thinks we're playin' cricket?
+Pore chap!"
+
+
+This letter and the prisoner were dispatched under escort to Colonel
+Killem in rear.  Bill again proceeded to join the long line of scouts
+which now faced the outposts of the enemy.  This was the second stage
+of the attack.  The "screen" now came up and thickened the Australian
+line.  Many officers came with it, so Bill, without protest, vacated
+the post of "general."
+
+"Bang, bang, bang!" went the rifles.  "Z-r-r-p-rip-rip!" went the
+machine-guns, while the sullen boom of the field artillery in rear
+indicated that matters were becoming interesting.
+
+"Advance by rushes," ordered the senior Australian officer in the front
+line.
+
+"Why don't you let us give 'em the bayonet?" muttered Bill, disagreeing
+with the tactics of his superior.
+
+"Shut up," ordered an old sergeant.
+
+"All right, funny-face."
+
+"Consider yourself a prisoner," was the final word of the N.C.O. as
+they went forward on the rush.  Bill wished for more than a round of
+blank.
+
+Section after section took up a new line.  Then the rushes started
+again.  All the time the rifles were spitting out their fire.  They
+reached within fifty yards of the outpost line.  As this was simply a
+protective screen, and not the line of resistance, the enemy's outpost
+companies commenced to fade away systematically in the direction of
+their main body.
+
+"Prepare to charge," ordered the officer.
+
+"With bayonets?" queried Bill.
+
+"No," he snapped.
+
+"Wot's a bloomin' bayonet for?" asked Bill when the officer was out of
+hearing.
+
+"For openin' jam tins, ye fathead," said Paddy.
+
+"Charge!"  The long line rose like one man.  With a great cheer they
+swept away the remnants of the outpost companies and occupied the
+ridge.  This gave the Australians a complete view of the main position.
+Both flanks rested on impassable obstacles.  The front was secured by
+imaginary entanglements, backed up by a series of trenches and an array
+of Maxims and guns.  This was the information required by the
+Australian G.O.C.  The reconnaissance had served its purpose.  The
+"Assembly" was sounded, and the field day seemed done.
+
+But war is full of surprises, and it is the surprises which make or mar
+a general's name.  While General Fearless and his force were rallying
+for lunch all were suddenly surprised by a fearful roll of musketry on
+the right.
+
+"By gad, sir--we're trapped!" said the Chief of Staff, jumping up.
+"Shall I order the brigades to form to the right, and meet this attack?"
+
+"No," said Fearless, coolly eating his sandwich.  "Get me some
+information."
+
+"But they may decimate us in the meantime, sir."
+
+"Get me information, please," was the quiet and more firm command.
+
+Two aides-de-camp were sent at the gallop towards the mysterious force
+which had suddenly appeared and was furiously firing blank.  They found
+the New Zealanders pressing on in three separate lines towards them.
+
+"It's a proper trap," said one of the gallopers.  "And look to our
+rear.  There's more there.  This flank business is a feint.  They're
+trying to smash us behind, and they're 'cute enough not to fire a shot
+from that direction.  Say, Brown, gallop back and tell the general, and
+I'll try and bluff this front line here."  Away went the messenger
+while the other young staff officer galloped into the front line of New
+Zealanders.
+
+"The New Zealanders will cease fire," said the daring galloper.  His
+staff cap commanded the respect of an innocent subaltern.  He blew his
+whistle.  More whistles were heard.  In two minutes all was
+comparatively still.
+
+"You will commence firing again in fifteen minutes.  Pass it along."
+Down the line went the false order.  Smiling inwardly, the shrewd
+aide-de-camp galloped away.  Meantime the Australian G.O.C. had acted
+vigorously.  Throwing out two regiments to hold the feinting force on
+his right, he then turned the other brigades about.  These were
+deployed at the double, sent forward with a rush, and, in three
+minutes, dug shelter trenches in the sand.  They were ordered to keep
+low until the main body of the New Zealanders pressed the attack well
+home.  It was an exciting moment.  And the Maorilanders expected an
+easy win.  On they came in their long skirmishing lines.  At last they
+were within fifty yards of the hidden Australians.
+
+"Rapid fire!"
+
+Bang!  Zrrrp--Boom!  Boom!  Boom! crashed rifles, Maxims, and guns.
+The New Zealanders were startled.  Before they had recovered from their
+surprise, Fearless ordered the "Charge!"  Like deerhounds, his men rose
+up and dashed pell-mell into the panic-stricken host.  There was a
+shock, a wavering, and then a pell-mell rush to the rear.  The
+Australians had won.  They had _not_ been surprised.
+
+"Cease fire!  Sound the 'Officers' Call,'" ordered the chief umpire,
+galloping up.  From far and near came the leaders to the pow-wow.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+"Well, gentlemen," said the umpire (the Commander-in-Chief), "I've seen
+much to-day.  There has been little to deplore and a great deal to
+commend.  Throughout the whole show there has been shown skill,
+enthusiasm, and dash.  Leadership was good, communication fair, and
+nothing very rash was done.  Your eight months' training has improved
+you beyond recognition.
+
+"To-day I tested our Australian friends.  I planned to trick them, to
+throw them into confusion, and to cause a general panic by a sudden
+onslaught while they were resting and apparently finished for the day.
+The trap failed because General Fearless was cool and appreciated the
+situation.  That, to me, is an important point.  The surprises of war
+are the things which make us or break us.  Surprises in South Africa
+smashed more reputations than anything else.  It is perfectly easy at
+manoeuvres to carry out a scheme laid down.  It is not easy suddenly to
+meet a dramatic development or side issue.
+
+"Now for another point.  Our colonial friends still suffer from an
+abundance of vitality and the too daring use of the initiative.  That
+is a good fault, and yet a bad one.  In guerilla warfare it would be a
+tremendous asset.  In a concerted scheme it might prove disastrous.  No
+matter how daring and clever the individual soldier or officer, if he
+forgets that there are men, sections, regiments, and brigades to his
+right or left--if he fails to appreciate the full value of
+co-ordination and co-operation, he is a danger to himself and his
+force.  Of course, gentlemen, I fully appreciate that this charming
+recklessness of our overseas cousins is due to temperament, not to
+intent or a desire to be big at the expense of their fellows.  That is
+why we have trained you so hard.  Without any desire to give offence, I
+say boldly that the Australians and New Zealanders are an infinitely
+better trained, better disciplined, and, therefore, a more useful body
+of men than was sent by these Dominions to South Africa.
+
+"It has been a very long, weary road, gentlemen.  Your men, I am sure,
+have cursed me often.  But grousing is the privilege of the soldier.
+Indeed, I always suspect the man who doesn't grouse.  He is either too
+meek, or else he is like a Quaker--far too respectable.  And this great
+camp of ours would, indeed, be dull without the original adjectives of
+our Australasians.
+
+"That is all, gentlemen, except this--and it is important--in a few
+weeks you will be in active service.  We expect great things of the
+Australasians, the Twenty-ninth Division, and our Lancashire men; and I
+know that we shall receive of your best.  Good-day, gentlemen."  And
+off rode the handsome courtier and soldier with a rousing cheer ringing
+in his ears.  There's nothing like brains; and there's a great deal in
+tact.  Ask a colonial.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE LANDING
+
+A great convoy of transports, guarded by destroyers, ploughed silently
+through the waters which lap the European side of the Gallipoli
+Peninsula.  The ships had the Australian force on board, and the
+destroyers were there to assist them in one of the most daring missions
+in modern war.
+
+All lights were out and strict silence was observed.  Each man had,
+therefore, time to commune with the spirits of those nine thousand
+miles away.  It was not a time for the buffoon; they were faced with
+all the dread perils of war.
+
+Nearer and nearer the ships drew to their objective.  At last they
+reached the point assigned them by the Staff.  A quiet signal was
+given.  Destroyers, pinnaces, and row boats were placed at the sides of
+the transports, rough gangways thrown out, and the command to move
+quietly was passed along.  Noiselessly they stepped from the
+transports; but all the while there was an electric-like feeling around
+the heart--that peculiar something which only the soldier knows.
+However, there wasn't time to romance or moralise.  War rules out
+sentiment and fears.  There was a job to be done.
+
+When each boat was packed with its human freight, the gangways were
+slipped, cables thrown off, and all were quietly towed to the shore.
+It was still dark--one hour, in fact, before the dawn.  When close
+inshore, the hand of Providence proved kind.  This took the form of a
+strong current--so strong, in fact, that it pressed the boats away from
+the point previously assigned for the landing and washed them into a
+safer part for the historic encounter.
+
+That current saved thousands of Australian lives; indeed, it may have
+ensured the success of the mission.  Had the Australians landed at the
+point decided on, it is doubtful whether the landing would have been so
+thoroughly effective as it proved on the other beach.
+
+"Not much doing--eh?" said Colonel Killem to his adjutant as he peered
+through the darkness to the shore.  Indeed, it seemed that the enemy
+had left this shore unguarded.  But the Turks are wily soldiers.  They
+allowed the boats to near the shore, then opened up a murderous rifle
+and machine-gun fire.
+
+"Gad!  Boys, I'm hit!" said a subaltern, falling, his blood spurting in
+a stream all over his clothes.
+
+"So'm I!" said another youngster with a ping in his arm.
+
+"Holy Father, preserve us!" muttered Doolan, crossing himself, as they
+grated on the shore.
+
+"Jump, boys, jump!" shouted the colonel.  There was no need to tell
+them, no need to show the lead.  They leaped pluckily from their boats
+and dashed up the beach.  There was a pause while a few collected.
+
+Then, seeing the Turks firing furiously from a trench ahead, somebody
+yelled out, "Charge!"  A cheer electrified the chilling dawn as they
+rushed on.  Some were killed; some fell, wounded, on the way; the
+others pressed forward, their faces grim, their eyes alert, and the
+muscles of their arms all taut with the fierce gripping of the rifles
+in their hands.  It was their first charge; but they did it like the
+veterans of Corunna and Waterloo.
+
+"Allah!  Allah!" shouted the Turks as they neared the trenches.
