[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 specialbrief for the folks down under. But I am an Imperialist--one filledwith admiration for our overseas Dominions and the self-sacrifice ofour colonial cousins. They have played the game. They have astonishedthe world. They have even exceeded our own expectations. Let us notstint our praise. Let us write deep in the annals of our literatureand military history this supreme devotion, this noble heroism. And inthe greater Councils of Empire let us see to it that these sons of theMotherland have a say in settling affairs. 

And I can claim at least the right to write about our gallantAustralasians. I have lived in Australia and New Zealand. I haveserved on a Sydney paper and with the New Zealand _Herald_. I have metevery Premier (Federal and otherwise), from "Andrew" Fisher to "Bill"Massey. And, during my stay, I made it my duty to study the CitizenArmy--a National Service organisation. 

This was before the war. And this army was founded by "K" and theGovernments of Australia and New Zealand. Did they see ahead? One isalmost tempted to think so. In any case, the possession of a GeneralStaff and the framework of a National Army ensured the rapidmobilisation of a voluntary force to assist the Motherland. This forcewas armed, clothed, equipped and staffed from the existing militaryorganisations in Australia and New Zealand. You have heard of theircourage at Anzac; you have read of how many have died. 

Anzac is the cope-stone of Imperialism. It is the grim expression of afaith that is everlasting, of a love that shall endure the shocks ofyears, and all the cunning devilry of such as the Barbarous Huns. Hence this little book. It is an inspiration of the Dardanelles, whereI met many of our Australasian friends. It is not an official history. I have, in my own way, endeavoured to picture what like these warringBohemians are. The cloak of fiction has here and there been woundround 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 thewar in the Kangaroo Marines. Boosers, scrimshankers and looniesbarred. Gents with big waists and little hearts are warned off. Sharpshooters on the wallaby, able to live on condensed air and boiledsnakes, are cordially invited. No parson's references are required. Jackaroos, cattlemen, rouseabouts, shearers--every sort of handy-manwelcome. 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 _TheBushmen's Weekly_, a Sydney production, renowned for its wit andoriginality. It was designed to tickle the sides of the horny-handedmen of the Bush, and to rope in the best of them. For these men of theNever-Never Land are soldiers born and heroes in the toughest job. They think deep and know the way of things. If they appear wild anduncouth, they carry beneath that scrubby exterior the will of men andthe open heart of the child. 

Moreover, they love the Motherland. This was specially true of thefour who tenanted a little shanty on the sheep station of "Old Graham, "one of the wealthiest men in Australia. The quartette consisted ofBill Buster, a typical Cornstalk with a nut-brown face, twinkling eyesand a spice of the devil and the Lord in his soul. Next came ClaudDufair, a handsome remittance man with an eye-glass and a drawl. Thisfellow had personality. He insisted on wearing a white collar andusing kid gloves when doing anything, from dung lifting to sheepshearing. Paddy Doolan was the third member. He was an Irishman bybirth, but Australian by adoption. He had been in the Bush since hewas a kid. A kind soul was Paddy, with the usual weakness--the cravingfor the "cratur. " Fourth, and by no means least, was Sandy Brown, aGlasgow stoker, who had skipped away in a tramp from the Broomielawbecause of another fellow's wife. 

A mixed bunch, these four, you will agree. All with a history, part ofit bad, but the main part certainly good. It takes a good heart to bea Bushman. Work is hard, the heat is trying, pleasures few, and thechances of wealth are only meagre. But the Australian Bush has a lureof its own. It calls the bravest and the best. It calls and holds themen primed for adventure, unafraid of death, and full of that innatecharm and gallantry which is always the particular prerogative of thewanderer. No questions are asked in this land. A man's soul is neverprobed, nor is he expected to reveal his birth, or the cause of hisbeing there. It is the place to hide a broken heart or mend an erringpast. But it is only a place for men. And this quartette was full ofthe 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 immediatelypacked their swag for the road. That afternoon they received their payfrom the squatter. While Buster, Brown, and Doolan said good-bye tothe master and mistress on the veranda, Claud was kissing Sybil, thecharming daughter of the house, a tender farewell. For Sybil Grahamloved the "English Johnny, " as her friends called Claud. Her love wasreturned--not in the way he had treated some women in England, but withthat reverence which is born out of true affection. This Englishman, despite his faults, had a veneration for the straightforward type whichcan be found in the Australian squatter's home. 

"Come on, Claud--here's the coach, " yelled Bill from the veranda. Theyembraced 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, whileSybil had only strength to wave her arm to the fast disappearing figureof Claud as he drove with his friends to the railway station twentymiles 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 respectfor the sentiment inspired by the dangers of war. However, the sadnessof parting was soon forgotten. They were, also, cheered to see, comingover the plains, little groups of cookies, shearers and others, bent ontheir own errand. 

"Sakes alive! where's all you mad fellows goin'?" inquired the wizenedold stationmaster. 

"Berlin, " said Bill. 

"Ach sure, stationmaster, we're goin' to kiss the little darlints inthe Sultan's harem. "

"Well, hurry up, boys; the train's ready. "

With a wild whoop fifty of them dashed for tickets, some "tucker, " anda bottle or two of Scotch. Into the train they jumped, and in a jiffywere rolling over the line to Sydney. Song and story helped to cheerthe long and somewhat tiring journey. During a sort of lull in theproceedings Claud looked up and said: "Here, Bill, can't you recite ussome of that impromptu sort of doggerel that you get into the Sydneyweeklies now and then. "

"Well--yes, " said Bill, rising and clearing his throat. 

"Order, order! ye sheep-eatin' blackguards, " shouted Paddy, hitting atable with his riding-whip. The gathering ceased their chatter, andBill 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 thehand. 

"Hear, hear!" shouted the crowd. 

"Rot! D---- rotten jingo slush! What the hades has the King done foryou and me?" roared a red-faced passenger at the other end of the car. This was none other than Bill Neverwork, secretary of the WearyWillies' 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 gullyknife. "

"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 tohinterfere with our business and get hour boys killed. We've enoughwork 'ere to do. This is the working man's paradise. And we can makeit 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'llcut the painter. Curse England!"

"Britain, auld cock!" interjected Sandy again. 

"Curse Britain--and you, ye porridge-faced hemigrant! It's thehemigrants that spoil this country. Kick them out, I say. Australiafor Australians. That's my motto, mates. I know what I'm talkingabout. I'm Bill Neverwork----"

"B. F. For Wearyville, " interjected Bill as he got up. "And now, youpuddin'-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 hisbeetled 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 allUnion men. Andy Fisher's a Union man, and so is Pearce, the chapthat'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 onesthere. His name is Neverwork, and he never worked in his life. He's ablowhard, a gasbagger, a balloon full of curses and twaddle. Thisbloke thinks we're fools. He's kidded his Union on that he's a smartfellow--a sort of High Priest of Salvation. He's talked himself into ajob, and he's drawing about five hundred a year out of another fellow'spockets. 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 hundredmore. 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'remen, they're Australians. They want us to fight side by side with theboys 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 tenyears 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 simplyhowled him down. In the middle of this row Claud rose up, and puttingup his hand, asked for order. Again silence reigned. 

"Well, gentlemen--I mean, boys, " said Claud, fumbling with hiseyeglass, "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, cynicalway 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 beentreated well here--don't cher know, and here are my good friends. Andwe'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--notBritain--and we're going to fight to prevent fools like you handingthis land over to German or Yellow men. It's the proper thing, don'tcher know. Now, gentlemen----"

"Not so much of the gentlemen, " shouted Neverwork. 

"My dear friend, you were not included in the term. I am addressingthese gentlemen from the Bush. You're too beastly dirty and lazy to bea Bushman, " said Claud, adjusting his eyeglass and surveying the squatfigure of the M. P. As if he were examining a maggot. 

"My motion, boys, is simply this, that we stop the train by pulling thecommunication cord, and hold the driver up for ten minutes. Meantime, we might seize our political gasbag, secure him with a few bits ofrope, hoist him out of the carriage, and tie him up to one of thesignal posts, leaving a suitable inscription attached to hiscorporation, so that all the world shall know what a delightful idiotthis gentleman--I mean politician--is. "

"Carried, be jabers!" roared Paddy Doolan, pulling the communicationcord, while Bill, Sandy and some more, seized the Socialist. Hekicked, cursed, bit, screamed and wriggled, but to no purpose. As thetrain slowed down, Bill jumped out, and, running along to the driver, held him up with a masonic wink and a Scotch refreshment. The trussedform of the M. P. Was then carried out of the train. He was stillcursing. But the Bushmen quietly tied him to a signal post. Thiscompleted, Claud pinned a great white sheet of paper with aninscription on it. 

"Good-bye, old cock, " shouted the Bushmen, jumping into the trainagain. The whistle blew, and as the train went slowly past the enragedcaptive, 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 hisRecruiting Office chewing a cigar in the usual Australian style. Nowand again he looked at his recruiting figures and smiled. "Fivehundred men in three days, " he mused. "Not bad for you, Sam; and goodstuff at that"--for Sam was a judge of men. He was a squatter and asrich as Croesus. His big, bony frame spoke of strength, while his eyeand face told the tale of shrewdness and resource. He was forty, andsuccessful. Three hundred miles of land was chartered as his own. Hissheep were counted in thousands, and his brand as familiar as a postagestamp. Yet, in all his struggles for success, Sam had found time to bea patriot. He had served as a Tommy in the African War, and since thenhad commanded a corps of mounted men in the back of beyond. He was thefairest yet fiercest, the most faithful and fearless man in the force. A man who disobeyed his orders always received a knock-out blow, forSam 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, andSandy. They were still in their rough bush-whacking clothes, whiletheir 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 thisshow. 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 fellowslook 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 abellyband and a rubber tit in my mouth. The old woman who found mesaid 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 anegg-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 poundI'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, adjustinghis eyeglass. 

"Better take that window out of your face, young fellow. What's yourname?"

"Claud Dufair. "

"Father?"

"Lord Dufair. "

"You're the goods, young fellow. Now, do you think you can stand up tome 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 theway, why did you leave home--women and wine, eh?"

"Well--yes, sir. "

"Human failing--we're all like that, " soliloquised Sam, who had beenone of the lads in his day. "Now, boys, about turn, and off for youruniform--good day. "

"Good day, sir, " replied the four, attempting to salute. 

"Good lads--good lads!" muttered Sam to himself as they stumbledthrough the door. 

Three days afterwards Sam had his thousand men. He quartered them intents, selected some old soldiers for instructors, and commenced totrain for war. Sergeant-Major Jones, an ex-Imperial Army man, was theterror of the show. This warrant officer realised what he was upagainst--a thousand rebels against convention, hypocrisies, and shams. They called a spade a spade. "Red tape" they cursed, and stupidofficialdom they loathed. They were freemen, Bohemians of the plains. In the Bush they had learned to fight, cook, scheme, and generally lookafter themselves. Pioneers of the toughest kind. The type that hasmade 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 tothe men they liked and respected. 

And few of them were fools. Many could rip off Shakespeare by theyard; others could recite, in a feeling way, the best of Byron, Tennyson, Kipling, and Burns. The lonely plains and self-communion hadgiven each a soul. Indeed, they were the oddest bunch of daring, devilry, romance, and villainy that had ever gathered for war. Forsuch men there is only one type of leader, that is--the gentleman. Notthe gentleman who says, "Please, " like a drawing-room lady; but thegentleman who says, "Come on, boys--here's a job, " in a kindly, butfirm manner, with that touch of authority in the words which spells themaster and the man, and reveals to the skunk that if he refuses a greatfist will crack right under his chin and lay him out. Sergeant-MajorJones was, therefore, the gentleman required. He represented thefinest virtues of the British N. C. O. --a class which has made theBritish Army what it is to-day, and a class meanly paid and shockinglyneglected by the Governments of the past. 

Sergeant-Major Jones had a breast of medals. He knew his job. Nowthat was important to these Australians. Australians are always upagainst what they call "the imported man. " But if the imported man iswhat 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 thefirst week to show that he _was_ the sergeant-major and that they werethere to be disciplined. The opportunity came on the third day. Aweak-looking sergeant, with a shrill, piping voice, was moving a squadup and down. 