+
+"Too late, old cock," said Bill, plunging his bayonet home.
+
+"That's one for Paddy Doolan."
+
+"Help, Paddy; this big deevil's got me," yelled Sandy, who had been
+struck by a Turk.  Crash went the Irishman's butt on the Turk's skull,
+and he fell back dead.  Sandy's wound was dressed, and he was sent to
+the rear.  Meantime some supports had come up.
+
+Seeing the Turks fleeing into another trench some fifty yards up the
+slope, the colonel ordered them to charge again.  The Australians'
+blood was up.  They had seen red and had felt success.  They wanted
+more.  Throwing off their cumbersome packs, they charged forward again.
+
+"They've got me," shouted an officer, throwing up his arms and letting
+out the awful shriek of death.  But this withering fire did not appal
+these young Australians.  The sight of their comrades, dead and
+wounded, roused them more.  Revenge set their faces hard, and with many
+a fierce and terrible oath they leaped into the second trench.
+
+"The Australians will retire," said an officer, jumping in front of the
+attacking line.
+
+"Who said so?" asked Colonel Killem, looking at the man.
+
+"I say so.  I'm one of zee Staff."
+
+"You damned German!" shouted the colonel, shooting him dead.  The game
+which had been so well played in France did not come off.
+
+The remnants of the Turks were bayoneted and butted to death; but the
+main body were fleeing up the hill.
+
+"Rapid fire!" roared the colonel; but the eager men were already after
+the enemy with the bayonet.  Up the steep, steep sides of the cliff
+they clambered and stumbled.  It was more like a race for a prize than
+a juggle with death.  Occasionally the morning light showed the red
+blood on the bayonets and hands of the charging men.
+
+These blood-stained, panting soldiers terrified the Turks at the top of
+the hill.  Their tactics had surprised them.  They had looked for the
+usual musketry assault; instead, they had received the chilling steel.
+And the bayonet on a cold morning is a sight that sickens the best.
+Furiously they pumped another dose of lead into the gallant
+Australians.  More fell dead, others dropped wounded, blood spattered
+the grass, and above the din of musketry and guns could be heard the
+cries of:
+
+"Bearers--stretcher bearers!"
+
+"Water, for God's sake!"
+
+"Send up the doctor."
+
+"I'm done, boys--I'm d-o-n-e!"
+
+The units, by this time, had become mixed.  Many officers had been
+killed.  There was that confusion which is found in all attacks.
+Still, all these men knew that "forward--forward" was the game.  The
+roughest and most daring took charge of little groups, and, with these,
+they cheered, cursed, and leaped into the trench at the edge of the
+green plateau.  Again, the main body had fled, leaving the more weary
+and stubborn to defend the hill.
+
+"Kill the beggars!"
+
+"Plug his bread-basket!"
+
+These were some of the things that were shouted, for all soldiers, in a
+charge, curse like Marlborough's troops did in Flanders.
+
+A charge seems a terrible thing when reading of it at one's fireside.
+Folks shiver and ask, "How can they do it?  Don't they feel afraid?"
+They may at the outset; but the noise, the swing, the officers'
+inspiration, the sight of blood and a fleeing foe damp down the
+sensitiveness of culture and recreate the primitive lust to kill.
+
+For the moment the man is a savage; Nature blinds him to the perils of
+wounds and death.  Duty steels him harder still, and pride of race
+tells him that he must do as his fathers did--die like a gentleman and
+a soldier.
+
+The success of the first troops inspired the following reserves.  They
+all wanted to emulate the Kangaroo Marines and other dashing corps.
+Without waiting for their complete units, these little groups crawled,
+floundered, and wriggled their way up the gully on to the hill.  It was
+now daylight.  As they gained the summit the Turks greeted them with
+terrific bursts of shrapnel and common shell.  The crack, the white
+puff of smoke, then the scattering balls of lead did not dismay these
+warriors.
+
+It roused their curiosity, and, like schoolboys, some stopped to see
+the fun of the show.  Cover they disdained.  They were too proud to
+duck and hide in a hole or trench.  This was the recklessness for which
+they had to pay.  Yet it was useful.  It taught them that to take
+advantage of all cover was the modern soldier's game.
+
+"Extend, boys, extend!" roared an officer as the reserves came up.
+They ran out and tried to make a long, rough line.  They could see the
+fleeing Turks, and behind them the Kangaroo Marines and other members
+of the first landing force.  Ahead was a little valley and then a
+slope.  This was commanded by the Turks.
+
+"Come on, boys," shouted an officer.
+
+Little groups, under subalterns, N.C.O.'s, or privates with the
+leader's instinct, dashed towards this hill.  More were killed, more
+wounded on the way; but, undaunted, they pushed on.  Up the slopes
+crawled, clambered, and cursed the dashing infantry.  They reached
+their objective, and, again, the Turks had gone.
+
+"My God--what a sight!" said Claud, looking behind.  The ground was
+dotted with dead and dying.  Wounded men crawled and limped to the
+rear, their clothes soaked in blood.  Men with limbs shattered to pulp
+lay moaning and pleading for death.  Others, slightly wounded, poured
+water down the parched throats of the suffering.  It was a shambles.
+It was war.
+
+Yet the touch of mercy and humanity was not absent.  Doctors and
+bearers, disdaining death, tended the wounded and dying.  Under a
+ruthless fire orderlies carried the sufferers down to the beach below.
+Many were killed at the job.  Nobly they stuck to it.  The heroism of
+these Red Cross men is one of the finest things in the Gaba Tepe show.
+
+The attack had now developed into a galloping pursuit.  Turks were
+demoralised, and after them went the Australians like whippets on the
+course.  There was no regular line.  Little units were here and there.
+It was the day for the born leader.  Having no precise information as
+to where the pursuit should end and a defensive line made, many pushed
+right on with a courage that was amazing.
+
+One group was caught in a gully and decimated; others, who pushed
+almost across the Peninsula, were either killed, wounded, or captured.
+The remainder, realising the need of consolidating into a general line,
+came back to the main body.  With their entrenching tools they dug
+holes in the ground, and from behind these little mounds of earth they
+kept up a steady fire.  Without rations, without water--and, at times,
+without ammunition--they patiently hung on.
+
+All this, too, in a sweltering heat and in the centre of a terrific
+bombardment.  It was the greatest trial any force could have
+experienced.  The Australians exceeded all expectations.
+
+"They're coming back again," said an officer late that afternoon.
+
+Sure enough, there was the Turkish host.  Rapid fire wiped many out;
+still on they came right up to the line.  The Australians charged.  And
+all day it was charge and counter-charge.  Officers have seldom
+displayed the tenacity and courage of these Australians' leaders.  They
+played the game as well as the scions of Eton and other historic
+schools.  And then God, in His mercy, sent down the fall of night.
+This hid the shambles, gave ease to the wounded and dying, and allowed
+the living to snatch a drink and bite.
+
+But none were idle.  On their knees, on their backs, on their sides,
+they had to dig in, for the fire was still deadly and many were being
+killed and wounded.  The sailors worked like Trojans, bringing rations,
+ammunition, and reserves ashore.  Thanks to them, the gunners, and the
+untiring zeal of the Staff, the line next day was fairly well
+established.
+
+The landing was complete; they had achieved what the Germans had
+advertised as the impossible.  Australians have, therefore, every right
+to feel proud.  And all Britishers ought to feel proud of them too.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+"Well, boys--how's things?" asked Colonel Killem, one day, when
+visiting his men in the trenches.
+
+"A1 at Lloyd's, colonel.  But I reckon we ought to pull old Johnny
+Turk's leg."
+
+"How?"
+
+"Play tricks on him.  Give a cheer an' kid we're going to charge.
+They'll fire every bally round they've got."
+
+"Good idea, Buster--good idea!  We'll do that to-night."
+
+About 8 P.M. that night the whole front line fixed bayonets and showed
+them above the parapet.  At a given signal all let out a ringing cheer.
+The poor old Turks got into an awful stew.  Machine-guns, field-guns,
+and rifles opened up a terrific fire.  They kept it up for over half an
+hour, firing thousands of rounds.
+
+"Another cheer, boys," ordered the colonel.
+
+"Bang!  Bang!  Bang!" went the Turks again.  The ruse was a splendid
+one.  But the wily Turk tumbled to the game at last.
+
+"We'll need to get something new, boys; that game's played out," said
+the colonel next day.
+
+After consulting his men they hit on another scheme.  About twenty men
+were ordered to fix bayonets and continually pass along the line,
+allowing their bayonets to show above the parapet as they marched along.
+
+On reaching the end they pulled their rifles down and crept back to
+where they had started from.  Again they marched along, showing their
+bayonets, as before.  The old Turks simply saw this constant stream of
+bayonets.  They concluded that the Australians were massing for the
+attack.  The Turks lined their trenches and opened up another furious
+fusillade, supported by machine-guns and shrapnel.  Thousands of rounds
+were expended before they realised that they had been fooled once more.
+
+There was a lull next day, so Bill and his friends shaved off their
+whiskers and had a bath in a cupful of water.  Claud cleaned his
+eyeglass, and Paddy went in search of a glass of rum from some of the
+sailors.  Sandy, then on light duty, opened up a business as a curio
+agent.  He swapped Turkish rifles, bullet clips, and other things for
+pieces of bread, a tin of jam, a tasty Maconochie, and some tea.  This
+was a godsend to his famished pals in the trenches.  Bill also wrote a
+letter home to Mrs. McGinnes, his old Sydney landlady and financier:
+
+
+"DEAR OLD SPORT,--Hope's your well.  I'm well, but the Turks ain't
+well.  Reckon we've killed millions of 'em.  Ain't got the V.C. yet.
+There's a shipload comin' next week for The Kangaroo Boys.  You can
+'ave mine for a brooch.  Likin' the life fine here--except the bullets.
+They generally kills a feller wot ain't careful.  There ain't no
+undertakers out here.  When we wants a new kit we generally borrows the
+clothes an' boots of a dead feller.  We live in little 'oles jist like
+rabbits, an' the old Turks keep throwin' nasty things called bombs.