"Left--rights-left---- Stop your talking, Private Grouse, " heshouted 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 otherBushmen craned their necks. They were interested. They knew thatGrouse had gone over the score, and they waited to see the stuff thatthe sergeant-major was made of. It was, in fact, the psychologicalmoment which makes or mars the reputation of a sergeant-major in such acorps. The sergeant-major knew it. 

"Look here, young man, I make great allowance for inexperience, fornone of you have been soldiers before, but I make no allowance forinsolence. Take off your coat. "

"What!"

"Take off your coat, " said the sergeant-major with emphasis, at thesame 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 fightyou, for I'm in the wrong. "

"Well, you're a man, anyway, " said Jones, shaking him cordially by thehand, while the whole squad gave out a thrilling cheer. 

Colonel Sam Killem had watched it all from the corner of the paradeground. For him it was an anxious moment. He was a broad-mindedAustralian who realised the need of experienced Britishers like Jonesfor the training of his men. But he was also aware of the nationalprejudice against the imported man. If Jones had adopted the usual wayin the British regiment, that is, clapping the offender in the guardroom and formally charging him with "insubordination in the ranks, " Samknew that his prestige as a sergeant-major would have dropped fifty percent. However, he was well pleased to see him handle the man in theAustralian manner. 

"Made good that time, Jones, " said the colonel with a dry grin as thesergeant-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 ofthe Mounted Police two years ago. He's three-quarters blackguard andone-quarter of a good fellow; but we'll make a man of him. Put him inorders to-night for the lance stripe. I always believe in makingN. 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 agallant soldier and an Australian gentleman. 

Another interesting incident occurred during the training. Side byside with the Kangaroo Marines lay the Melbourne Nuts, a battalion ofsuperior persons. You see, the Kangaroo Marines were nominally aSydney crowd. Therefore the Melbourne boys showered on them all theenvy which Melbourne has for Sydney. To understand this pointthoroughly you must have lived in Australia. Between Melbourne andSydney there exists a feud as fierce as an Italian vendetta. Thisanimosity crystallises the more general hatred of the respectiveStates--Victoria and New South Wales. Both sides think they are theLord's Anointed. A Governor-General in any speech must be careful towhitewash both States with the same degree of eyewash. Friendships, fortunes, and reputations have been lost in this really amusingcontroversy. Indeed, they are like the farmers of Kerry--they go tolaw if a hen roosts for a second in the enemy's barnyard. 

Picture the scene then--two corps side by side, and imagine thelanguage. The first trouble arose through a pioneer of the Kangaroosdropping a shovelful of dirt in the lines of the Melbourne men. Theoffender was Bill Buster. 

"Get out of this, ye Sydney rattlesnake, " chirped a youth, looking outof 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 tentof 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, secretmeetings were called. The Melbourne boys decided to leave theiraffairs in the hands of Happy Harry, a local comedian. He was givenliberty 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 wouldplan out something to stagger the Melbourne crowd. Meantime, armedneutrality reigned; yet the air seemed charged with the spirit offriction and the feeling of secret preparation. Remarkable to relate, both schemes panned out on the morning of the same day. The MelbourneNuts woke up to see, in great, black, varnished letters, across theirhuge 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 wasfound wandering in the Kangaroos' lines, with placards flapping at hissides, 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 troubleensued. While the famous quartette were casually strolling through thetown a Melbourne man jostled Sandy. 

"Wha are ye pushin'?" he inquired. 

"I'll push yer face for you--you bag of haggis, " replied the coolMelbourne lad. 

"Ye daur meddle wi' me, " said Sandy, leering at him, for he had tasteddeep of the national fluid. "Hit me!" he roared, baring his chesttowards his aggressor. "Ma fit is on ma native heath, an' ma name'sM'Greegor, " continued the fierce, red-whiskered Scot. 

"Here's one for you, M'Greegor!" And the Melbourne man let fly. PoorSandy, 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 ofMelbourne hands. 

"Ye miserable spalpeens, " said Paddy, laying to with a great big stick, and between times whipping the treasures from the pockets of fallenmen. Claud had his monocle smashed and his nose burst, while poor oldBill was severely winded just as reinforcements arrived from theKangaroos. It was a bloody combat. Indeed, it might have been aserious riot had Sam Killem not doubled up a company with buckets ofwater to throw over the antagonists. 

Then the bugle call to assembly ended the first and last fight betweenthese 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 soulof all things topsy-turvy and contrary. It is a land for a bravesoldier, 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 ofaliens who have dodged justice and cleanness through the vagaries of"The Capitulations" (an international treaty which makes John Bull payfor the privilege of entertaining alien murderers, white slavers, forgers, assassins, corrupt financiers, and legal twisters). But it isa land worth holding, not so much for any riches it may possess, butfor 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 becauseof their inability to lead and control. They are content to serve solong as justice reigns. Egypt to-day is better governed, moreprosperous, 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, tomake the native full-fed and serene. 

Discontent in Egypt is the work of a few who have cast off their nativegarments, donned the clothes of the Westerner, and acquired asmattering of things. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Theseyoung _effendis_ are the fools who would step where angels fear totread. These malcontents spurred and led Arabi Pasha (a true patriot)to his doom. The self-same type have recently sent a Khedive intoshame and exile. These so-called "Nationalists" were the willing toolsof German and Austrian agents who aimed at capturing Egypt anddominating the route to India. Before the war there was a German spyin every town from Alexandria to Khartoum. These spies even supped atthe table of the late Khedive. While they went their way they smiledand called us fools. Eagerly they lived for the day when Enver Pasha(the well-paid Moslem adventurer) would lead his deluded Turks againstthe British host. 

The great dream of the Khedive, his Nationalists and German agentsfailed because of the courage and shrewdness of "K" and his men. Whilethe world waited for the Holy War and the fall of Egypt, the greatAustralian host was quietly landing on Egypt's shores. In this armywere such men as the Kangaroo Marines--fearless, tireless, and readyfor adventure. The tramp, tramp of their feet made traitors shiver andflee; their physique, their chins, their corded arms spread over theDelta 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 theNile. 

"These are white men--not black, " muttered an _effendi_ to his friend, as the Australians marched through intriguing Cairo. Like manyEgyptians, 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 talkedrevolution for a while. This, truly, was a bloodless climax to theschemes of Germany, Turkey, and the Khedive. 

Along the sun-baked road to Mena marched the Australians. They weretreading a road made by a great Khedive for the Empress Eugenie to seethe Pyramids in comfort. When they halted they were beneath the shadeof the historic piles of stones. Napoleon's soldiers had been there, so had Gordon's and Kitchener's heroes. Now these sons of theMotherland found themselves at the beginning of another historicmission. 

"There's been a lot of overtime on that job, " said Bill Buster to hispals 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 theireyes in wonder, and feel that there were more things on earth thantheir own little cabbage patch. 

They settled down quickly, and having received an enormous haul of cashin the form of arrears of pay, the Kangaroo Marines and every othercorps set out on donkeys, motor-cars, cabs, camels and carts to see thesights of Cairo. 

"Gee whiz! this is some town, " said Bill, on reaching the gay anddazzling city. The wide streets, oriental buildings, the weirdbazaars, gaily-lit cafés, and veiled women, amazed these simpleBushmen. It was like "The Arabian Nights, " wonderful, alluring, seductive and strange. All were gripped by the subtle atmosphere ofthings. Their blood tingled with the sensuous aroma of the East. Cheap wine in the cafés of the Greeks let the devil loose, and so theyfell an easy prey to the lures of the bold and handsome wantons ofCairo. Thus many were duped and robbed. 

Australians when wronged must have revenge. An eye for an eye is thelaw of the bush. The revenge came in an unexpected way. In one of thestreets where the wantons live an injustice had been done to one of theboys. The exact reason was never told. But Cairo was soon alarmed bythe shrieks of women, the shouts of fire, and the galloping of mountedpolice. Through the glare and smoke could be seen a little army of menwreaking revenge. Windows were being smashed, a piano was crashed fromabove to the ground, doors were torn down, crockery clattered into thestreet. 

"Allah! Allah! Save us, save us! The mad Australians! The madAustralians!" 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 hoarsecommands from officers and police. 

"Here's the fire brigade, boys, capture them, " yelled a great hulkingfellow. 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 picketssent from other corps. 

"It's a great pity we interfered at all, " said a Cairo dignitary thatnight. 

"Why?" inquired his friend. 

"They would have burned the whole dirty place down, and that would havebeen the greatest blessing to Cairo. "

"Then you don't blame them?"

"No. I think Cairo has been cursed with the vilest creatures God evermade. Yes, I admit, the Capitulations have hitherto tied our hands. Thank Heaven Egypt is now a Protectorate. We can clean out thesefilthy dens after the war. "

"Yes, it is a queer hole, but East is East, and West is West, and neverthe twain shall meet, " chipped in another member of the club. "It's awonder 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'sa proper old rascal. Do you know that he has got women in his haremwho 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 defendedthe customs of the East. "We have no right to force our Western moralsdown an Oriental's throat. It is easy to be a moralist in a freezingclimate like ours. The snow makes for virtue; the sun always warpsmorality. The harem is as ancient as the sun. And the harem willremain. It's no good of you fellows hoping to alter it. And, afterall, the Oriental is, at least, honest. He has a harem, the worldknows he has a harem. He is not ashamed of the fact. But what of ourMayfair bloods, who have their secret 'wives, ' and who hunt everybodyelse's wife. The Oriental is straight about it--we Westerners arehypocritical. "

"I offer no defence of the harem, " said a doctor, "but I've found it amighty interesting place when visiting there in a professionalcapacity. Do you fellows know that I have met some of the mostintellectual women there. Strange to say, they like the life. And, after all, they are well cared for. They have money--heaps ofit--beautiful clothes, lovely rooms, servants, carriages, and motors. They see everything, they do almost everything, and since therevolution in Turkey they have had greater freedom. Why, they travelabroad now without their eunuchs. What more does a woman want? Money, clothes and comfort are everything to an Easterner. In my humbleopinion there is no virtue in an eastern climate. There can never be. "

"We've got off the track altogether, " said the father of thisdiscussion. "I am liberal-minded so far as the Egyptians areconcerned. In their own way they are virtuous. And I agree that it isridiculous to suggest that we should interfere with any of their socialor religious arrangements. But this riot has again proved to us thatCairo is a pretty rotten show. We ought to clean it up, and we shalldo so after the war. It will pay us. Let us make Cairo a cleaner andmore charming place. It means health and business to the community. Why should Cairo be the cesspool of European iniquity? Personally, asI said before, I'm very sorry the Australians did not burn the whole ofthat rotten quarter down. "

CHAPTER IV

TREASURE TROVE

"Look here, men, " said Colonel Killem, "I want to talk to you aboutsome 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 abayonet in his guts. "

"Not exactly; but what would you shout if you got a bayonet in yourtummy. "

"A gill of the best, sir. "

"Well, now, a Mohammedan's a sort of eastern fanatic who thinks he'llget a 'corner lot' in Paradise if he reads the Koran and dies on theedge of your bayonets. Mecca is his holy shrine, and the old Sultanacts as a sort of elder or high priest who takes up the collections. We meet 'em ourselves--religious beggars who're always passing roundthe hat for ninepence to make up another shilling. Religion is alwaysan expensive business, except in Scotland, where you get free seats tosupport 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 Mohammedansare very touchy. You've got to be careful how you treat them. Forexample, their headgear is sacred. Don't touch it. And when you get alittle of home-brewed Scotch into you, don't knock their head-dressoff. They'll probably knife you. It isn't a pleasant thing to get arusty 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 aship gaun East I flung a bit o' fried pork at a coolie. He nearlyknocked ma lichts oot wi' a big hammer. "

"Yes, pigs are regarded by these fellows as unclean beasts. To offerthem pork is, as Brown says, a great insult, so be careful of that. Another important point is his carpet. This is sacred. He kneels onthat 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 domeson 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 isholy ground. If you go into them you must put a pair of shoes overyour boots. These are kept for the purpose. Of course, don't walkaway with the shoes, or there will be trouble. I have, also, a listhere 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, butthey are very important to them. You see, we are all Christians--orsupposed to be--and a Christian is regarded by them as an infidel andson of a dog. 

"Next thing is the ladies. We all love the ladies. What do you knowabout 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 whatis 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 throatwith a razor. These women are veiled to all men except their husbandsand nearest relations. Many of them are harem women. Out here, anative 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 thesewomen are very beautiful, others are quite ugly. I heard of one manwho followed a veiled lady for about three miles, thinking she was somewonderful Circassian beauty. He managed to talk to her too, but whenshe lifted her veil he was dumbstruck. Instead of being young andcharming, she was old, haggard, toothless and revolting. All is notgold that glitters, and beauty is not always found beneath the veil. 

"Yes, that reminds me, I've been hearing of one or two queer thingswhich they say our fellows have been doing. In a certain part of Cairothe ladies of the harems frequently ride in carriages, taking theevening air. They often drive alone and use their eyes in the mostinviting way. Some of our boys have jumped into the carriages and hada 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. Andquite right too. We have no right to interfere with the preserves ofan Egyptian Pasha. Now I think that is all I have to say to you justnow. Fall out, please. "

When the Colonel had departed, the men formed up into little groups anddiscussed some of the points that had been raised. 

"Old Sam's pulling our leg a bit about these holy places. I ain't hadany bother, and I've found it quite a paying game digging up these oldniggers' bones. Look here, boys, this is what I've found, " said Sambo, a big-boned bushman from Queensland, showing Bill and his cronies ahandful 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 thesewonderful 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 andskulls if you want them. "

"Is it safe?"

"I reckon so. You see, a lot of these are ancient graves. Nobody hasa 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 tombthere for some time. "

"What about to-night?"

"That will do. Bring your entrenching tools in a parcel, nobody seesthem. We can get an old cab or motor to go in. "

"Right-ho!" agreed Claud, who also arranged with Paddy, Bill and Sandyto form part of the exploring squad. This digging for ancienttreasures in the graves of the dead is an old game in Egypt. It iscomparatively safe where there are no natives with an interest in thebusiness. And it is really remarkable what interesting finds are made. Rings, bangles, necklaces, brassware, beads, and jewels are often foundin these old graveyards. 

The route to this particular place lay through Cairo. It was alreadydark when they started on a rattling old motor-car. Down the Mena Roadthey were whirled into the dazzling streets. The traffic sent the carslower through a long, narrow native quarter. This was lined withdirty shops, selling everything, from mouldy Turkish delight topoisonous-looking firewater called native wine. At the door of theseplaces the proud owners lounged on chairs or squatted on the ground, haggling and dealing with the _fellah_ (the peasant Egyptian, and thefinest type in Egypt). In Egypt everybody is in business. You canfind merchants dealing in broken bottles, merchants in discarded"fags, " merchants in the manure from the streets, merchants in rags andbones, 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 roundinto a long, darkened road. 

"This is the show, " said Sambo, pointing to a wide field of littledomes, 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?" mutteredMick, 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 hadbecome seized with a dread of the supernatural. 

"Well, boys, here we are!" exclaimed the leader of the party as theyneared a dark bend of the road. "Jump out!" The car was backed out ofsight, and the driver told to wait. 

"This way, " and into the darkness plunged the Queenslander. Theyfollowed close at his heels, stumbling over graves, stones and oldenclosures. 

"What's that?" screamed Paddy, as he kicked a white-looking thing athis feet. 

"It's a skull, man, " said Sandy, picking up the bleached headpiece ofan ancient. 

"Mother of Jasus, preserve us, " murmured the Irishman, crossing himselfagain. 

"Now, boys, here we are. Get out your tools and start digging. Here'sa little torch to use, now and again, to see what you've got. Youfellows can pan out this show here, I'm going over a bit to do someprospecting. "

"Right you are, I'll run this bit of the business, " said Claud, as theQueenslander went off into the darkness. For a long time they pickedand shovelled out the soft brown earth. 

"What's this?" whispered Sandy, holding something in his hand. Claudswitched the light on. 

"It's a shin bone. "

"Here's the goods, " shouted Bill, holding up a bracelet crusted withearth and mildew. 

"It's gold, too, " said Claud, fingering it. 

"And here's some quids, " Paddy said, spreading some coins out in hishand. 

"Coppers, you mean. "

Resuming their task, they soon collected skulls, shin bones, thighbones, some old brassware, a ring, some coppers, and many other thingsof an Eastern kind. 

"Wonderful! Wonderful!" soliloquised Claud, as he occasionallysurveyed the finds with the aid of his monocle and flash lamp. But thegreatest find was a large brass urn of beautiful workmanship. 

"Looks like old Rameses' whisky jar, " said Bill, turning the urn roundunder 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 slowlytowards them. 

"Holy Mary, there's a ghost, " said he, crossing himself and grippingClaud by the arm. They all looked up, and, sure enough, there wassomething white and weird moving slowly across the plain of the dead. Their eyes riveted on it. Paddy muttered a prayer; Bill eloquentlywondered what the white thing was; Sandy, remarkably cool, picked upthe bracelet, coins and other trinkets and placed them in his pocket. He did this, as he explained afterwards, "in case the ghost wid getthem. "

"It's mighty funny, " muttered Claud, frequently adjusting his eyeglassto see the dread apparition more clearly. 

"It's a ghost, boys, I tell ye. My ould father has seen them when helived in Kerry. Heaven preserve us!" he ejaculated, crossing himselffor 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, whitething still advancing. He reached it, then turned with it towards thecrouching grave wreckers. Halting about ten yards from them, Billshouted, "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 fearwhich had held him for a moment. 

"It's a white donkey on the loose, " answered Bill, bursting intolaughter. Paddy recovered instantly and joined with the others in theadmiration of the innocent ass which had strayed from its usual haunts. After sniffing its new-found friends, the donkey let out a terriblebray, flung up its heels and departed into the night. 

They recommenced their digging operations; so engrossed were they withtheir discoveries that they did not hear the approach of somechattering natives. These dusky gents were within fifty yards of themwhen Bill whispered, "Keep still--lie down. " They obeyed, and lyingflat on the ground saw some Arabs go by. They could just see theirfigures 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 upthese 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 theyhad had enough of this body-snatching, they were startled with the cryof, "Help, boys! Help! They're killing me. "

"By Jove! That's the Queenslander. These niggers are at him. Comeon, boys, " shouted Claud, lifting his entrenching tool and runningtowards the place from whence came the cry for help. 

"Help! Help!" rang out the cry again, this time it was more muffledand 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, hewas amazed by a strange and striking spectacle. 

Sambo lay struggling and kicking surrounded by four great hulkingArabs, who had been beating, kicking and biting him in a furiousstruggle. The faces of all were bleeding and bruised, and blood wassplashed over the white sort of overall that the natives wear. To theleft of Sambo Claud saw an open tomb. Inside he could just see a kindof coffin arrangement, and on the ground, near at hand, the most variedcollection of brass and other beautiful Eastern wares. This was thecause 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 theknock-out blow. 

"Here's one from Paddy Doolan, " shouted the Hibernian as he, too, hithis man. The fourth one was dealt with by Claud. With shrieks andyells 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 thetreasure trove. It appears that Sambo had scented out in a strange waya very ancient and dilapidated tomb, which these Arab robbers hadintended 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 downthe road with their load of curios. The car whisked them back to MenaCamp again. Stealthily creeping through the lines, they arrived attheir tents. All crept to bed, weary and wiser men. Claud was thelast one to fall asleep. He was thinking of Sybil, the girl from theBush. At last Morpheus claimed him. As he was slipping away into thedreamy 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 Yeomanrysubaltern to his Australian friend as a beautiful girl entered thespacious dining-room of Shepheard's Hotel in Cairo. 

"Why, that's Sybil Graham--haven't seen her since she was a kid. Myword, 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 bea lucky fellow who gets her. "

"You know, old chap, I never thought you produced women like that inAustralia. No offence, you know. What I really mean is that the sun, the want of what we call society, and the lack of cultured institutionssuch as we have at home, must be a great handicap in bringing up agirl. "

"Young man, you're talking through your hat, " was the blunt reply. "Wehave ladies in Australia just as we have at home. And can you guesswhat we haven't got?"

"No. "

"Snobs! No time for all your damned conventions--'At Home' scandalsand Society calls. These girls of the bush are natural, jolly, unconventional, but not loose. So far and no farther is their attitudeto mankind. And they've got an independence of character which knocksyou fellows sick when you meet them. They don't want any of theseinsidious palavers and hollow attentions, and they'll tell a man prettyquick what they think. My word! can't they choke a Johnny off. "

"But, my dear fellow, all my friends who have visited Australia saythey haven't got manners, and all have a cockney twang. When they opentheir mouths they always spoil the picture. "

"I expect your friends have been dealing with the Pitt Street toughs orManly larrikins. By the way you speak, I don't suppose they have everbeen in the bush or visited some of our squatters' homes. Do you knowthat some of these squatters are descendants of some of the finestfamilies in England. Apart from that, you will find better ladies on asquatter'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 inAustralia. So don't say I'm biased. But I am speaking from anintimate knowledge of the people--not from a superficial glance which ahen-brained tourist gets. It isn't affectation, trinkets, dresses anda Society drawl that makes a lady. That's your standard. Society athome--at least, in certain circles, is the most hollow and unhappycreation I know. Everyone is in it, because they've got to be, butevery real white man or woman knows that it's the rottenest show onearth. We don't stand for all that sort of thing out there. Theyaccept folks for what they are worth--I mean, if a person is decent, law-abiding, cheerful and ambitious, the door of the Premier, squatterand 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 schoolsand culture. You're entirely mistaken. We can educate and create amost charming and distinctive type. I grant you that some of ourpeople may be narrow-visioned and have one-eyed views. I admit youwill find a few folks who think Britain is a land of peers, publicansand paupers. But haven't you got in Britain the same narrow folks, thesame crude, ill-informed men and women who ignorantly air their viewsto the disgust of every Colonial?"

"Yes, there's something in that, I agree. We have got them, but I'veheard Australian officers talk as if Australia was the only place onGod's earth, " the subaltern ejaculated a little warmly. 

"You condemn a nation for a few. Young man, you haven't travelled farenough. And you make me tired to hear you talk in that way. You're anice fellow spoiled, I reckon. Why, where I live there's dozens ofEnglish public school men working as cockies and jackaroos. Theywouldn't go back home if you paid them. They like the life. Everybodymakes them at home, and many of them have married our Australian girls. These women can milk, bake, ride, drive, sew and rear the most charmingchildren. And they can meet you in a drawing-room with a natural gracethat is their own. Intellectually, too, they are pleasant to meet, forthe loneliness has given them time to think and read. Look at thatgirl 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 ofinnate grace of mind and body?"

"Certainly, but is this not some strange exception, just as you find inmany parts?"

"No, my boy. You still seem to be unconvinced. Hang it all, there'sonly 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 yousince I was at school. "

"How do, Jack?" said old Graham, in his blunt way. Then Mrs. Grahamaccorded him the same warm welcome. 

"Let me introduce Lieutenant Gore-Jones of the Yeomanry. Take him inhand, Sybil. He's a good fellow spoiled. "

"All right, Jack, " said Sybil, smiling, and stepping towards the wideveranda with her new-found friend. Gordon remained behind with theparents to talk of old times. 

"This _is_ a pleasure, " said Jones as they sat down. "I never thoughtof meeting such a charming person from down under. "

Sybil frowned a little, then looking straight into his eyes said, "Idon't like honey, Mr. Jones, it's too sweet, and sweet things are oftensickly. "

"I--I--I beg your pardon, " he stammered, blushing a little. 

"I'm afraid you expected to meet an aborigine, didn't you?" she saidmore kindly, remembering the cue she had received from Jack Gordon. 

"Not exactly--I'm afraid I have not met any Australians except thetroops. "

"And what do you think of them? I'm rather interested, and like otherpeople's views. "

"You're not super-sensitive, I hope, " he remarked, "because some ofyour 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 toughas the oldest soldiers. But they're not very respectful, you know. Imean, they don't salute; they stalk past with an air of equality andeven contempt. That's a bad sign in a soldier. "

"Yes?" said Sybil, daintily lighting a neat cigarette and settling downin her cosy chair. 