+They ain't nice--one blew a feller's head off last night.  Pore chap,
+an' he had such a nice pair of trousers--I've got 'em on now.  The
+snipers are nasty fellers, 'demned annoyin',' as my ole friend Claud
+says.  One keeps hittin' my loop-'ole, but I'm going to 'ave the dirty
+ole rascal's blood to-night.  Now, ta ta, old girl.  Love to the
+children.--Your ole friend,
+
+"BILL BUSTER.
+
+"_P.S._--Lend me a quid.  What a thirst I've got.  We can generally buy
+rum from the sailors.  Make it two quid an' I'll send you a lot of
+kurios.
+
+"_P.P.S._--I needs tobacco--couple of pounds 'll do.  An' throw in some
+cigarettes.  Wot a life!
+
+"_P.P.P.S._--x x x x x x x x.  These are for you--don't tell yer hubby.
+Bye-bye."
+
+
+That night Claud spotted Bill crawling out of the trenches.
+
+"Where are you going, you silly ass?"
+
+"Who's silly?" said Bill, looking back at his friend in the trench.
+
+Ping! went a bullet from the sniper.  It went right through his
+trousers, but missed his leg.
+
+"It's that feller I'm after."
+
+Before Claud could detain him he disappeared.  Dropping on to his
+knees, he crawled for some distance, then lay flat.
+
+Ping went the sniper's bullet again.  He saw the flash.  This
+incidentally revealed the position of the Turk.  Fixing his bayonet,
+Bill made a wide detour, At last he arrived in rear of his object.
+
+Ping! went the rifle again.  So intent was the sniper on his job that
+he did not hear the crawling man behind.  Like a snake, Bill wriggled
+along.  He finished up ten yards behind his man.  This sniper had
+killed and wounded thirty men in two days.  He did not deserve a quick
+dispatch, and Bill had no intention of giving him that.  With a bound,
+he jumped on him, and pinned him right through the shoulders with his
+bayonet.
+
+"Allah!  Allah!" shrieked the man, in the most dreadful pain.
+
+"Old Allah ain't no good to you now.  Get up!"  And he was lifted up
+with the bayonet.
+
+When he rose from the ground Bill found he had a green bush tied all
+round him.  His face and hands were afterwards found to be painted
+green.  All this the Turks had acquired from their German masters.
+
+"Now, old cock, run!" said Bill, pushing the man in front.
+
+Screaming with pain the sniper was pushed at the double right up to the
+Australian trench.
+
+"What's all that row there?" roared the Colonel.
+
+"Jest been catchin' a sniper, Colonel," answered Bill, throwing his man
+off the bayonet into the trench.  He dropped dead at the Colonel's feet.
+
+"A good death for him, too," said Sam, thinking of the fine fellows
+this man had killed and wounded.  A sniper, let it be known, does not
+play the clean game of war, and any punishment is justifiable.
+
+Bill had given him his deserts.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+"HELL-FIRE POST"
+
+  "_Bullets here, bullets there,
+  Bullets, bullets everywhere._"
+
+
+Such is trench life.  Death at every corner, death at every moment of
+the day.  Bullets plunk against the parapet with a monotonous
+regularity; others crack in the air like a whip, while some whiz past
+the ear like a great queen bee.  At odd intervals a dose of shrapnel
+heightens the nerves, and now and again a high-explosive comes down
+with a shuddering boom!
+
+A trench isn't the place for a lady, it isn't the place for a
+mild-mannered curate.  It's the place for blunt, hard and active men.
+In fact, the nearer man is to the brute creation the better he is at
+this game.  The highly strung, carefully fed, hot-house plant, such as
+a mamma's darling, hasn't a look in.  He finds it a beastly bore, and
+longs for the drawing-room cushions and afternoon tea.  Trench life
+reveals the best and shows the worst.  A man's nature stands out like a
+statue.  For trench life a man needs the stomach of a horse, the
+strength of a lion, and the nerves of a navvy.  Any man can do a
+bayonet charge; any man can shoot down the charging host; but it takes
+a braver man to live in a trench month after month.  His nostrils are
+filled with the stench of the fallen, for his parapet is frequently
+built up with the dead.  His tea is made with water polluted with
+germs, the bully beef stew is generally soaked in dust and sand.
+
+And the flies!  They're worse than all, the pestilential breed!  Flies
+kill more men than bullets.  Flies were surely invented by some ancient
+Hun.
+
+Trench life in France is a picnic compared with the Dardanelles.  In
+France, one _can_ get soft bread, fresh coffee and yesterday's _Times_.
+But, in the Dardanelles it is biscuits and bully, bully and
+biscuits--without the news of Pollokshields and Mayfair.  Yet, despite
+the severity of things, the Australasians were ever serene.  To them it
+was a sporting game.  They had been used to boiling their own billy
+cans; used to looking for firewood; used to making a shanty wherein to
+lay their heads.  Where the Cockney might die from heat and thirst, the
+Australasian can thrive like a Zulu or aborigine.  City bred troops
+demand an organisation of things; Australasian troops organise things
+for themselves.  And where our friends of The Kangaroo Marines were
+certainly demanded all their cunning and courage.  It was called
+"Hell-Fire Post."  This was on the left of the Australian line, within
+thirty yards of the Turks.  The post had developed from a thin line of
+holes into a strong redoubt.  Many had died, more had been wounded in
+defending this place, but it was worth it.  This was the key of the
+whole line.  That was why The Kangaroo Marines were there.  When they
+took it over, they found the parapets thin and bullets coming in all
+round.
+
+"Hot shop, by Jove!" said Claud, adjusting his monocle to look through
+an aperture.
+
+Crack! came a bullet, just missing his head.
+
+"Better take that window out of yer face," said Bill.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Them ole snipers thinks yer a general."
+
+"My dear fellow, you're a positive bore--now, lend me a hand."  And
+Claud, despite the whizzing bullets, filled more sandbags and shoved
+them up with a shovel.  Bill helped him to make a V-shaped aperture.
+This work was continued all along the line.  But all the sandbags and
+crack shots could not keep the rifle fire down.  To move a hand or head
+above the level of the ground meant a wound.
+
+"This won't do," said the Colonel, as he made his morning visit on his
+hands and knees.
+
+"It's like a penny shooting show, Colonel," said Bill.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Me an' the boys are doin' running man for them fellers over there.
+They chip bits on yer head, an' bits on yer chest.  It ain't
+comfortable.  It ain't war."
+
+"It's sudden daith," chipped in Sandy Brown.
+
+"All right, boys, I'll send up something to-day.  Cheer up, you'll soon
+be at Manly amongst the girls," and off went Killem on his rounds.
+That afternoon a dozen big iron plates came up.  These were square with
+a hole in the centre.  This hole was covered by a little iron door,
+which could be lifted at will.  Bill and his pals seized one and
+commenced to fix it in position.  Under a hail of lead they worked
+sweating, grousing and cursing all the time.  At last it was fixed and
+ready for business.
+
+"This is my shot," said Bill, taking hold of his rifle.  Slowly he
+opened the door, then peeped through.
+
+"I see one, boys!"
+
+"Where?" they whispered.
+
+"Behind some bags.  Gosh, ain't he ugly.  He's got a face like a black
+puddin', and the eyes of a snake.  He ain't a bit of Turkish delight,
+anyhow, I wouldn't like to lick his old face.  Wheesht, boys, he's
+goin' to shoot."
+
+"At you?"
+
+"No!  Some fathead down the line.  But I'll get the one-eyed Moslem
+blighter," muttered Bill, taking careful aim.
+
+"Mind yis don't hit the ould fellow up in the moon," said Paddy just as
+Bill let go.
+
+"Ye spud-faced Paddy.  Ye--ye--ye----" blurted out Bill, throwing down
+his gun in anger.
+
+"Missed, be Jasus--yis couldn't hit the town of Sydney at a hundred
+yards.  Paddy Doolan's the man for that job."  He seized the rifle, but
+just as he was going to open the little iron door there was a rattle of
+bullets all over the plate.
+
+"Down, boys, down," he shouted.
+
+"It's a beastly Maxim," said Claud, looking up.  And a Maxim it was.
+In ten minutes the so-called armoured plate was riddled.  This was the
+experience with nearly all the other plates--one of the many annoying
+problems of war.  However, the new plates were doubled and bolted.
+Then they were covered with sandbags and erected so as not to be too
+obvious on the parapet.  This scheme defied the sniper and the Maxim,
+and, in this way, the Turks' fire was subdued.  This was important.  In
+trench warfare the enemy must be terrorised.  Not a head must be
+allowed to bob up, not a rifle and eye seen.  Snipers must be hunted to
+death and given such a hefty and quick dispatch as to intimidate their
+successors.  Water parties and ration parties have to be set on the
+run; reinforcements spotted and scattered; officers, too, must be kept
+in their place--below the parapet, if not below the sod.  All of this
+means that the enemy gets demoralised and sickened.  And when he has
+had a month or two of this gentle treatment he is easily dealt with
+when the time comes for an offensive and bayonet charge.
+
+Of course, the Turks did not let the Australasians have it entirely
+their own way.  When sniping and rifle fire became too dangerous, they
+resorted to the bomb.  The bomb isn't a respectable thing.  It
+sometimes takes your head off, and frequently punctures the system in
+rather an ugly manner.  When a bomb hits, you know it.  It is something
+like a railway engine striking a match-box.  These Turkish
+bomb-throwers had some idea of making a sort of Irish slew out of their
+opponents' bodies.  They bombed _and_ bombed _and_ bombed.  Now, this
+wasn't at all polite, and it was most uncomfortable, especially when
+sitting down to a stolen Maconochie--an appetising dish.  These bombs
+burst the parapets, ripped up the sandbags, and knocked men's brains
+into other men's eyes.  Most annoying!  One morning a bomb just missed
+Bill's head.
+
+"What the--who the--why the----  These blamed ole Turks think my head's
+a coconut," said Bill.
+
+"I hope they'll never hit your head," remarked Claud.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"It's too full----"
+
+"Of water," interjected Paddy.
+
+"Yes, there _would_ be a flood," concluded Claud, as he lit his pipe.
+Just then an order was sent down to pass all empty jam tins to the rear.
+
+"Wot's the jam tins for?"
+
+"Fly traps," said Paddy.
+
+"'Spect we'll have to dig the lead out of the dead men's bodies next,"
+groused Bill, as he went down the trenches to collect the fly-covered
+jam tins.  These were sent down to the beach in bags, causing many a
+grouse on the way.  Rumour had it that some Jew had made a contract for
+the empty tins, another yarn was that they were for growing flowers
+round the General's dug-out.  But mysterious and resourceful are the
+ways of the General Staff!  These jam tins were redelivered to The
+Kangaroo Marines next day in the shape of bombs.
+
+"Well I'm jiggered!" said Bill.  "First they puts jam in tins, next
+they puts bombs in them."
+
+"And then they'll shove you in them," interjected Claud.
+
+"What for?"
+
+"Prime Australian beef, fresh tinned, straight from the Dardanelles.
+That would look well on a label."
+
+"Yis couldn't do that with Bill," said Paddy.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"He's a bit high----"
+
+Bang! came a Turkish bomb at that moment, scattering the group into
+their shelters below the parapets.
+
+"Ye dirty, mouldy-faced sons of dog-eatin', blue-nosed spalpeens--Oi'll
+bomb yis," roared Paddy, gripping a jam tin and lighting the fuse.
+
+Bang! it went.  Bang!  Bang!  Bang! went more.
+
+"_Some_ jam," said Bill, as he watched through the periscope.  And then
+they heard moaning, shrieks, and shouts of "Allah, Allah."
+
+"More jam," ordered Bill.  And more jam they received.  It wasn't
+sweet, and certainly unpalatable.  And it didn't stick.  Tins labelled
+"Apricot," "Marmalade," "Black Currant," and "Raspberry," went hurtling
+through the air, then burst in a very nasty way above the poor old
+Turks' trenches.  This battle of jam bombs made the Turks much more
+respectful for a time.  Indeed, one of the officers, who must have been
+a sportsman, flung over a note, on which was written:
+
+
+"DEAR AUSTRALIANS,--We like jam--in fact, we could do with a tin of it,
+but not that dam--jam--jammy stuff you were putting over last
+night.--Yours fraternally,
+
+"YUSSEF BEY."
+
+
+"By Jove!  He's a sport--let's chuck him a tin," said Claud.  And over
+it went.  The Turks scattered and waited, but there was no explosion.
+With a smile the Turkish officer picked up the tin.  Unfastening a note
+tied round it, he read:
+
+
+"DEAR YUSSEF,--This is the _real_ stuff.  By the way, you were at Rugby
+with me.  Shall be sorry to kill you.--Yours, etc.,
+
+"CLAUD DUFAIR."
+
+
+Plunk! came a stone into the Australian lines; round it was fixed a
+note:
+
+
+"DEAR CLAUD,--Many thanks--it was a god-send.  Fancy you being here.  I
+thought you would have been guarding the Marys and Mauds of London from
+the Zepps.  Congrats!  Of course, I shall be sorry to kill
+_you_.--Yours, etc.,
+
+"YUSSEF BEY.
+
+"_P.S._--There will be no firing to-day--go to bed."
+
+
+And there was no firing.  This Turkish officer, like every other
+Turkish soldier, was a gentleman.
+
+It is remarkable how circumstances produce the inventor.  At Hell-Fire
+Post the men found that the ordinary square periscope was almost
+useless.  Every time one went up, bang went a Turk's rifle, and the
+periscope was blown to smithereens.  Indeed, The Kangaroos lost nearly
+all their periscopes in the first few days.  Now this was awkward.
+Periscopes are life-savers, for the periscope prevents a man pushing
+his head above the parapet to see if Johnny Turk is coming over to say
+"Good morning."  Something had to be done, so the famous quartette
+began to cudgel their brains.
+
+"I've got it," said Claud, picking up a walking-stick.
+
+"Got what," inquired Bill.
+
+"An idea--you watch."  Taking a penknife out of his pocket, he deftly
+and quickly cut away the inner portion of the stick.  This kept him
+busy for a couple of hours.  When finished, he took a little pocket
+mirror out of his haversack.
+
+"Too big," said Bill.
+
+"No, it isn't," answered Claud, slipping a diamond ring off his finger.
+He scratched the mirror, then cut two pieces out of it.  These he fixed
+into the walking-stick.  "There you are now--a brand new periscope."
+And it proved just the thing.  The field of vision was quite good.
+Being small it did not attract attention.  The result of this discovery
+was that every officer's stick was immediately commandeered, and with
+the aid of Claud's ring and other people's mirrors, a good supply of
+periscopes were made.
+
+"You think you're smart fellers, I suppose," said Bill, his envy roused
+by this success.   "But I'll show you fellers something in a day or
+two."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"'Wait and see,' as old Asquith says."  For the next few days Bill was
+seen in close communion with a fellow Australian.   They went about the
+trenches picking up bits of wood, nails, mirrors, and other odds and
+ends.  These were carried into the little hole of the inventive genius,
+and there all gradually saw the growth of a wonderful invention.  It
+wasn't Bill's idea exactly.  He was simply the managing director, who
+stimulated curiosity, and fetched the mysterious genius the necessary
+supplies of material.  Anyone who ventured too near the sacred sanctum
+was told to "hop it."
+
+"What's that ould rascal doin'?" Paddy remarked one day.
+
+"A bomb-thrower," said Sandy.
+
+"Barbed wire burster," suggested Claud.
+
+"No, it ain't," interjected Bill, who happened to come along at the
+time.
+
+"What is it, then?"
+
+"It's a man-killer.  You can sit down in yer bed and kill all the ole
+Turks in front.  They can't see who's killin' them."
+
+"When do you try it?"
+
+"To-day."  And he did.  That afternoon the inventor allowed Bill to
+have the trial shot.  The instrument, in brief, was a periscope rifle.
+With the aid of an ordinary rifle, mirrors and wood fixed up in a
+rough, but ingenious way, there had been produced a killing instrument,
+which allowed the user to see and to kill without being seen.  This was
+a godsend, for many of the casualties at this post were due to men
+aiming through the loopholes or over the parapet.
+
+"Here goes," said Bill, fixing the rifle in position.
+
+"See anything?"
+
+"Yes, a big feller.  I'll get him in his ole fat head."  Slowly and
+steadily he took aim, then bang went his rifle.
+
+"Got him!  Got him!  Right in his coconut," shouted Bill with a grim
+delight.
+
+The invention was hailed as a great success, and the inventor
+complimented all round.  His orders were many, and his instrument soon
+became general throughout the whole line.  Indeed, it was owing to this
+wonderful invention that the rifle fire of the Turks was again subdued
+to a remarkable extent.
+
+Other remarkable things were invented by these resourceful fellows.
+The General Staff also supplied them with new machines of war.  One of
+the finest was the Japanese bomb-thrower, an instrument which threw a
+great, big bomb like a well-filled melon.  This went tumbling over and
+over, like an acrobat doing a somersault, then burst in the most
+startling way.  The explosion was terrific and destruction amazing.
+Parapets, trenches, men and Maxims were all destroyed if near the point
+of contact.  "_Some_ bomb!" as the boys said.
+
+In this sort of warfare it is always the progressive and alert man who
+wins.  It is useless sitting down and grousing.  Every means, every
+trick is justifiable so long as the methods are fair and according to
+the rules of war.  When the history of this war is written special
+attention ought to be devoted to the many devices which have been
+employed by the soldier.  For example, the Turks opposite to The
+Kangaroos were always sapping towards the Australasian lines.  This was
+a nuisance.  The constant pick! pick! pick! upset everybody.  Night
+after night these Turkish moles had to be bombed away.  One evening a
+sapping party recommenced operations quite near to Claud and his
+friends.
+
+"At it again," Bill remarked.
+
+"Yes, they're a beastly nuisance, I'll have to worry them a bit," said
+Claud, picking up a little paper bag.  He fixed a piece of thin white
+string round it, then jumped over the parapet.  It was quite dark, so
+he was perfectly safe.  Crawling on his hands and knees, he at last
+reached within ten yards of the sapping Turks.  For a few minutes he
+lay still.  His eyes got used to the darkness, enabling him to get a
+glimpse of the diggers.  Pulling out the paper bag, he threw it smartly
+towards the hole.  It burst on the edge of the parapet and the contents
+scattered all round.  Claud waited.
+
+Aitchoo! went one.
+
+Aitchoo! went another.
+
+Aitchoo! went a third.
+
+Aitchoo!  Aitchoo!  Aitchoo! sneezed all the Turks between their
+oriental grunts and curses.
+
+Claud burst out laughing and so gave himself away.  A head popped out
+of the hole.  Claud was seen.  Down it went, and up came a rifle, but
+before the Turk could fire, Claud, who had a couple of bombs prepared,
+flung them into the hole.  There was a loud bang! bang! followed by a
+series of shouts, shrieks and moans.  The sapping party fled for their
+lives.  This was as Claud desired, so he quietly crawled back to his
+trench.
+
+"Got 'em that time, Dufair," said an officer as he tumbled in.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"By the way, what was all the sneezing about?"
+
+"A little trick, sir," laughed Claud.
+
+"Was it snuff you chucked at them?"
+
+"No, common or garden pepper, issued with the rations."
+
+"Good," said the officer pursuing his rounds.
+
+Now it was on this same evening that Paddy Doolan roused the whole
+regiment to a state of alarm.  He was on sentry go on the extreme left
+of his regiment's line.  Being dark, Paddy began to feel the effects of
+things supernatural.  Every sound, every moving leaf or blade was a
+Turk.  He had fired at a few nothings, and during a spell of silence he
+was amazed to hear on his left a chattering in a strange tongue.
+
+"Turks, be Jasus, they're in our trenches.  Mother of Mary, preserve
+us," said Paddy, crossing himself.  He listened again.  They were
+chanting a weird dirge.  It was something between a Highland lament and
+a Hindoo snake song.  Paddy was amazed.  Life seemed to be a shorter
+affair, and he pictured himself lying dead on the parapet with his
+throat cut.  His teeth were chattering, and his nerves on the run.  At
+last he managed to bellow out, "Stand to!"  The half-sleeping men
+jumped to their rifles and waited below the parapet.