"The officers, I hear, are excellent leaders, but, somehow, they don'tquite look the part--sort of mixed, don't you know. Somehow, theirbuild and clothes don't give them that distinctive touch which is thehall-mark of the British officer. I suppose it's really a question ofbreeding. They say in England it takes five generations to turn out agentleman. Americans seem the same as Australians. In fact, I've readthat all young and democratic countries are alike. Don't misunderstandme, 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 yourconception of a leader is a thin-waisted, well-corseted man, all hairwash and side--a most perfect and arrogant dandy. I can't believe thatthe tailor, manicurist and barber produce the leader. And you say thatour boys have not the fine touch about them. Do you think that reallycounts in war? I think a Tommy wants a man to lead him whether helooks a Caesar or Bill Sikes. You really infer that the Australianblood 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 andill at ease in this show. They don't respect the polite conventions ofSociety, and would turn the place into a sort of cowboy saloon if leftalone. "

"What nonsense, Mr. Jones. And if I didn't feel that there was a hopeof you knowing us better, I would leave you. What I think you aresuffering from is the conservatism of the Britisher, a truly appallingdefect, as well as a lack of perception. I grant you that ourAustralian 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 aBond Street khaki suit. You say they seem ill at ease, and don'tlounge in their chairs as if to the manner born. You don't realisethat these men are men of action. Their life is spent in a hustlingway. They are workers, not idlers. Anything suggestive of luxuriousease 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'llride, jump and slice the lemon better than any of your troops in Cairo. They're practical people, not dreamers who worry about etiquette andthe fine points. Now just you take a good look at their faces. You'llnote that they're bronzed, strong, with a cleft in the chin, and ajaw-bone which speaks volumes. In fact, their whole make-up suggests asort 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 thepioneers of Australia. These men landed poor and had to fight drought, aborigines, bushrangers, misfortune after misfortune. They were upagainst it all the time. They built their houses from the trees, dugtheir wells, fenced their land, scraped their pennies to get theshillings to buy their stock. In the midst of success, disease oftenstruck them bare. Yet they stuck to it. Gradually the hard timespassed away, and to-day many are wealthy. My dad is one. I'm notproud of his money, but I am proud of the grit and courage that hasmade him rich. These are just the qualities that the soldier musthave. "

"Oh, certainly, " interjected Jones, fascinated by the radiant glow onthe animated features of this most charming girl. His logic was beingbattered to death. He felt his position weakening. It began to dawnon him that he was a conservative Britisher, who had simply beenuttering 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 showyou the Bush. I do love to convince people, especially folks from theold land. Then, Mr. Jones, you would see how free, how charming lifeis in the Bush. We have all got beautiful homes, plenty of horses, motors, even electric light on some of the stations. In fact, I knowof one old squatter who can produce a butler and footmen in breeches. You can have joy rides on motors, picnics miles from civilisation, anddances with the jolliest band of girls and boys I've seen. Everythingis natural, all is delightful. I love Australia. I'm awfully proud ofit. And I'm proud of those boys over there and all the others who havecome to help the old land. Don't judge them by trivial things, Mr. Jones. If they're unconventional, and not good at saluting, they'llstick to any man who can lead them through. In fact, they can fightjust as the Tommies did at Waterloo and Mons. "

"Well, " said Jones with a gasp, "you're an absolute revelation. I havenever 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 itand you needn't protest, " he said with boyish enthusiasm. "Do youthink 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 pickholes 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 ourJackaroo. A public school man, he landed at our door and asked for ajob. He had a glass eye and insisted on wearing that and a whiteindiarubber collar when working round the show. They ragged him, buthe stood it all. When they went too far he simply took off his jacketand punched them soft. No matter what dirty job he got, he did it andnever whined. He had no airs, and never trumpeted his family lineageor his school. He was just a dear, lovable English gentleman, who'dbeen 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, " shegleefully 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 thesurprised subaltern started back, exclaiming, "What--Claud Dufair? Youwere at Rugby with me!"

"The same, sir, " said Claud, standing rigidly to attention, full ofsuppressed 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 notgoing 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 thepalms, 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 coolveranda. But war has no respect for feelings or conditions, so theAustralian, New Zealander, and Lancashire men had to hoof it across thesun-baked desert. The troops were divided into three columns, eachstriking for a different point. They were bent on a combined scheme inwhich the "General Idea, " "Special Idea, " and other vague militaryterms figured large. 

"Ain't the heat hellish? My nose is feeling like a banana, and myshirt's glued to my back! Wish I had joined the Camel Corps or DonkeyBrigade. Gravel crushing's no good to me, " growled Bill, changing hisrifle 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 arehere. They're going to grind the insubordination out of us. They'llmarch us and sweat us to death. 'Trouble maketh a strong man, Painmaketh 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 confoundedhole?" added Bill, who was in a nasty mood that day. 

"Too many pubs, too many ma's, and too many politicians about forthat, " Claud answered. "Besides, Kitchener's a smart fellow. He knowshis job. We're here to keep these bally niggers in order, and, at thesame time, train for war. You can't push it on to 'K'; he's too mightyquick for you an' me. "

"But when the blazes are we goin' to the war? I'm thirstin' to cutsome fellow's throat, but all I gets is march and sweat--sweat andmarch--and fourteen days C. B. If I look sideways at these officerblokes. No good to me, boys. I'm here for killin', not for roadpunchin'. 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 theGippies' firewater. I thought the old parson had got you to sign thepledge. "

"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 wasBill's "off day. " He would come round again. 

Bill's attitude at that period of the war represented the feelings ofmany a Tommy in the Australian and New Zealand forces. These men, accustomed to the life of freedom, action, and the daily use ofinitiative, cursed the seemingly endless days of drill, shooting, marching, manoeuvring, with the firm discipline and immediatepunishment when rules were ignored. Eight long months of this wastheir lot, and during that time there seemed little prospect of theirseeing war. It was a hard test. 

To them it seemed a cruel test. The younger and more inexperiencedthought it useless and a waste of time, but the officers understood thereason why. It was Kitchener's way. "K" knew that these men were thefinest fighters in the world. But to get the fullest value for theircourage he realised that training and discipline, discipline, discipline was absolutely essential. Every officer of the GeneralStaff expected them to curse and kick. The Staff also assumed that, inthe end, the Australians' true sense of justice would compel them toadmit that all this "suffering" would make them infinitely superior toany Australian units which had hitherto shared in fighting for theMotherland. This is exactly what did occur. Kitchener was, therefore, right! Kitchener is always right. 

 * * * * *

The Australian column had reached its rendezvous. While the men wereresting, General Fearless, the Australian G. O. C. , was issuing hisorders to the Brigade Commanders. 

"Gentlemen, " he said, "the General Idea is that the Red Force, composedof the Lancashire Division, holds the ridge of sand hills whichdominate the road to Cairo. We, who represent the Blue Force, haveorders to make a reconnaissance in force. That means that we must somanoeuvre 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 adrawing game. That must be distinctly understood. Of course, in sucha reconnaissance, if a G. O. C. Saw something which _would_ justify hisassuming a vigorous offensive, then the game might develop into ageneral action. That, however, is a matter for me, not for anindividual brigadier. Now, to-day, I want the Bushmen's Brigade tocover our advance, the remaining brigades will act as in my operationorders. Remember, too, gentlemen, that units must keep upcommunication. Don't let the show develop into a sort of Donnybrook, where each little unit is fighting for its own band. That is all--fallout, please. "

The Brigadiers saluted, and returned to their units. The scheme wasagain explained. Ten minutes afterwards the brigades moved intoposition. The Bushmen's Brigade took post away in front; in the centreof this front line was the Kangaroo Marines. Covering the wholeadvance was a screen of men, and in front of the screen, little patrolswith 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 anoctopus--the main body with a thousand tendrils, or arms, thrown out. These recoil as they touch the enemy, telling the brain that danger isnear. 

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 theburning sands. It was hard work--mighty hard work--but they didn'tmind. They were doing something useful, and as long as a Bushman isdoing 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 littlesquad. But it was Bill's keen eyes which had first seen little groupsof the enemy ahead. One little group, grown tired of waiting, wassnoozing peacefully on a sandy hollow. Bill and his cronies crept ontheir 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 themrifles 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 sawa long line of men lying about on a ridge of sand. They were firingfuriously 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 suddenappearance 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 annoyedat the term "matey. "

"Hands up, " said Bill, shoving in a round of blank and presenting hisrifle 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 foolme--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 youoff, " said Bill, fingering his trigger. The old colonel, realisingthat he was dealing with a too zealous scout, unacquainted with therules 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, somewhatannoyed at the waste of time. 

Sandy jumped up. 

"Now, take this bloke back to Colonel Killem. Tell him he's a poorfellow 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 theLancashires were fighting a running action with the scouts and patrolsof the Australians. From knoll to knoll they were pressed, both sidesskilfully using every fold in the ground. Bill, by this time, hadincreased his army to about twenty men. Using the most originaladjectives and assuming a superior air, he ordered his command aboutlike some old fire-eating colonel. His vigorous pursuit kept the enemybusy, but eventually they pulled him up in front of a roughly-madesangar. This was a strong detached post thrown out in front of theoutpost line. The defenders gave his little army a fierce fusillade ofblank. 

"That's up _you_, Buffalo Bill, " said the mischievous Doolan. 

"Silence in the ranks, " roared Bill, who was taking himself veryseriously. 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 twentyfull-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 andblowing, but holding a bayonet at his chest. The remainder of hisparty were, meantime, tickling the fast retreating Lancashire lads withthe 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'swot 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. ThenBill sat down. Pulling a black stump of a pencil out of his pocket, heproceed to write a dispatch. It was as follows:

"DEAR CURNEL, --Paddy Doolan an' I, with twenty boys, just capturedenemy's position. Enemy running like blazes. The officer blokerefuses to be dead. I'm sending him to you. We're just goin' off totry 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 ColonelKillem in rear. Bill again proceeded to join the long line of scoutswhich now faced the outposts of the enemy. This was the second stageof the attack. The "screen" now came up and thickened the Australianline. Many officers came with it, so Bill, without protest, vacatedthe post of "general. "

"Bang, bang, bang!" went the rifles. "Z-r-r-p-rip-rip!" went themachine-guns, while the sullen boom of the field artillery in rearindicated that matters were becoming interesting. 

"Advance by rushes, " ordered the senior Australian officer in the frontline. 

"Why don't you let us give 'em the bayonet?" muttered Bill, disagreeingwith 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. Asthey went forward on the rush. Bill wished for more than a round ofblank. 

Section after section took up a new line. Then the rushes startedagain. All the time the rifles were spitting out their fire. Theyreached within fifty yards of the outpost line. As this was simply aprotective screen, and not the line of resistance, the enemy's outpostcompanies commenced to fade away systematically in the direction oftheir 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 ofhearing. 

"For openin' jam tins, ye fathead, " said Paddy. 

"Charge!" The long line rose like one man. With a great cheer theyswept away the remnants of the outpost companies and occupied theridge. This gave the Australians a complete view of the main position. Both flanks rested on impassable obstacles. The front was secured byimaginary entanglements, backed up by a series of trenches and an arrayof Maxims and guns. This was the information required by theAustralian 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 mara general's name. While General Fearless and his force were rallyingfor lunch all were suddenly surprised by a fearful roll of musketry onthe 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 someinformation. "

"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 forcewhich had suddenly appeared and was furiously firing blank. They foundthe New Zealanders pressing on in three separate lines towards them. 

"It's a proper trap, " said one of the gallopers. "And look to ourrear. There's more there. This flank business is a feint. They'retrying to smash us behind, and they're 'cute enough not to fire a shotfrom that direction. Say, Brown, gallop back and tell the general, andI'll try and bluff this front line here. " Away went the messengerwhile the other young staff officer galloped into the front line of NewZealanders. 

"The New Zealanders will cease fire, " said the daring galloper. Hisstaff cap commanded the respect of an innocent subaltern. He blew hiswhistle. More whistles were heard. In two minutes all wascomparatively still. 