+
+"What's up, Doolan?" said the officer on reaching them.
+
+"Turks in our trenches, sor.  Heaven preserve us."
+
+"Where?"
+
+"There, sor!  There, sor!  Listen to them."
+
+The officer listened.  He heard the weird chanting.  It wasn't English,
+it didn't seem Turkish.  What on earth was it, he wondered.  At last he
+made up his mind.
+
+"Here, six of you fix bayonets, follow me," and down the communication
+trench he crouched and crawled towards the left.  They now neared the
+weird chanting noise.  The officer cocked his revolver and whispered
+back, "Get ready, boys." Then, dashing round a bend, he burst on to a
+dark-skinned group.
+
+"Hands up!" he shouted.
+
+"What's up, boss?" said a smiling dusky gent in khaki, with a New
+Zealand badge on his shoulder.
+
+"Who the deuce are you?"
+
+"Maoris, boss, Maoris."
+
+"Hang it all, I thought you were Turks.  Good night."
+
+"Good night, boss," shouted the laughing Maoris--the finest
+dark-skinned gentlemen in the world.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+A BRAVE NEW ZEALANDER
+
+There's a difference between the New Zealander and Australian, and the
+difference is this: when an Australian says "Home," he means Australia;
+when a New Zealander says "Home," he means the Old Country.  The sense
+of nationality is deep in the Australian's soul; the sense of
+dependence and kinship is wrapped round the New Zealander's heart.
+Australia is the older Dominion, and the Australian, like the Canadian,
+is keen on running his own affairs.  New Zealand is younger; many of
+its first settlers are still alive, so their eyes and their children's
+eyes are always turned to the land called "Home."
+
+Fifty years hence the New Zealander will be like the Australian--a keen
+exponent of nationhood and all that that means.  But, understand, when
+I speak of nationhood as applied to the Australian and New Zealander, I
+mean pride of race, pride of dominion, pride of achievement, and the
+ability to be a partner in the great Empire that is ours.  Our
+forefathers resented this attitude of our colonial cousins.  For that
+reason we lost the American colonies.  That lesson was good.  We now
+realise that it is good business to let such as the Australian and New
+Zealander manage their own affairs.  It saves us worry, it saves
+expense, it breeds a distinct type--a type conscious of their ability,
+but aware of the need of co-operation and co-ordination in Imperial
+defence and Imperial trade.  Wise men ask no more.
+
+Now in affairs of war there is also a difference between the New
+Zealander and Australian.  The Australian resembles the
+Irishman--daring, desperate, and frequently reckless; the New Zealander
+resembles the Scot--equally daring, equally determined, but more canny
+and cautious.  In brief, the New Zealander is more ready to weigh the
+issues and count the cost.  Both types are necessary in war; both are
+extremely useful.  Now I have reached my tale.
+
+The General Staff had heard that the Turks were concentrating men and
+munitions for a great attack.  Information was scarce; information was
+imperative, for on information the modern general depends.  And this
+information had to come from the very centre of the Turkish defence.
+It was the hour for a man, and that man had to be found.  That was the
+problem which faced the Chief of Staff.  He knew that almost every
+officer would volunteer.  He thought of many Australians; but no, their
+reckless bravery might wreck his schemes.  And then he pictured in his
+eye the New Zealanders he knew.  One by one they passed in review.  At
+last he recalled "Tony," a young subaltern from Hawkes Bay.  He was a
+graduate of an Auckland school--a strong, well-built, swarthy youth,
+with that coolness, daring, and acumen necessary for the job.  "Yes,
+he'll do," muttered the Chief as he rang up the New Zealand Dragoons.
+
+"Send Lieutenant Tony Brown to headquarters at once."
+
+"Very good, sir," answered an orderly.  In two hours Tony entered the
+dug-out and saluted.
+
+"I've a job for you, Mr. Brown.  It might mean your death; it might
+mean the D.S.O.  Are you on?"
+
+"I'm on, sir; but please explain."
+
+"Get one of the Navy boats.  Go up the coast for two miles.  Land and
+get across into the Turkish camp.  Find out the strength of these
+reinforcements, the guns, the ammunition, food and water supplies, and,
+more important, the probable date, if not the hour, of this big attack.
+I'll give you two days to do it.  If you're not back on the third day
+I'll count you as dead.  Understand?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Very well, my lad.  Here's an order to the commander of the torpedo
+boat at the beach.  Make your own arrangements.  Good luck to you,"
+concluded the Chief, shaking him by the hand.  And out went Tony on his
+job.  It was a tough proposition for a youngster to tackle, yet he
+deemed it an honour.  And there was no time for delay.  He secured the
+services of two Maoris because of their strength and swarthy
+complexion.  Turkish uniforms would make them "Turks," if need be.
+
+The commander of the destroyer gave him a boat.  This was loaded up
+with water, biscuits, some Turkish uniforms, and rifles, with other
+necessaries for the job.  At night they pulled out.  It was quite dark,
+so all was favourable at the outset.  For hours the Maoris seemed to
+row, their only guide being the stars and dark coast-line.  And then
+came the first peep of dawn.
+
+"Come on, you fellows; get into these things," said the subaltern,
+pointing to the Turkish clothes.  He did likewise.  The disguise was
+perfect.  They looked thoroughly respectable members of the Sultan's
+community.
+
+"Ease in now, boys," ordered Tony as the light grew better.  Gently
+they pulled to the shore.
+
+"That place will do," muttered the observant sub, looking towards a
+shingly sort of beach beneath some cliffs.  The boat grated on the
+pebbles.  They had arrived on their daring mission.
+
+"Now, look here, you boys; you've got to loaf round here for two days.
+Hide the boat and get into a dug-out.  Keep a look-out for me.  If I
+don't come back at the end of the second day, go back and tell them
+I've gone to Kingdom Come.  Understand?"
+
+"All right, boss," said the elder of the Maoris, a full corporal.  And
+off went Tony.  He climbed up the cliffs and found himself on a scrubby
+sort of soil dotted here and there with stunted trees.  Away to his
+right he could just discern the Turkish defences, while immediately in
+front lay some scattered redoubts of the flanking outposts of the
+enemy.  In the distance was a high, grassy knoll--a perfect place for
+observing things.  He made for it, avoiding contact with some
+straggling Turkish soldiers on the way.  By the way, it is really
+remarkable how one can walk through an enemy's lines when dressed in
+their uniform; but it takes a stout heart to do it.
+
+Tony reached the foot of the knoll and commenced to ascend.  Just as he
+reached the top he was startled by a Turk who cried out a greeting.  He
+mumbled something in a boorish style and dropped down in a friendly way
+beside his man.  Before the old Turk realised what was happening he lay
+dead with a revolver bullet in his brains.
+
+"Phew!  What a noise!" muttered Tony as he looked at his victim and
+then all round the hill to see if the noise had alarmed the land.  Luck
+favoured him.  A random shot is nothing in war.  Finding a hole near
+by, he dumped the body in, then covered it over with grass.  This done,
+he whipped out his glasses and commenced to study things.  Away in
+front he could see the convoys slowly moving past.  There were guns,
+ammunition wagons, water-carts, ration wagons, and streams of men.
+This was not the usual reliefs and supplies.  There was something
+doing.  The troops were new, their equipment was good, their bearing
+fresh and alert.  All this was very interesting; but Tony was not near
+enough to get what he wanted.  He decided to walk right through the
+lines.  Leaving his rifle and placing his revolver and glasses in the
+Turkish haversack, he set off.  He was soon one of the many straggling
+Turkish troops on various errands.  They hailed him in their oriental
+way, but Tony simply grunted in reply.
+
+That is a way of the East, so all went well.  At last the daring
+officer was close behind the Turkish lines.  He stumbled on the
+batteries well placed and well hid.  Stacks of shells lay to hand in
+preparation for their attack.  In another part he located a
+searchlight, and down in a little gully he found a forward base for gun
+and rifle ammunition.  This was a sound discovery.  He memorised the
+spot and tried to locate it on the map.  Passing on, he came to a field
+hospital.  This was being cleared, for wagons were taking the wounded
+men away to the ships which lay in the offing.  When a hospital is
+being cleared, look out for a fight.  A soldier understands what it
+means.
+
+Tony finally arrived in a sort of rest camp.  It was alive with
+men--fresh ones from Constantinople.  There were plenty of German
+officers, too, also some sailors with _Goeben_ and _Breslau_ on their
+caps.  He wondered what the sailors were there for.  They seemed to be
+camped round an artillery park.  He solved it; they were serving the
+guns.  Down the lines he stumbled, grunting like an old horse, and,
+occasionally, sitting down to view the scene.  They had plenty of
+biscuits, and even such luxuries as coffee, bread, and water melons.
+No signs of starvation or lack of supplies.  That was an important
+point.  Tony was doing well.  His scheme was succeeding beyond his
+dreams.  Indeed, he was beginning to feel quite cocky, till, on looking
+round, he found a swarthy little fellow behind him.  He was being
+followed.  Something gripped his heart.  He had shot his bolt.  Still
+he did not lose his head.  This little man must be led on a little
+farther.  Tony retraced his steps.  The man followed him.  He sat down;
+the Turk also sat down.  This was unnerving, and the young sub. almost
+shouted in anger and agony.  Rising again, he went on, striking into
+the open and less populated part.  And, all the while, the officer
+wondered how he was going to deal with his sleuth-hound.  He could not
+shoot him there.
+
+At last his eye caught sight of the little knoll where his dead Turk
+lay buried.  Good!  He would lead him up there.  He plodded on, and,
+behind him, stalked the patient-looking Turk.  Oh! the agony of those
+moments.  It was like a knife sinking by degrees into the human heart.
+It was the hour for nerve, coolness and caution.  Tony reached the top
+of the hill.  With a sigh he sat down, pulled out his pipe and
+commenced to smoke.  The Turk also sat down, but at the foot of the
+hill.  He too started to smoke.  His face had the sense of ease, his
+eyes a humorous gleam.  He, apparently, was in no hurry.  What the
+devil did he mean?  Tony wondered, and wondered.  This torture was
+insufferable; so insufferable that the subaltern waved his arm,
+signalling the Turk to come up beside him.  He obeyed.  As he reached
+the top he took off his cap and said, "Good days, Mr. Ingleesman."
+
+"Who's English?" said Tony, smiling at his own audacity and apparent
+admission.
+
+"You very Inglees--you smokit pipe, your boots, your walk.  I plenty
+savvy," he said, tapping his head.  "I no seely Turk.  Me Syrian."
+
+"What the devil are you doing here?"
+
+"They maket me fight.  I no' wants fight.  Me Christian.  I likes
+Inglees."
+
+"But what are you following me for?"
+
+"Well--monees--backsheesh.  Me poor man."
+
+"How did you spot me?"
+
+"You droppit this when you down there," said the Syrian, pulling an
+identity disc out of his pocket.  This was stamped, "Lieut. Tony Brown,
+New Zealand Dragoons."  The subaltern paled as he looked at this
+damning proof.  He must have dropped it when fumbling with his pockets
+in the camp below.
+
+He inwardly cursed his stupidity.
+
+"Have a cigarette?" said he, offering a Virginian to his new-found
+friend.
+
+"Oh, wery nice--wery Inglees _too_," said the Syrian, looking at the
+inscription: "Three Castles.  W. D. & H. O. Wills."  "No maket these in
+Stamboul--eh?"
+
+"Not till we get there," said Tony with a yawn, at the same time
+measuring the distance between his man and debating whether it would be
+better to kill him or capture him and then take him back in the boat.
+
+Meanwhile the Syrian was smoking airily, almost casually.   He was a
+born scoundrel.  Intrigue was his game.  This Syrian had Mammon all
+over his body and soul.  Good gold could buy him any time.
+
+"You spy?" he said, looking up at Tony in a casual yet cunning way.
+The word "spy" was a dagger into the subaltern's nerves and heart.  It
+left him breathless for a moment.  Recovering his wits, he airily
+answered, "Well----"
+
+"Me poor man--me tell you things.  How much?"
+
+"Fifty pounds--eh?"
+
+"One hundreds--it worth it--good beesness.  Me plenty savvy--me know."
+
+"What?"
+
+"Plentee news 'bout guns, men and--beeg attacks----"
+
+"Oh!" said Tony, startled out of his casual way.  The Syrian smiled.
+He had divined his quest.
+
+"Tell me then."
+
+"Monees," said the Syrian, holding out his hand.  The ways of the East
+are, at least, direct.
+
+"There you are," said the subaltern, handing him ten crisp Bank of
+England notes.  He had come prepared for this contingency.
+
+"When is the attack, now?"
+
+"Friday mornings early."
+
+"The exact time I want."
+
+"Half past fours."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"I orderleys and interpreeters to arteelery's staff."
+
+"Oh!  Now, isn't there a battery down there?" said Tony, pointing to a
+piece of rising ground which he had passed over.
+
+"No--one batterees there," said the Syrian, directing his eyes to the
+exact place where Tony had discovered the first battery.
+
+"Good!" muttered the New Zealander.  He knew he was telling the truth.
+Pulling out a pocket-book, he made a rough sketch of the ground round
+about, and then cross-examined the Syrian.  Batteries, magazines,
+stores, trenches, headquarters, beaches, water and food supplies were
+all duly noted and placed on the map.  Tony Brown, at one scoop, had
+entered the highest realms of the Intelligence Service.  It was dusk
+when he had finished.
+
+"Me go now," said the Syrian, rising.
+
+"No you won't.  You'll come with me and guide the way."
+
+"But I geeves you informations, what more?"
+
+"Look here, old cock, I believe you, but you're a Syrian."
+
+"Syrian good man," protested the informer.
+
+"Sometimes.  Hands up!" said Tony, cocking his revolver suddenly.
+
+"No' keels me--no' keels me!"
+
+"I won't if you keep quiet.  Now, push ahead--that way," said Tony,
+directing him on the return route.  The Syrian cursed and mumbled in
+his own fiery way as he stumbled down the hill.  He was annoyed.
+
+"Here--look at this," said Tony, calling him back.  The New Zealander
+bent down, and, uncovering the body of the dead Turk, showed it to him.
+
+"Uh!" shuddered the man.
+
+"Now, keep quiet," ordered the officer, pushing him down the hill.
+Stealthily they went, avoiding dug-outs, tents, and other hives of the
+Turkish army.  For hours they seemed to walk.  Something was wrong.
+
+"Stop!" said Tony suddenly.  Instinct suggested danger.  He had been
+led astray.  Pulling out a compass, he fixed it.  The direction was
+wrong.  This Syrian was playing his own game.  He wanted another
+hundred pounds for this officer's body.  It was worth more than that to
+the Turkish army.  And he knew it.  War breeds parasites and rogues.
+
+"You scoundrel!" said Tony, springing at the Syrian's throat.  The
+latter fought, kicked, and bit like a tiger.  To have shot him would
+have been madness, for they were now back in the centre of the Turkish
+lines.  Placing his great hands round the man's throat, Tony slowly
+choked him into a state of collapse.  Another knock on his head with
+the butt of the revolver placed him in such a condition that he would
+be unable to recollect his thoughts for many days.  That was all the
+subaltern desired.  He left him.  Taking a compass bearing again, he
+struck out towards the beach.  Luck favoured him almost till the end.
+As he neared the top of the cliff which guarded the beach his foot
+slipped, and he fell into a dug-out, right on the top of three Turkish
+soldiers.  Curses were mixed with shouts of "Allah!"  Then questions
+were asked.  But Tony could answer none.  A little flashlamp next shone
+in his face.  He was discovered.
+
+"Inglees!  Inglees!" exclaimed a Turk.  The other two started and
+chattered volubly.  One lifted a rifle to finish him off, but the man
+with the lamp stopped him.  He knew his job.  He wanted to know what
+this man was doing there.  Tony was searched, and the map discovered
+secreted down the leg of his stocking.  His heart quailed.  He seemed
+doomed.  He had been so near success; now he seemed so far.  He
+inwardly shuddered at the prospect ahead.  It would be death, and death
+of a cruel and unrefined kind.  Oh, the mental horror of that moment.
+It was worse than a bayonet in the stomach, and that is bad enough.  He
+longed for death--death, sure and sharp.  But it did not come.  He was
+seized and bound, then thrown into a corner to await the dawn, when
+this coast patrol would take him back to the Turkish lines.  His cords
+cut into his hands and legs; his tongue was parched; his heart beating
+at the coming of the dawn.
+
+Still, the light of day brought a certain physical and mental relief.
+He was given a drink; his cords were cut, and he was pushed out into
+the open and marched off to the Turkish lines.  He stumbled along, in
+pain and confused.  But deliverance was at hand.
+
+True to their trust, his faithful Maoris were on the watch.  One lay on
+top of the cliffs as a guard for the boat hidden away in the cove
+below; the other was a thousand yards ahead, directly in front of the
+line of march which two out of the three Turkish soldiers were taking
+him.  This Maori's eyes were alert.  A glance made him understand it
+all.  Filling his magazine, he lay low.  They were then six hundred
+yards away.  Too far for a sure aim.  He waited.  Five hundred.  Four
+hundred.  Three hundred.  Yes; that would do.  He settled down and
+aimed.
+
+Bang!  The bullet told.  The man on Tony's right dropped dead.  The
+subaltern realised the cause.  He let drive with his fist at the other
+man.  The Turk stumbled back, recovered, then fled.  But the Maori
+nipped him like a farmer does a running hare.  He, too, fell dead.
+This was the one with the map which Tony had made.  It was wrenched
+from his haversack.
+
+"Near shave, boss," said the Maori corporal, running up.
+
+"Yes; but come on."  They ran towards the cliff.
+
+Bang! went a rifle.   The faithful Maori corporal dropped dead at his
+officer's feet.  Tony looked to his front, and there was the third man
+of the Turkish patrol coolly aiming at him too.  He ducked just as a
+rifle banged.  For a minute he lay flat, and then a strange thing
+happened.  The second Maori, on the top of the cliff, unable to sight
+his rifle at this assassin of his friend, was charging wildly down on
+the Turk with his bayonet fixed.
+
+"Allah!  Allah!" shouted the Turk as he turned about and threw up his
+arms.  A moment later he was bayoneted to death.
+
+Tony jumped up and ran on, for in the distance he saw other patrols
+running towards the scene.  The surviving Maori followed him to the
+beach.  The boat was launched, and they pulled out from the shore.
+Danger, however, was not passed.  Turkish patrols had found them.
+Volley after volley rattled through the air.  They splashed all round;
+some hit the boat, one struck Tony in the arm, two more pierced the
+oars.  But out and out pulled the plucky pair till, at last, they were
+clear of the fire.
+
+"Hot shop, boss," said the Maori.
+
+"Yes, a bit too hot!" muttered Tony as he bandaged his bleeding arm.
+
+That night the Chief of Staff received the information desired.  And a
+few days later Lieut. Tony Brown added the letters "D.S.O." to his
+name.  Everybody said, "Why?"  But the Chief of Staff simply smiled and
+passed on.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+VICTORY
+
+Night was falling fast over the Australasian lines.  The darkness was
+welcome, for it brought a certain rest and coolness to the thousands of
+sun-baked and weary men.  For two days they had slaved like
+navvies--digging, sand-bagging, reorganising trenches, improving
+communications, and bringing up supplies, Maxims, and ammunition.  It
+was not the usual thing.  Indeed, it was most unusual.  Only the Staff
+knew why, for this war has taught us that we must not advertise our
+coming events.  Of course the Tommies groused.  They always do.  It is
+the privilege of the soldier.  And Bill Buster was not behind in this
+land of moaning.
+
+"Thinks I'm an old mule.  Me feet's skinned, me back's skinned, me
+heart's skinned carryin' them blessed boxes of crackers.  Oh, why did I
+leave me little happy home?" he exclaimed, wiping the sweat off his
+sunburnt brow.