"You will commence firing again in fifteen minutes. Pass it along. "Down the line went the false order. Smiling inwardly, the shrewdaide-de-camp galloped away. Meantime the Australian G. O. C. Had actedvigorously. Throwing out two regiments to hold the feinting force onhis right, he then turned the other brigades about. These weredeployed at the double, sent forward with a rush, and, in threeminutes, dug shelter trenches in the sand. They were ordered to keeplow until the main body of the New Zealanders pressed the attack wellhome. It was an exciting moment. And the Maorilanders expected aneasy win. On they came in their long skirmishing lines. At last theywere 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 theirsurprise, Fearless ordered the "Charge!" Like deerhounds, his men roseup and dashed pell-mell into the panic-stricken host. There was ashock, a wavering, and then a pell-mell rush to the rear. TheAustralians 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 seenmuch to-day. There has been little to deplore and a great deal tocommend. Throughout the whole show there has been shown skill, enthusiasm, and dash. Leadership was good, communication fair, andnothing very rash was done. Your eight months' training has improvedyou beyond recognition. 

"To-day I tested our Australian friends. I planned to trick them, tothrow them into confusion, and to cause a general panic by a suddenonslaught while they were resting and apparently finished for the day. The trap failed because General Fearless was cool and appreciated thesituation. That, to me, is an important point. The surprises of warare the things which make us or break us. Surprises in South Africasmashed more reputations than anything else. It is perfectly easy atmanoeuvres to carry out a scheme laid down. It is not easy suddenly tomeet a dramatic development or side issue. 

"Now for another point. Our colonial friends still suffer from anabundance of vitality and the too daring use of the initiative. Thatis a good fault, and yet a bad one. In guerilla warfare it would be atremendous asset. In a concerted scheme it might prove disastrous. Nomatter how daring and clever the individual soldier or officer, if heforgets that there are men, sections, regiments, and brigades to hisright or left--if he fails to appreciate the full value ofco-ordination and co-operation, he is a danger to himself and hisforce. Of course, gentlemen, I fully appreciate that this charmingrecklessness of our overseas cousins is due to temperament, not tointent or a desire to be big at the expense of their fellows. That iswhy we have trained you so hard. Without any desire to give offence, Isay boldly that the Australians and New Zealanders are an infinitelybetter trained, better disciplined, and, therefore, a more useful bodyof 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 toomeek, or else he is like a Quaker--far too respectable. And this greatcamp of ours would, indeed, be dull without the original adjectives ofour Australasians. 

"That is all, gentlemen, except this--and it is important--in a fewweeks you will be in active service. We expect great things of theAustralasians, the Twenty-ninth Division, and our Lancashire men; and Iknow that we shall receive of your best. Good-day, gentlemen. " Andoff rode the handsome courtier and soldier with a rousing cheer ringingin his ears. There's nothing like brains; and there's a great deal intact. Ask a colonial. 

CHAPTER VII

THE LANDING

A great convoy of transports, guarded by destroyers, ploughed silentlythrough the waters which lap the European side of the GallipoliPeninsula. The ships had the Australian force on board, and thedestroyers were there to assist them in one of the most daring missionsin modern war. 

All lights were out and strict silence was observed. Each man had, therefore, time to commune with the spirits of those nine thousandmiles away. It was not a time for the buffoon; they were faced withall the dread perils of war. 

Nearer and nearer the ships drew to their objective. At last theyreached the point assigned them by the Staff. A quiet signal wasgiven. Destroyers, pinnaces, and row boats were placed at the sides ofthe transports, rough gangways thrown out, and the command to movequietly was passed along. Noiselessly they stepped from thetransports; but all the while there was an electric-like feeling aroundthe heart--that peculiar something which only the soldier knows. However, there wasn't time to romance or moralise. War rules outsentiment and fears. There was a job to be done. 

When each boat was packed with its human freight, the gangways wereslipped, cables thrown off, and all were quietly towed to the shore. It was still dark--one hour, in fact, before the dawn. When closeinshore, the hand of Providence proved kind. This took the form of astrong current--so strong, in fact, that it pressed the boats away fromthe point previously assigned for the landing and washed them into asafer part for the historic encounter. 

That current saved thousands of Australian lives; indeed, it may haveensured the success of the mission. Had the Australians landed at thepoint decided on, it is doubtful whether the landing would have been sothoroughly effective as it proved on the other beach. 

"Not much doing--eh?" said Colonel Killem to his adjutant as he peeredthrough the darkness to the shore. Indeed, it seemed that the enemyhad left this shore unguarded. But the Turks are wily soldiers. Theyallowed the boats to near the shore, then opened up a murderous rifleand machine-gun fire. 

"Gad! Boys, I'm hit!" said a subaltern, falling, his blood spurting ina 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 theygrated on the shore. 

"Jump, boys, jump!" shouted the colonel. There was no need to tellthem, no need to show the lead. They leaped pluckily from their boatsand dashed up the beach. There was a pause while a few collected. 

Then, seeing the Turks firing furiously from a trench ahead, somebodyyelled out, "Charge!" A cheer electrified the chilling dawn as theyrushed on. Some were killed; some fell, wounded, on the way; theothers pressed forward, their faces grim, their eyes alert, and themuscles of their arms all taut with the fierce gripping of the riflesin their hands. It was their first charge; but they did it like theveterans 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 beenstruck 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 tothe rear. Meantime some supports had come up. 

Seeing the Turks fleeing into another trench some fifty yards up theslope, the colonel ordered them to charge again. The Australians'blood was up. They had seen red and had felt success. They wantedmore. Throwing off their cumbersome packs, they charged forward again. 

"They've got me, " shouted an officer, throwing up his arms and lettingout the awful shriek of death. But this withering fire did not appalthese young Australians. The sight of their comrades, dead andwounded, roused them more. Revenge set their faces hard, and with manya fierce and terrible oath they leaped into the second trench. 

"The Australians will retire, " said an officer, jumping in front of theattacking 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 gamewhich had been so well played in France did not come off. 

The remnants of the Turks were bayoneted and butted to death; but themain body were fleeing up the hill. 

"Rapid fire!" roared the colonel; but the eager men were already afterthe enemy with the bayonet. Up the steep, steep sides of the cliffthey clambered and stumbled. It was more like a race for a prize thana juggle with death. Occasionally the morning light showed the redblood on the bayonets and hands of the charging men. 

These blood-stained, panting soldiers terrified the Turks at the top ofthe hill. Their tactics had surprised them. They had looked for theusual 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 gallantAustralians. More fell dead, others dropped wounded, blood spatteredthe grass, and above the din of musketry and guns could be heard thecries 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 beenkilled. There was that confusion which is found in all attacks. Still, all these men knew that "forward--forward" was the game. Theroughest and most daring took charge of little groups, and, with these, they cheered, cursed, and leaped into the trench at the edge of thegreen plateau. Again, the main body had fled, leaving the more wearyand 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 acharge, 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 thesensitiveness of culture and recreate the primitive lust to kill. 

For the moment the man is a savage; Nature blinds him to the perils ofwounds and death. Duty steels him harder still, and pride of racetells him that he must do as his fathers did--die like a gentleman anda soldier. 

The success of the first troops inspired the following reserves. Theyall 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 wasnow daylight. As they gained the summit the Turks greeted them withterrific bursts of shrapnel and common shell. The crack, the whitepuff of smoke, then the scattering balls of lead did not dismay thesewarriors. 

It roused their curiosity, and, like schoolboys, some stopped to seethe fun of the show. Cover they disdained. They were too proud toduck and hide in a hole or trench. This was the recklessness for whichthey had to pay. Yet it was useful. It taught them that to takeadvantage 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 thefleeing Turks, and behind them the Kangaroo Marines and other membersof the first landing force. Ahead was a little valley and then aslope. This was commanded by the Turks. 

"Come on, boys, " shouted an officer. 

Little groups, under subalterns, N. C. O. 's, or privates with theleader's instinct, dashed towards this hill. More were killed, morewounded on the way; but, undaunted, they pushed on. Up the slopescrawled, clambered, and cursed the dashing infantry. They reachedtheir objective, and, again, the Turks had gone. 

"My God--what a sight!" said Claud, looking behind. The ground wasdotted with dead and dying. Wounded men crawled and limped to therear, their clothes soaked in blood. Men with limbs shattered to pulplay moaning and pleading for death. Others, slightly wounded, pouredwater 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 andbearers, disdaining death, tended the wounded and dying. Under aruthless fire orderlies carried the sufferers down to the beach below. Many were killed at the job. Nobly they stuck to it. The heroism ofthese Red Cross men is one of the finest things in the Gaba Tepe show. 

The attack had now developed into a galloping pursuit. Turks weredemoralised, and after them went the Australians like whippets on thecourse. There was no regular line. Little units were here and there. It was the day for the born leader. Having no precise information asto where the pursuit should end and a defensive line made, many pushedright on with a courage that was amazing. 

One group was caught in a gully and decimated; others, who pushedalmost 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 dugholes in the ground, and from behind these little mounds of earth theykept 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 terrificbombardment. It was the greatest trial any force could haveexperienced. 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. Andall day it was charge and counter-charge. Officers have seldomdisplayed the tenacity and courage of these Australians' leaders. Theyplayed the game as well as the scions of Eton and other historicschools. And then God, in His mercy, sent down the fall of night. This hid the shambles, gave ease to the wounded and dying, and allowedthe 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 beingkilled and wounded. The sailors worked like Trojans, bringing rations, ammunition, and reserves ashore. Thanks to them, the gunners, and theuntiring zeal of the Staff, the line next day was fairly wellestablished. 

The landing was complete; they had achieved what the Germans hadadvertised as the impossible. Australians have, therefore, every rightto feel proud. And all Britishers ought to feel proud of them too. 

 * * * * *

"Well, boys--how's things?" asked Colonel Killem, one day, whenvisiting his men in the trenches. 

"A1 at Lloyd's, colonel. But I reckon we ought to pull old JohnnyTurk'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 showedthem 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 anhour, firing thousands of rounds. 

"Another cheer, boys, " ordered the colonel. 

"Bang! Bang! Bang!" went the Turks again. The ruse was a splendidone. But the wily Turk tumbled to the game at last. 

"We'll need to get something new, boys; that game's played out, " saidthe colonel next day. 

After consulting his men they hit on another scheme. About twenty menwere 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 towhere they had started from. Again they marched along, showing theirbayonets, as before. The old Turks simply saw this constant stream ofbayonets. They concluded that the Australians were massing for theattack. The Turks lined their trenches and opened up another furiousfusillade, supported by machine-guns and shrapnel. Thousands of roundswere expended before they realised that they had been fooled once more. 

There was a lull next day, so Bill and his friends shaved off theirwhiskers and had a bath in a cupful of water. Claud cleaned hiseyeglass, and Paddy went in search of a glass of rum from some of thesailors. Sandy, then on light duty, opened up a business as a curioagent. He swapped Turkish rifles, bullet clips, and other things forpieces of bread, a tin of jam, a tasty Maconochie, and some tea. Thiswas a godsend to his famished pals in the trenches. Bill also wrote aletter home to Mrs. McGinnes, his old Sydney landlady and financier:

"DEAR OLD SPORT, --Hope's your well. I'm well, but the Turks ain'twell. 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 noundertakers out here. When we wants a new kit we generally borrows theclothes an' boots of a dead feller. We live in little 'oles jist likerabbits, 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. Thesnipers are nasty fellers, 'demned annoyin', ' as my ole friend Claudsays. One keeps hittin' my loop-'ole, but I'm going to 'ave the dirtyole rascal's blood to-night. Now, ta ta, old girl. Love to thechildren. --Your ole friend, "BILL BUSTER. 

"_P. S. _--Lend me a quid. What a thirst I've got. We can generally buyrum from the sailors. Make it two quid an' I'll send you a lot ofkurios. 

"_P. P. S. _--I needs tobacco--couple of pounds 'll do. An' throw in somecigarettes. 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 histrousers, but missed his leg. 

"It's that feller I'm after. "

Before Claud could detain him he disappeared. Dropping on to hisknees, he crawled for some distance, then lay flat. 

Ping went the sniper's bullet again. He saw the flash. Thisincidentally 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 thathe did not hear the crawling man behind. Like a snake, Bill wriggledalong. He finished up ten yards behind his man. This sniper hadkilled and wounded thirty men in two days. He did not deserve a quickdispatch, and Bill had no intention of giving him that. With a bound, he jumped on him, and pinned him right through the shoulders with hisbayonet. 

"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 upwith the bayonet. 

When he rose from the ground Bill found he had a green bush tied allround him. His face and hands were afterwards found to be paintedgreen. 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 theAustralian trench. 