+
+"Had to--ye frizzly-faced bushwhacker," said Paddy.
+
+"All this means that there's something doing," remarked Claud, cleaning
+his monocle with a piece of rag.
+
+"Ay, there's gaun tae be an attack.  Say yer prayers the nicht, boys,"
+added Sandy.
+
+"Thank God!" uttered Claud.  "I'm sick of inaction.  I don't mind
+death; but it's a beastly bore waiting to be killed.  One can't quite
+regulate supplies.  Now, if to-morrow was the day for our dispatch, we
+might have a beano out of our spare biscuits and Woodbines to-night."
+
+"It ain't all beer and skittles, as you say," Bill said.  "Next war I'm
+goin' to be a general or a Navy bloke.  Them's the safe jobs.  These
+ole Turks have a spite at me.  Think I'm a sort o' runnin' man."
+
+"Let them come!" Paddy exclaimed.  "We'd bate the life out of thim.
+Teach thim manners, the dirty blaggards!"
+
+"Don't be too cocky about that.  We're only hanging on the edge of this
+cliff by the skin of our teeth.  The German Staff say they'll push us
+into the sea, and you bet they'll have a good try."
+
+"It's a soft snap, if they come.  They can't beat us," interjected
+Bill, who had all the self-assurance of the Australian born.
+
+"That's where our boys always err," answered Claud.  "They
+underestimate the power of the enemy.  That isn't the thing in war.
+It's all very well to be confident, but it's equally important to be
+prepared to the last cartridge and bomb.  Pluck's a very good thing,
+but pluck without brains is as useless as an engine without coal.  If
+these Turks make a big show, they'll give us a run for our money.  Now
+I'm going to sleep."
+
+Claud wrapped himself in his coat for a snooze.  The others followed
+suit, little dreaming what the dawn would bring.  While they slept,
+secure in their innocence of things, the General and Chief of Staff sat
+keen and anxious in their dug-outs; for the dawn was the time stated
+for the attack.  Everything was prepared; still, they had all that
+mental worry which only an officer knows.  They smoked and talked--and
+talked.  While they passed these anxious hours their subordinate
+commanders were quietly filling up the reserve trenches with supporting
+troops.  The gunners, too, were busy checking ranges and noting down
+the approximate position of the magazines and other stores as supplied
+by the map of Tony Brown.  The doctors were also alive.  They were
+clearing out the field hospitals preparatory to the gruesome slaughter
+ahead.  Out at sea a flotilla of gunboats and destroyers had quietly
+arrived and were circling round, waiting for the coming fray.
+Everything had been thought of; everything was ready.
+
+"It's getting light, sir," said the chief, looking out of his dug-out
+about 3.30 A.M.
+
+"Very well; 'phone the brigadiers.  Tell them to be prepared for the
+bombardment in accordance with our pow-wow of yesterday."
+
+"Very good, sir."  The 'phone transmitted the order and the chief sat
+down again.
+
+Boom! echoed a gun in the Turkish line.  A shell crashed right over the
+General's dug-out.  Tony Brown's information was right.  The battle had
+commenced.  A sense of relief spread over the General's face.  His
+suspense was at an end.
+
+Boom!  Boom!  Boom! went the other guns.  More shells, more splinters,
+and here and there the moan of a dying or wounded man.  But this was
+only the preliminary business.  In ten minutes every Turkish gun, from
+the giant howitzers to the more simple field pieces, were pounding
+shrapnel, common shell, and high explosives into the Australasian
+lines.  There was no excitement; the men were used to the game.  They
+crouched in holes or hard against the stony sides of the trenches.
+Still, the noise was deafening, and the gunners' aim was often good.
+Shells burst on the parapets and destroyed them, frequently killing or
+burying the men behind.  Others burst above and sent their balls of
+death into the heads or backs of the crouching men.  High explosives
+crashed with an unnerving boom in and around the trenches, pounding,
+killing, and maiming.  Maxims rattled out a hail of lead, rifles
+squirted bullets into every corner where a living soul was likely to be
+found.  There was no romance in this sort of business.  It was
+butchery, blood, anguish, and death.  Hell is the only word that fits
+such a bombardment.  Those who read such things sit at home in tears
+and terror.  Yet the men who live through them sit calm, even cool, and
+often in smiles.
+
+"Bit hot," said Claud, looking at his hat, which had been pierced by a
+shrapnel bullet.
+
+Bill ejaculated something unprintable and dropped a hot piece of shell
+he had intended to collar as a curio.
+
+"I weesht I had a hauf o' whisky; this is a dry job," said Sandy, as he
+cuddled closer against the side of the trench.
+
+"May ould Allah have mercy on yis when I get yis wid me can-opener!"
+muttered Paddy as he fingered his bayonet.
+
+Boom!  Boom!  Boom! crashed three more shrapnels above them, scattering
+lead and iron in all directions.  Old keys, brass fittings, nails, iron
+knobs and other things tumbled in, too.
+
+"Queer shrapnel--eh?" said Claud, picking up one of these curios--and a
+sign that the Turks were surely scarce of the real stuff.
+
+"Don't mind bullets," growled Bill; "but I objects to them chuckin' an
+ironmonger's shop at my ole head.  It ain't nice----"
+
+Boom!  Boom! came two more.
+
+"A miss!" said Sandy, signalling a "wash-out" with a shovel.
+
+Boom! crashed another almost overhead.  It was a narrow shave.  Sandy,
+with that caution of his clan, resigned the post of marker.  The gods
+were favouring this genial quartette, but in many parts of the line men
+lay dead, dying, and maimed.  They bore their wounds with a wonderful
+patience, and few complained.  Comrades ripped out their field
+dressings and staunched the blood.  Doctors, regardless of whizzing
+shells and bullets, crept from patient to patient.  Stretcher-bearers
+manfully did their job.  Over shell-swept zones they carried and pulled
+the wounded to succour and safety.  Despite the danger, men even found
+time to note and praise the deeds of these Red Cross heroes.  The name
+of the R.A.M.C. ought to be printed in letters of gold on the dome of
+St. Paul's.  It is one reminiscent of heroism, faith, hope, and charity.
+
+Now, during all this gun and rifle firing not a reply was sent.  The
+Staff allowed the Turks to expend their shells and bullets.  That is
+always good business in war.  It adds to the enemy's problem of supply.
+This bombardment lasted for two hours.  No doubt the Turks were well
+pleased.  But immediately they ceased their fire there was a universal
+Boom! from the Australian lines.  Battleships, cruisers, torpedo boats,
+howitzer batteries, field batteries, and Maxim guns sent back salvo
+after salvo of a deafening and devilish kind.
+
+The unerring aim of our gunners paralysed, for a time, the initiative
+of the Turkish Staff.  This tremendous reply was unexpected.  And the
+British shells burst in their magazines, their supply depots, their
+headquarters dug-outs in a startling way.  Never was gunnery so deadly.
+Never was slaughter so sure.  Regiments waiting _en masse_ for the
+assault were torn and butchered.  Trenches were burst and destroyed.
+It was death, desolation, and disaster of an unexpected and amazing
+kind.  Such is the value of information in war.  A good Intelligence
+Officer is equal to a complete division of all arms.
+
+Yet this bombardment did not deter the Turkish assault.  It had been
+arranged; it had to go on.  When the British bombardment ceased, they
+leaped boldly from their trenches and came on _en masse_.  A strange
+silence now pervaded the Australasian lines.  Not a shot was heard.  It
+was the calm before the storm.  They allowed the Turks to advance.  On
+they came, great, dark, strong-looking men.  They shouted "Allah!"
+"Allah!" as they ran.  This cry for "Allah" was a bad sign.  The Turks
+expected "Allah" to do what they felt they had not the confidence to do
+themselves.  Still, the German task-masters had given them a certain
+assurance by sending them forward elbow to elbow, line upon line.
+
+In brief, this attack was meant as an overwhelming flood of bayonets
+upon the Australasians' lines.  The Turkish Staff argued that, after
+all, these troops were only volunteers; they could not withstand a
+violent offensive movement.  But they did; they even surprised their
+General and the Staff.  And the ability to wait for a signal to shoot
+was in itself a sign of perfect control, excellent fire discipline.
+
+The Turks were now close to the barbed wire entanglements.  This was
+the moment desired.  A whistle sounded in the lines.
+
+Bang!  Bang!  Bang!  Z-r-r-p! went thousands of rifles and dozens of
+machine-guns.  Gad!  How these Turks withered and fell.  It was brutal,
+yet it was inspiring.  Shrieks, curses, and groans were mixed with
+pitiful cries for "Allah!" "Allah!"
+
+Bravely these Turkish soldiers died, and bravely the more fortunate
+came on.  They tore through the barbed wire with a fiendish frenzy and
+leaped down on to parts of their enemy's lines.  With that mad ferocity
+which only a Moslem fanatic can display, they plugged their bayonets
+into the first opposing man.  Cold steel is hard to face.  Few armies
+can face it.  Only Russians, Britishers, and Japs are good at the game.
+And these sons of John Bull stood up to the test with a magnificent
+courage.  They plunged, thrust, hacked, butted, cursed, and fumed in
+this awful combat.  Civilisation had gone.  Primitive lusts were
+triumphant.  Blood flowed in streams, men fought with gaping wounds,
+dying men fell crying to Allah or to God according to their race and
+creed.  There was no time to moralise on the hellish side of modern
+war.  There was only time to fight or die.
+
+And in this awful combat The Kangaroos had a terrible time.  Their
+redoubt was invaded.  Yet they did not yield.  One great Turk charged
+down on Claud.  Sandy parried the thrust, the Turk recovered and thrust
+again straight into poor Sandy's heart.  He gasped, and fell lifeless
+at Bill's feet.
+
+With maddened fury Bill crashed his butt down on the foeman's skull.
+
+Another Turk almost pinned Colonel Killem, but Paddy dashed forward,
+struck up the bayonet, and killed the man with a blow.
+
+"Thanks, Doolan, thanks!" shouted the Colonel as he turned to deal with
+another man.  This gallant defence, combined with the deadly musketry
+on the less exposed parts of the line, completely smashed the first
+Turkish attack.  The enemy withered away, their survivors and wounded
+creeping back into the shelter of their trenches.
+
+"Don't fire, men!  Don't fire at those poor devils," shouted the
+officers as they watched them limp away.
+
+This was chivalry, and chivalry can always be found in a British heart.
+
+"Thank God for a breath," said Claud, leaning wearily against the
+parapet.  But the attack was not finished.  The Turkish reserves were
+swarming up the gullies and through the communicating lines.  Lyddite,
+shrapnel, and Maxims tore great gaps in their ranks.  Yet on they came.
+One regiment deployed from the top of a gully and made the charge.
+
+"Rapid fire!" roared Killem.   A terrific fusillade burst forth.  The
+Turks fell in heaps, moaning, shrieking, and yelling.  The sight was
+sickening.  Heaps of dead and dying all around.  But _again_ the
+Turkish host came on.  Two great columns of men burst out in front of
+the New Zealanders and The Kangaroos.
+
+This was really the most critical moment of the day.  Here entered the
+Drill Book maxim: "An attack should be met with a counter-attack."  For
+this was to be the last and desperate throw of the Turkish Staff.  If
+it broke the Australasian lines, the enemy would realise their boast of
+pushing them into the sea.  The New Zealanders and Kangaroos
+appreciated the danger to the full.  And so the command rang out:
+"Prepare to charge!"  Every man placed his foot for the jump.
+
+"Charge!"
+
+Up leaped Killem and his willing men, and at their side charged the New
+Zealand boys.  Grimly they gripped their rifles, bravely they ran and
+cheered.  A charge is a thrilling and soul-inspiring affair.  Danger
+and death pass away from the soldier's heart.  He is alive, he is
+filled with the tingling blood and full of the traditions of his race.
+The Kangaroos met the Turkish host midway.  A shock of men, a shock of
+arms, a blind confusion, a horrible fierceness and hacking of human
+flesh.
+
+"Give it 'em, boys," roared Killem above the din.  A Turkish officer
+heard him and aimed his revolver at Killem's head.  But Doolan was
+there again.  He pinned his man through the chest, and, with an oath,
+flung him off his bayonet--dead.
+
+Claud got lost in the _melee_.  He found himself surrounded.  Bravely
+he fought, but a bayonet was stuck in his shoulder, and he fell into
+the struggling mass of wounded men.  Bill, though wounded in the head,
+fought with the madness of a fiend.  With Doolan, he kept close to the
+Colonel's heels, preserving the body and life of the bravest man in the
+Australasian force.  In that awful hour Killem could often be heard
+shouting out, "Thanks, boys, thanks!"
+
+At last tenacity and courage told.  The Turks broke and fled, yelling
+in pain and fear.  But the price of victory had indeed been costly.
+Still, it was worth it all.  The position had been saved.
+Australasians had again written deep in the annals of war a story of
+valour as great as Corunna or Waterloo.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+"Paddy," shouted Bill as they jumped back into the trenches.
+
+"Yis."
+
+"Where's Claud?"
+
+"He's hit," interjected a sergeant.  "I saw him fall."
+
+"What--dead?"
+
+"Couldn't say."  And the sergeant passed on.  War does not allow of
+sentiment or lengthy harangues.
+
+"Curse them!" said Bill, throwing down his rifle in anger.  And then
+this great, strong man collapsed with grief.  When a soldier weeps it
+is sad.  This was but the climax of a highly nervous day.  Bill's
+heart, like every bushman's heart, was full of that faith and devotion
+which passes all understanding.  Claud was a pal whom he loved like a
+mother or a brother.
+
+"D---- their bullets!  I'm going back to get him," he muttered,
+preparing to jump out again.
+
+"Paddy Doolan's wid you," said the Irishman.  They both jumped out into
+the still bullet-swept zone.
+
+"Come back, you fools," roared a sergeant.
+
+There was no answer.  Bill would not allow discipline or danger to
+interfere with the call of duty or friendship.  On their hands and
+knees they crawled round the heaps of dead and dying.
+
+"Here he is--here he is, poor boy!  Poor boy!" said Paddy as he gazed
+at the pale, bloodless face of Claud below some battered Turks.
+
+"He's livin', he's livin'.  God be thanked!" mumbled the faithful
+Irishman as he crossed himself.  Bending near, he pulled the listless
+form from under the dead weight of the men above.  Claud groaned.
+
+"That's a good sign, Paddy, eh?"
+
+"Sure, an' he'll drink a glass wid us yet!  But, Heavens! what a hole!"
+exclaimed the Irishman, looking at the gaping wound in Claud's shoulder.
+
+"Get his dressing out," said Bill.
+
+Paddy made to rip the dressing out of Claud's jacket.  Alas! man
+proposes and the Turk disposes.  A sniper's rifle pinged, and a bullet
+hit Paddy in the arm.  It fell, shattered and useless.
+
+"Back, Paddy--into the trenches for your life.  I'll carry Claud."
+
+The brave Irishman, realising he was now useless, reluctantly obeyed.
+Bill then heaved Claud over his shoulder and followed hard.
+
+Bang!  Bang! Bang! went the Turkish rifles.  Claud was hit in the hand,
+and poor Bill struck in the leg and back; then he fell exhausted into
+the trench, the wounded Claud on top.
+
+"Bravo!  Buster--you're a white man, anyway," said the Colonel.
+
+"A done man, Colonel," said Bill with a wan smile as he fainted away.
+His wounds and Claud's wounds were bound with the Colonel's own hand.
+Then commenced the weary procession through trench after trench to the
+hospital below.  They were but two in a cavalcade of thousands.  They
+passed from the zones of dead into the camp of tears and moaning.  Men
+shattered and dying were there; others, more fortunate, wetted their
+lips and eased their way to God.
+
+Poor Claud and Bill arrived, senseless, almost lifeless.  But kind
+hands staunched their wounds, allayed their thirst, and carried them on
+board the ship for Alexandria.  There they found the first taste of
+that gentle peace which is soothing to the heart of every nerve-racked
+soldier.  Nourishment soon brought them round.  And, strange to say,
+both returned from the land of wanderings to the delights of reality at
+the same time.
+
+"Bill!  Bill!" muttered Claud as he came round.  "I'm here, ole sport,"
+said Bill, holding out his pale, wan hand.
+
+"Good!  But where's Paddy?"
+
+"Sure, an ould Paddy's here," roared Doolan from a berth on the other
+side of the deck.
+
+"Thank God!"  And Claud tumbled into a more natural sleep, refreshed
+with the thought that at least two out of his three friends still lived.
+
+Sips of brandy, drops of milk, clean bandages, and willing Australian
+nurses soon brought the genial three round to a more normal state.  And
+in speaking of Australian nurses, let me say that they are the finest
+girls in the hospital world.  They may laugh, they may flirt, but they
+can work.  They have no side and no false airs.  They want to do their
+job in the quickest, kindest, quietest way that can be found.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+The great ship slipped through the breakwater of Alexandria.  Hundreds
+awaited her coming--nurses, doctors, and friends.  Bill and Claud could
+not get up to view the scene.  But Paddy watched it all.  His eyes
+scanned the faces on shore.  At last they rested on a familiar
+figure--a girl with a beautiful form, a charming but an anxious face.
+Yes, it was Sybil Graham.  He slipped down to the ward below and
+stepped to Claud's bed.
+
+"I've seen her, and doesn't she look swate?"
+
+"Who?" said Claud in a knowing way.
+
+"Sybil, ye fathead!  And, mind ye, mine's a kiss for bringing the news."
+
+"Right, old chap; and I'll see that you get it," said the now excited
+owner of this Australian girl's heart.
+
+The boat was now alongside.  Ropes were down and fixed.  The shore
+gangway was up, and, in response to the somewhat wild and frantic
+shouts and grins of Paddy Doolan, Sybil Graham dashed up the steps
+three at a time.
+
+"Oh, Paddy!" she said, with tears in her eyes.  "Where is he?"
+
+"This way, ye darlint."  And down into the ward leaped the now madly
+excited Irishman.  Sybil followed.  As she reached the foot of the
+stairs she saw her lover.  Nurses, doctors, and patients were then
+startled with a shriek of delight from a beautiful vision who pounced
+to a bed and smothered her hero with kisses.  Bill and Paddy watched it
+all.
+
+"Say, Miss Sybil, where do I come in?" said Bill with a sort of
+well-feigned growl.
+
+"Surely!  There's _one_ for you, you dear, dear old bushman," she said,
+kissing his black-bearded lips.
+
+"Here, Sybil, isn't it Paddy's turn now?  He brought the news of you."
+
+"Oh, you lovable Irish rogue--you're worth the kissing--you helped my
+boy to safety too."  And so Paddy received his dues.
+
+"And now, miss," said a smiling nurse, "we're going to take those three
+lovers of yours to hospital in Cairo."
+
+"How mean of you," said Sybil with a smile.  "Of course, you can't
+prevent me from seeing them there?"
+
+"Certainly not, my girl.  That will be the biggest part of their cure."
+
+"Oh, by the way, I've news for you, boys," said Sybil, turning again:
+
+"Bill, you've got the V.C."
+
+"Paddy, you've got the V.C."
+
+"Claud, you've got a commission."
+
+"And you--eh?" smiled Claud.
+
+"Well--yes."
+
+"And very nice too," whispered a doctor into the nurse's ear as the
+very happy girl went out.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+WHAT LADY READERS LIKE
+
+(_Extract from Cairo Press_)
+
+"At Shepheard's Hotel, Cairo, Lieutenant Claud Dufair, eldest son of
+Lord Dufair, to Sybil Graham, daughter of "Bob" Graham, of New South
+Wales.  Private Bill Buster, V.C., and Private Doolan, V.C., acted as
+groomsmen.  Colonel Killem, D.S.O., also attended the ceremony.  The
+happy couple left for a three days' honeymoon, as Lieutenant Dufair is
+returning to the trenches."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Kangaroo Marines, by R. W. Campbell
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