"What's all that row there?" roared the Colonel. 

"Jest been catchin' a sniper, Colonel, " answered Bill, throwing his manoff 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 fellowsthis man had killed and wounded. A sniper, let it be known, does notplay 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 ofthe day. Bullets plunk against the parapet with a monotonousregularity; others crack in the air like a whip, while some whiz pastthe ear like a great queen bee. At odd intervals a dose of shrapnelheightens the nerves, and now and again a high-explosive comes downwith a shuddering boom!

A trench isn't the place for a lady, it isn't the place for amild-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 atthis game. The highly strung, carefully fed, hot-house plant, such asa mamma's darling, hasn't a look in. He finds it a beastly bore, andlongs for the drawing-room cushions and afternoon tea. Trench lifereveals the best and shows the worst. A man's nature stands out like astatue. For trench life a man needs the stomach of a horse, thestrength of a lion, and the nerves of a navvy. Any man can do abayonet charge; any man can shoot down the charging host; but it takesa braver man to live in a trench month after month. His nostrils arefilled with the stench of the fallen, for his parapet is frequentlybuilt up with the dead. His tea is made with water polluted withgerms, the bully beef stew is generally soaked in dust and sand. 

And the flies! They're worse than all, the pestilential breed! Flieskill more men than bullets. Flies were surely invented by some ancientHun. 

Trench life in France is a picnic compared with the Dardanelles. InFrance, one _can_ get soft bread, fresh coffee and yesterday's _Times_. But, in the Dardanelles it is biscuits and bully, bully andbiscuits--without the news of Pollokshields and Mayfair. Yet, despitethe severity of things, the Australasians were ever serene. To them itwas a sporting game. They had been used to boiling their own billycans; used to looking for firewood; used to making a shanty wherein tolay their heads. Where the Cockney might die from heat and thirst, theAustralasian can thrive like a Zulu or aborigine. City bred troopsdemand an organisation of things; Australasian troops organise thingsfor themselves. And where our friends of The Kangaroo Marines werecertainly demanded all their cunning and courage. It was called"Hell-Fire Post. " This was on the left of the Australian line, withinthirty yards of the Turks. The post had developed from a thin line ofholes into a strong redoubt. Many had died, more had been wounded indefending this place, but it was worth it. This was the key of thewhole line. That was why The Kangaroo Marines were there. When theytook it over, they found the parapets thin and bullets coming in allround. 

"Hot shop, by Jove!" said Claud, adjusting his monocle to look throughan 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. " AndClaud, despite the whizzing bullets, filled more sandbags and shovedthem 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 andcrack shots could not keep the rifle fire down. To move a hand or headabove the level of the ground meant a wound. 

"This won't do, " said the Colonel, as he made his morning visit on hishands 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'tcomfortable. 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 soonbe at Manly amongst the girls, " and off went Killem on his rounds. That afternoon a dozen big iron plates came up. These were square witha 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 andcommenced to fix it in position. Under a hail of lead they workedsweating, grousing and cursing all the time. At last it was fixed andready for business. 

"This is my shot, " said Bill, taking hold of his rifle. Slowly heopened 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 blackpuddin', 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'sgoin' to shoot. "

"At you?"

"No! Some fathead down the line. But I'll get the one-eyed Moslemblighter, " muttered Bill, taking careful aim. 

"Mind yis don't hit the ould fellow up in the moon, " said Paddy just asBill let go. 

"Ye spud-faced Paddy. Ye--ye--ye----" blurted out Bill, throwing downhis gun in anger. 

"Missed, be Jasus--yis couldn't hit the town of Sydney at a hundredyards. Paddy Doolan's the man for that job. " He seized the rifle, butjust as he was going to open the little iron door there was a rattle ofbullets 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 theexperience with nearly all the other plates--one of the many annoyingproblems of war. However, the new plates were doubled and bolted. Then they were covered with sandbags and erected so as not to be tooobvious on the parapet. This scheme defied the sniper and the Maxim, and, in this way, the Turks' fire was subdued. This was important. Intrench warfare the enemy must be terrorised. Not a head must beallowed to bob up, not a rifle and eye seen. Snipers must be hunted todeath and given such a hefty and quick dispatch as to intimidate theirsuccessors. Water parties and ration parties have to be set on therun; reinforcements spotted and scattered; officers, too, must be keptin their place--below the parapet, if not below the sod. All of thismeans that the enemy gets demoralised and sickened. And when he hashad a month or two of this gentle treatment he is easily dealt withwhen the time comes for an offensive and bayonet charge. 

Of course, the Turks did not let the Australasians have it entirelytheir own way. When sniping and rifle fire became too dangerous, theyresorted to the bomb. The bomb isn't a respectable thing. Itsometimes takes your head off, and frequently punctures the system inrather an ugly manner. When a bomb hits, you know it. It is somethinglike a railway engine striking a match-box. These Turkishbomb-throwers had some idea of making a sort of Irish slew out of theiropponents' bodies. They bombed _and_ bombed _and_ bombed. Now, thiswasn't at all polite, and it was most uncomfortable, especially whensitting down to a stolen Maconochie--an appetising dish. These bombsburst the parapets, ripped up the sandbags, and knocked men's brainsinto other men's eyes. Most annoying! One morning a bomb just missedBill's head. 

"What the--who the--why the---- These blamed ole Turks think my head'sa 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-coveredjam tins. These were sent down to the beach in bags, causing many agrouse on the way. Rumour had it that some Jew had made a contract forthe empty tins, another yarn was that they were for growing flowersround the General's dug-out. But mysterious and resourceful are theways of the General Staff! These jam tins were redelivered to TheKangaroo Marines next day in the shape of bombs. 

"Well I'm jiggered!" said Bill. "First they puts jam in tins, nextthey 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 intotheir shelters below the parapets. 

"Ye dirty, mouldy-faced sons of dog-eatin', blue-nosed spalpeens--Oi'llbomb 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 thenthey heard moaning, shrieks, and shouts of "Allah, Allah. "

"More jam, " ordered Bill. And more jam they received. It wasn'tsweet, and certainly unpalatable. And it didn't stick. Tins labelled"Apricot, " "Marmalade, " "Black Currant, " and "Raspberry, " went hurtlingthrough the air, then burst in a very nasty way above the poor oldTurks' trenches. This battle of jam bombs made the Turks much morerespectful for a time. Indeed, one of the officers, who must have beena 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 lastnight. --Yours fraternally, "YUSSEF BEY. "

"By Jove! He's a sport--let's chuck him a tin, " said Claud. And overit went. The Turks scattered and waited, but there was no explosion. With a smile the Turkish officer picked up the tin. Unfastening a notetied round it, he read:

"DEAR YUSSEF, --This is the _real_ stuff. By the way, you were at Rugbywith me. Shall be sorry to kill you. --Yours, etc. , "CLAUD DUFAIR. "

Plunk! came a stone into the Australian lines; round it was fixed anote:

"DEAR CLAUD, --Many thanks--it was a god-send. Fancy you being here. Ithought you would have been guarding the Marys and Mauds of London fromthe 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 otherTurkish soldier, was a gentleman. 

It is remarkable how circumstances produce the inventor. At Hell-FirePost the men found that the ordinary square periscope was almostuseless. Every time one went up, bang went a Turk's rifle, and theperiscope was blown to smithereens. Indeed, The Kangaroos lost nearlyall their periscopes in the first few days. Now this was awkward. Periscopes are life-savers, for the periscope prevents a man pushinghis head above the parapet to see if Johnny Turk is coming over to say"Good morning. " Something had to be done, so the famous quartettebegan 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 deftlyand quickly cut away the inner portion of the stick. This kept himbusy for a couple of hours. When finished, he took a little pocketmirror 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 fixedinto 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 discoverywas that every officer's stick was immediately commandeered, and withthe aid of Claud's ring and other people's mirrors, a good supply ofperiscopes were made. 

"You think you're smart fellers, I suppose, " said Bill, his envy rousedby this success. "But I'll show you fellers something in a day ortwo. "

"What is it?"

"'Wait and see, ' as old Asquith says. " For the next few days Bill wasseen in close communion with a fellow Australian. They went about thetrenches picking up bits of wood, nails, mirrors, and other odds andends. These were carried into the little hole of the inventive genius, and there all gradually saw the growth of a wonderful invention. Itwasn't Bill's idea exactly. He was simply the managing director, whostimulated curiosity, and fetched the mysterious genius the necessarysupplies of material. Anyone who ventured too near the sacred sanctumwas 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 thetime. 

"What is it, then?"

"It's a man-killer. You can sit down in yer bed and kill all the oleTurks 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 tohave the trial shot. The instrument, in brief, was a periscope rifle. With the aid of an ordinary rifle, mirrors and wood fixed up in arough, but ingenious way, there had been produced a killing instrument, which allowed the user to see and to kill without being seen. This wasa godsend, for many of the casualties at this post were due to menaiming 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 andsteadily he took aim, then bang went his rifle. 

"Got him! Got him! Right in his coconut, " shouted Bill with a grimdelight. 

The invention was hailed as a great success, and the inventorcomplimented all round. His orders were many, and his instrument soonbecame general throughout the whole line. Indeed, it was owing to thiswonderful invention that the rifle fire of the Turks was again subduedto a remarkable extent. 

Other remarkable things were invented by these resourceful fellows. The General Staff also supplied them with new machines of war. One ofthe finest was the Japanese bomb-thrower, an instrument which threw agreat, big bomb like a well-filled melon. This went tumbling over andover, like an acrobat doing a somersault, then burst in the moststartling way. The explosion was terrific and destruction amazing. Parapets, trenches, men and Maxims were all destroyed if near the pointof contact. "_Some_ bomb!" as the boys said. 

In this sort of warfare it is always the progressive and alert man whowins. It is useless sitting down and grousing. Every means, everytrick is justifiable so long as the methods are fair and according tothe rules of war. When the history of this war is written specialattention ought to be devoted to the many devices which have beenemployed by the soldier. For example, the Turks opposite to TheKangaroos were always sapping towards the Australasian lines. This wasa nuisance. The constant pick! pick! pick! upset everybody. Nightafter night these Turkish moles had to be bombed away. One evening asapping party recommenced operations quite near to Claud and hisfriends. 

"At it again, " Bill remarked. 

"Yes, they're a beastly nuisance, I'll have to worry them a bit, " saidClaud, picking up a little paper bag. He fixed a piece of thin whitestring round it, then jumped over the parapet. It was quite dark, sohe was perfectly safe. Crawling on his hands and knees, he at lastreached within ten yards of the sapping Turks. For a few minutes helay still. His eyes got used to the darkness, enabling him to get aglimpse of the diggers. Pulling out the paper bag, he threw it smartlytowards the hole. It burst on the edge of the parapet and the contentsscattered all round. Claud waited. 

Aitchoo! went one. 

Aitchoo! went another. 

Aitchoo! went a third. 

Aitchoo! Aitchoo! Aitchoo! sneezed all the Turks between theiroriental grunts and curses. 

Claud burst out laughing and so gave himself away. A head popped outof the hole. Claud was seen. Down it went, and up came a rifle, butbefore 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 aseries of shouts, shrieks and moans. The sapping party fled for theirlives. This was as Claud desired, so he quietly crawled back to histrench. 

"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 wholeregiment to a state of alarm. He was on sentry go on the extreme leftof his regiment's line. Being dark, Paddy began to feel the effects ofthings supernatural. Every sound, every moving leaf or blade was aTurk. He had fired at a few nothings, and during a spell of silence hewas amazed to hear on his left a chattering in a strange tongue. 

"Turks, be Jasus, they're in our trenches. Mother of Mary, preserveus, " said Paddy, crossing himself. He listened again. They werechanting a weird dirge. It was something between a Highland lament anda Hindoo snake song. Paddy was amazed. Life seemed to be a shorteraffair, and he pictured himself lying dead on the parapet with histhroat cut. His teeth were chattering, and his nerves on the run. Atlast he managed to bellow out, "Stand to!" The half-sleeping menjumped 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 hemade up his mind. 

"Here, six of you fix bayonets, follow me, " and down the communicationtrench he crouched and crawled towards the left. They now neared theweird chanting noise. The officer cocked his revolver and whisperedback, "Get ready, boys. " Then, dashing round a bend, he burst on to adark-skinned group. 

"Hands up!" he shouted. 

"What's up, boss?" said a smiling dusky gent in khaki, with a NewZealand 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 finestdark-skinned gentlemen in the world. 

CHAPTER IX

A BRAVE NEW ZEALANDER

There's a difference between the New Zealander and Australian, and thedifference is this: when an Australian says "Home, " he means Australia;when a New Zealander says "Home, " he means the Old Country. The senseof nationality is deep in the Australian's soul; the sense ofdependence 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 ofits first settlers are still alive, so their eyes and their children'seyes are always turned to the land called "Home. "

Fifty years hence the New Zealander will be like the Australian--a keenexponent of nationhood and all that that means. But, understand, whenI speak of nationhood as applied to the Australian and New Zealander, Imean pride of race, pride of dominion, pride of achievement, and theability to be a partner in the great Empire that is ours. Ourforefathers resented this attitude of our colonial cousins. For thatreason we lost the American colonies. That lesson was good. We nowrealise that it is good business to let such as the Australian and NewZealander manage their own affairs. It saves us worry, it savesexpense, it breeds a distinct type--a type conscious of their ability, but aware of the need of co-operation and co-ordination in Imperialdefence and Imperial trade. Wise men ask no more. 

Now in affairs of war there is also a difference between the NewZealander and Australian. The Australian resembles theIrishman--daring, desperate, and frequently reckless; the New Zealanderresembles the Scot--equally daring, equally determined, but more cannyand cautious. In brief, the New Zealander is more ready to weigh theissues and count the cost. Both types are necessary in war; both areextremely useful. Now I have reached my tale. 

The General Staff had heard that the Turks were concentrating men andmunitions for a great attack. Information was scarce; information wasimperative, for on information the modern general depends. And thisinformation 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 theproblem which faced the Chief of Staff. He knew that almost everyofficer would volunteer. He thought of many Australians; but no, theirreckless bravery might wreck his schemes. And then he pictured in hiseye the New Zealanders he knew. One by one they passed in review. Atlast he recalled "Tony, " a young subaltern from Hawkes Bay. He was agraduate 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 thedug-out and saluted. 

"I've a job for you, Mr. Brown. It might mean your death; it mightmean 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 andget across into the Turkish camp. Find out the strength of thesereinforcements, 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 dayI'll count you as dead. Understand?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Very well, my lad. Here's an order to the commander of the torpedoboat at the beach. Make your own arrangements. Good luck to you, "concluded the Chief, shaking him by the hand. And out went Tony on hisjob. It was a tough proposition for a youngster to tackle, yet hedeemed it an honour. And there was no time for delay. He secured theservices of two Maoris because of their strength and swarthycomplexion. Turkish uniforms would make them "Turks, " if need be. 

The commander of the destroyer gave him a boat. This was loaded upwith water, biscuits, some Turkish uniforms, and rifles, with othernecessaries for the job. At night they pulled out. It was quite dark, so all was favourable at the outset. For hours the Maoris seemed torow, their only guide being the stars and dark coast-line. And thencame 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 wasperfect. They looked thoroughly respectable members of the Sultan'scommunity. 

"Ease in now, boys, " ordered Tony as the light grew better. Gentlythey pulled to the shore. 

"That place will do, " muttered the observant sub, looking towards ashingly sort of beach beneath some cliffs. The boat grated on thepebbles. 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 Idon't come back at the end of the second day, go back and tell themI've gone to Kingdom Come. Understand?"

"All right, boss, " said the elder of the Maoris, a full corporal. Andoff went Tony. He climbed up the cliffs and found himself on a scrubbysort of soil dotted here and there with stunted trees. Away to hisright he could just discern the Turkish defences, while immediately infront lay some scattered redoubts of the flanking outposts of theenemy. In the distance was a high, grassy knoll--a perfect place forobserving things. He made for it, avoiding contact with somestraggling Turkish soldiers on the way. By the way, it is reallyremarkable how one can walk through an enemy's lines when dressed intheir uniform; but it takes a stout heart to do it. 

Tony reached the foot of the knoll and commenced to ascend. Just as hereached the top he was startled by a Turk who cried out a greeting. Hemumbled something in a boorish style and dropped down in a friendly waybeside his man. Before the old Turk realised what was happening he laydead with a revolver bullet in his brains. 

"Phew! What a noise!" muttered Tony as he looked at his victim andthen all round the hill to see if the noise had alarmed the land. Luckfavoured him. A random shot is nothing in war. Finding a hole nearby, he dumped the body in, then covered it over with grass. This done, he whipped out his glasses and commenced to study things. Away infront 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 somethingdoing. The troops were new, their equipment was good, their bearingfresh and alert. All this was very interesting; but Tony was not nearenough to get what he wanted. He decided to walk right through thelines. Leaving his rifle and placing his revolver and glasses in theTurkish haversack, he set off. He was soon one of the many stragglingTurkish troops on various errands. They hailed him in their orientalway, but Tony simply grunted in reply. 

That is a way of the East, so all went well. At last the daringofficer was close behind the Turkish lines. He stumbled on thebatteries well placed and well hid. Stacks of shells lay to hand inpreparation for their attack. In another part he located asearchlight, and down in a little gully he found a forward base for gunand rifle ammunition. This was a sound discovery. He memorised thespot and tried to locate it on the map. Passing on, he came to a fieldhospital. This was being cleared, for wagons were taking the woundedmen away to the ships which lay in the offing. When a hospital isbeing cleared, look out for a fight. A soldier understands what itmeans. 

Tony finally arrived in a sort of rest camp. It was alive withmen--fresh ones from Constantinople. There were plenty of Germanofficers, too, also some sailors with _Goeben_ and _Breslau_ on theircaps. He wondered what the sailors were there for. They seemed to becamped round an artillery park. He solved it; they were serving theguns. Down the lines he stumbled, grunting like an old horse, and, occasionally, sitting down to view the scene. They had plenty ofbiscuits, and even such luxuries as coffee, bread, and water melons. No signs of starvation or lack of supplies. That was an importantpoint. Tony was doing well. His scheme was succeeding beyond hisdreams. Indeed, he was beginning to feel quite cocky, till, on lookinground, he found a swarthy little fellow behind him. He was beingfollowed. Something gripped his heart. He had shot his bolt. Stillhe did not lose his head. This little man must be led on a littlefarther. Tony retraced his steps. The man followed him. He sat down;the Turk also sat down. This was unnerving, and the young sub. Almostshouted in anger and agony. Rising again, he went on, striking intothe open and less populated part. And, all the while, the officerwondered how he was going to deal with his sleuth-hound. He could notshoot him there. 

At last his eye caught sight of the little knoll where his dead Turklay buried. Good! He would lead him up there. He plodded on, and, behind him, stalked the patient-looking Turk. Oh! the agony of thosemoments. It was like a knife sinking by degrees into the human heart. It was the hour for nerve, coolness and caution. Tony reached the topof the hill. With a sigh he sat down, pulled out his pipe andcommenced to smoke. The Turk also sat down, but at the foot of thehill. He too started to smoke. His face had the sense of ease, hiseyes a humorous gleam. He, apparently, was in no hurry. What thedevil did he mean? Tony wondered, and wondered. This torture wasinsufferable; so insufferable that the subaltern waved his arm, signalling the Turk to come up beside him. He obeyed. As he reachedthe top he took off his cap and said, "Good days, Mr. Ingleesman. "

"Who's English?" said Tony, smiling at his own audacity and apparentadmission. 

"You very Inglees--you smokit pipe, your boots, your walk. I plentysavvy, " 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 likesInglees. "

"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 anidentity disc out of his pocket. This was stamped, "Lieut. Tony Brown, New Zealand Dragoons. " The subaltern paled as he looked at thisdamning proof. He must have dropped it when fumbling with his pocketsin the camp below. 

He inwardly cursed his stupidity. 

"Have a cigarette?" said he, offering a Virginian to his new-foundfriend. 

"Oh, wery nice--wery Inglees _too_, " said the Syrian, looking at theinscription: "Three Castles. W. D. & H. O. Wills. " "No maket these inStamboul--eh?"

"Not till we get there, " said Tony with a yawn, at the same timemeasuring the distance between his man and debating whether it would bebetter to kill him or capture him and then take him back in the boat. 

Meanwhile the Syrian was smoking airily, almost casually. He was aborn scoundrel. Intrigue was his game. This Syrian had Mammon allover 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. Itleft him breathless for a moment. Recovering his wits, he airilyanswered, "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 Eastare, at least, direct. 

"There you are, " said the subaltern, handing him ten crisp Bank ofEngland 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 apiece of rising ground which he had passed over. 

"No--one batterees there, " said the Syrian, directing his eyes to theexact 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 roundabout, and then cross-examined the Syrian. Batteries, magazines, stores, trenches, headquarters, beaches, water and food supplies wereall duly noted and placed on the map. Tony Brown, at one scoop, hadentered the highest realms of the Intelligence Service. It was duskwhen 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 inhis own fiery way as he stumbled down the hill. He was annoyed. 

"Here--look at this, " said Tony, calling him back. The New Zealanderbent 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 theTurkish army. For hours they seemed to walk. Something was wrong. 

"Stop!" said Tony suddenly. Instinct suggested danger. He had beenled astray. Pulling out a compass, he fixed it. The direction waswrong. This Syrian was playing his own game. He wanted anotherhundred pounds for this officer's body. It was worth more than that tothe Turkish army. And he knew it. War breeds parasites and rogues. 

"You scoundrel!" said Tony, springing at the Syrian's throat. Thelatter fought, kicked, and bit like a tiger. To have shot him wouldhave been madness, for they were now back in the centre of the Turkishlines. Placing his great hands round the man's throat, Tony slowlychoked him into a state of collapse. Another knock on his head withthe butt of the revolver placed him in such a condition that he wouldbe unable to recollect his thoughts for many days. That was all thesubaltern desired. He left him. Taking a compass bearing again, hestruck out towards the beach. Luck favoured him almost till the end. As he neared the top of the cliff which guarded the beach his footslipped, and he fell into a dug-out, right on the top of three Turkishsoldiers. Curses were mixed with shouts of "Allah!" Then questionswere asked. But Tony could answer none. A little flashlamp next shonein his face. He was discovered. 

"Inglees! Inglees!" exclaimed a Turk. The other two started andchattered volubly. One lifted a rifle to finish him off, but the manwith the lamp stopped him. He knew his job. He wanted to know whatthis man was doing there. Tony was searched, and the map discoveredsecreted down the leg of his stocking. His heart quailed. He seemeddoomed. He had been so near success; now he seemed so far. Heinwardly shuddered at the prospect ahead. It would be death, and deathof 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. Helonged for death--death, sure and sharp. But it did not come. He wasseized and bound, then thrown into a corner to await the dawn, whenthis coast patrol would take him back to the Turkish lines. His cordscut into his hands and legs; his tongue was parched; his heart beatingat 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 intothe open and marched off to the Turkish lines. He stumbled along, inpain and confused. But deliverance was at hand. 

True to their trust, his faithful Maoris were on the watch. One lay ontop of the cliffs as a guard for the boat hidden away in the covebelow; the other was a thousand yards ahead, directly in front of theline of march which two out of the three Turkish soldiers were takinghim. This Maori's eyes were alert. A glance made him understand itall. Filling his magazine, he lay low. They were then six hundredyards away. Too far for a sure aim. He waited. Five hundred. Fourhundred. Three hundred. Yes; that would do. He settled down andaimed. 

Bang! The bullet told. The man on Tony's right dropped dead. Thesubaltern realised the cause. He let drive with his fist at the otherman. The Turk stumbled back, recovered, then fled. But the Maorinipped 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 wrenchedfrom 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 hisofficer's feet. Tony looked to his front, and there was the third manof the Turkish patrol coolly aiming at him too. He ducked just as arifle banged. For a minute he lay flat, and then a strange thinghappened. The second Maori, on the top of the cliff, unable to sighthis rifle at this assassin of his friend, was charging wildly down onthe Turk with his bayonet fixed. 

"Allah! Allah!" shouted the Turk as he turned about and threw up hisarms. A moment later he was bayoneted to death. 

Tony jumped up and ran on, for in the distance he saw other patrolsrunning towards the scene. The surviving Maori followed him to thebeach. 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 theoars. But out and out pulled the plucky pair till, at last, they wereclear 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 afew days later Lieut. Tony Brown added the letters "D. S. O. " to hisname. Everybody said, "Why?" But the Chief of Staff simply smiled andpassed on. 

CHAPTER X

VICTORY

Night was falling fast over the Australasian lines. The darkness waswelcome, for it brought a certain rest and coolness to the thousands ofsun-baked and weary men. For two days they had slaved likenavvies--digging, sand-bagging, reorganising trenches, improvingcommunications, and bringing up supplies, Maxims, and ammunition. Itwas not the usual thing. Indeed, it was most unusual. Only the Staffknew why, for this war has taught us that we must not advertise ourcoming events. Of course the Tommies groused. They always do. It isthe privilege of the soldier. And Bill Buster was not behind in thisland of moaning. 

"Thinks I'm an old mule. Me feet's skinned, me back's skinned, meheart's skinned carryin' them blessed boxes of crackers. Oh, why did Ileave me little happy home?" he exclaimed, wiping the sweat off hissunburnt brow. 

"Had to--ye frizzly-faced bushwhacker, " said Paddy. 

"All this means that there's something doing, " remarked Claud, cleaninghis 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 minddeath; but it's a beastly bore waiting to be killed. One can't quiteregulate supplies. Now, if to-morrow was the day for our dispatch, wemight 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'mgoin' to be a general or a Navy bloke. Them's the safe jobs. Theseole 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 thiscliff by the skin of our teeth. The German Staff say they'll push usinto the sea, and you bet they'll have a good try. "

"It's a soft snap, if they come. They can't beat us, " interjectedBill, who had all the self-assurance of the Australian born. 

"That's where our boys always err, " answered Claud. "Theyunderestimate 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 beprepared to the last cartridge and bomb. Pluck's a very good thing, but pluck without brains is as useless as an engine without coal. Ifthese Turks make a big show, they'll give us a run for our money. NowI'm going to sleep. "

Claud wrapped himself in his coat for a snooze. The others followedsuit, little dreaming what the dawn would bring. While they slept, secure in their innocence of things, the General and Chief of Staff satkeen and anxious in their dug-outs; for the dawn was the time statedfor the attack. Everything was prepared; still, they had all thatmental worry which only an officer knows. They smoked and talked--andtalked. While they passed these anxious hours their subordinatecommanders were quietly filling up the reserve trenches with supportingtroops. The gunners, too, were busy checking ranges and noting downthe approximate position of the magazines and other stores as suppliedby the map of Tony Brown. The doctors were also alive. They wereclearing out the field hospitals preparatory to the gruesome slaughterahead. Out at sea a flotilla of gunboats and destroyers had quietlyarrived 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-outabout 3. 30 A. M. 

"Very well; 'phone the brigadiers. Tell them to be prepared for thebombardment in accordance with our pow-wow of yesterday. "

"Very good, sir. " The 'phone transmitted the order and the chief satdown again. 

Boom! echoed a gun in the Turkish line. A shell crashed right over theGeneral's dug-out. Tony Brown's information was right. The battle hadcommenced. A sense of relief spread over the General's face. Hissuspense 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 wasonly the preliminary business. In ten minutes every Turkish gun, fromthe giant howitzers to the more simple field pieces, were poundingshrapnel, common shell, and high explosives into the Australasianlines. There was no excitement; the men were used to the game. Theycrouched 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 orburying the men behind. Others burst above and sent their balls ofdeath into the heads or backs of the crouching men. High explosivescrashed with an unnerving boom in and around the trenches, pounding, killing, and maiming. Maxims rattled out a hail of lead, riflessquirted bullets into every corner where a living soul was likely to befound. There was no romance in this sort of business. It wasbutchery, blood, anguish, and death. Hell is the only word that fitssuch a bombardment. Those who read such things sit at home in tearsand terror. Yet the men who live through them sit calm, even cool, andoften in smiles. 

"Bit hot, " said Claud, looking at his hat, which had been pierced by ashrapnel bullet. 

Bill ejaculated something unprintable and dropped a hot piece of shellhe had intended to collar as a curio. 

"I weesht I had a hauf o' whisky; this is a dry job, " said Sandy, as hecuddled 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, scatteringlead and iron in all directions. Old keys, brass fittings, nails, ironknobs and other things tumbled in, too. 

"Queer shrapnel--eh?" said Claud, picking up one of these curios--and asign that the Turks were surely scarce of the real stuff. 

"Don't mind bullets, " growled Bill; "but I objects to them chuckin' anironmonger'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 godswere favouring this genial quartette, but in many parts of the line menlay dead, dying, and maimed. They bore their wounds with a wonderfulpatience, and few complained. Comrades ripped out their fielddressings and staunched the blood. Doctors, regardless of whizzingshells and bullets, crept from patient to patient. Stretcher-bearersmanfully did their job. Over shell-swept zones they carried and pulledthe wounded to succour and safety. Despite the danger, men even foundtime to note and praise the deeds of these Red Cross heroes. The nameof the R. A. M. C. Ought to be printed in letters of gold on the dome ofSt. 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. TheStaff allowed the Turks to expend their shells and bullets. That isalways good business in war. It adds to the enemy's problem of supply. This bombardment lasted for two hours. No doubt the Turks were wellpleased. But immediately they ceased their fire there was a universalBoom! from the Australian lines. Battleships, cruisers, torpedo boats, howitzer batteries, field batteries, and Maxim guns sent back salvoafter salvo of a deafening and devilish kind. 

The unerring aim of our gunners paralysed, for a time, the initiativeof the Turkish Staff. This tremendous reply was unexpected. And theBritish shells burst in their magazines, their supply depôts, theirheadquarters dug-outs in a startling way. Never was gunnery so deadly. Never was slaughter so sure. Regiments waiting _en masse_ for theassault were torn and butchered. Trenches were burst and destroyed. It was death, desolation, and disaster of an unexpected and amazingkind. Such is the value of information in war. A good IntelligenceOfficer is equal to a complete division of all arms. 

Yet this bombardment did not deter the Turkish assault. It had beenarranged; it had to go on. When the British bombardment ceased, theyleaped boldly from their trenches and came on _en masse_. A strangesilence now pervaded the Australasian lines. Not a shot was heard. Itwas the calm before the storm. They allowed the Turks to advance. Onthey came, great, dark, strong-looking men. They shouted "Allah!""Allah!" as they ran. This cry for "Allah" was a bad sign. The Turksexpected "Allah" to do what they felt they had not the confidence to dothemselves. Still, the German task-masters had given them a certainassurance by sending them forward elbow to elbow, line upon line. 

In brief, this attack was meant as an overwhelming flood of bayonetsupon the Australasians' lines. The Turkish Staff argued that, afterall, these troops were only volunteers; they could not withstand aviolent offensive movement. But they did; they even surprised theirGeneral and the Staff. And the ability to wait for a signal to shootwas in itself a sign of perfect control, excellent fire discipline. 

The Turks were now close to the barbed wire entanglements. This wasthe moment desired. A whistle sounded in the lines. 

Bang! Bang! Bang! Z-r-r-p! went thousands of rifles and dozens ofmachine-guns. Gad! How these Turks withered and fell. It was brutal, yet it was inspiring. Shrieks, curses, and groans were mixed withpitiful cries for "Allah!" "Allah!"

Bravely these Turkish soldiers died, and bravely the more fortunatecame on. They tore through the barbed wire with a fiendish frenzy andleaped down on to parts of their enemy's lines. With that mad ferocitywhich only a Moslem fanatic can display, they plugged their bayonetsinto the first opposing man. Cold steel is hard to face. Few armiescan 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 magnificentcourage. They plunged, thrust, hacked, butted, cursed, and fumed inthis awful combat. Civilisation had gone. Primitive lusts weretriumphant. Blood flowed in streams, men fought with gaping wounds, dying men fell crying to Allah or to God according to their race andcreed. There was no time to moralise on the hellish side of modernwar. There was only time to fight or die. 

And in this awful combat The Kangaroos had a terrible time. Theirredoubt was invaded. Yet they did not yield. One great Turk chargeddown on Claud. Sandy parried the thrust, the Turk recovered and thrustagain straight into poor Sandy's heart. He gasped, and fell lifelessat 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 withanother man. This gallant defence, combined with the deadly musketryon the less exposed parts of the line, completely smashed the firstTurkish attack. The enemy withered away, their survivors and woundedcreeping back into the shelter of their trenches. 

"Don't fire, men! Don't fire at those poor devils, " shouted theofficers 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 theparapet. But the attack was not finished. The Turkish reserves wereswarming 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. TheTurks fell in heaps, moaning, shrieking, and yelling. The sight wassickening. Heaps of dead and dying all around. But _again_ theTurkish host came on. Two great columns of men burst out in front ofthe New Zealanders and The Kangaroos. 

This was really the most critical moment of the day. Here entered theDrill Book maxim: "An attack should be met with a counter-attack. " Forthis was to be the last and desperate throw of the Turkish Staff. Ifit broke the Australasian lines, the enemy would realise their boast ofpushing them into the sea. The New Zealanders and Kangaroosappreciated 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 NewZealand boys. Grimly they gripped their rifles, bravely they ran andcheered. A charge is a thrilling and soul-inspiring affair. Dangerand death pass away from the soldier's heart. He is alive, he isfilled 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 ofarms, a blind confusion, a horrible fierceness and hacking of humanflesh. 

"Give it 'em, boys, " roared Killem above the din. A Turkish officerheard him and aimed his revolver at Killem's head. But Doolan wasthere again. He pinned his man through the chest, and, with an oath, flung him off his bayonet--dead. 

Claud got lost in the _mêlée_. He found himself surrounded. Bravelyhe fought, but a bayonet was stuck in his shoulder, and he fell intothe struggling mass of wounded men. Bill, though wounded in the head, fought with the madness of a fiend. With Doolan, he kept close to theColonel's heels, preserving the body and life of the bravest man in theAustralasian force. In that awful hour Killem could often be heardshouting out, "Thanks, boys, thanks!"

At last tenacity and courage told. The Turks broke and fled, yellingin 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 ofvalour 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 ofsentiment or lengthy harangues. 

"Curse them!" said Bill, throwing down his rifle in anger. And thenthis great, strong man collapsed with grief. When a soldier weeps itis sad. This was but the climax of a highly nervous day. Bill'sheart, like every bushman's heart, was full of that faith and devotionwhich passes all understanding. Claud was a pal whom he loved like amother 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 intothe still bullet-swept zone. 

"Come back, you fools, " roared a sergeant. 

There was no answer. Bill would not allow discipline or danger tointerfere with the call of duty or friendship. On their hands andknees they crawled round the heaps of dead and dying. 

"Here he is--here he is, poor boy! Poor boy!" said Paddy as he gazedat the pale, bloodless face of Claud below some battered Turks. 

"He's livin', he's livin'. God be thanked!" mumbled the faithfulIrishman as he crossed himself. Bending near, he pulled the listlessform 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! manproposes and the Turk disposes. A sniper's rifle pinged, and a bullethit 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 intothe 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 thehospital below. They were but two in a cavalcade of thousands. Theypassed from the zones of dead into the camp of tears and moaning. Menshattered and dying were there; others, more fortunate, wetted theirlips and eased their way to God. 

Poor Claud and Bill arrived, senseless, almost lifeless. But kindhands staunched their wounds, allayed their thirst, and carried them onboard the ship for Alexandria. There they found the first taste ofthat gentle peace which is soothing to the heart of every nerve-rackedsoldier. Nourishment soon brought them round. And, strange to say, both returned from the land of wanderings to the delights of reality atthe 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 otherside of the deck. 

"Thank God!" And Claud tumbled into a more natural sleep, refreshedwith the thought that at least two out of his three friends still lived. 

Sips of brandy, drops of milk, clean bandages, and willing Australiannurses soon brought the genial three round to a more normal state. Andin speaking of Australian nurses, let me say that they are the finestgirls in the hospital world. They may laugh, they may flirt, but theycan work. They have no side and no false airs. They want to do theirjob in the quickest, kindest, quietest way that can be found. 

 * * * * *

The great ship slipped through the breakwater of Alexandria. Hundredsawaited her coming--nurses, doctors, and friends. Bill and Claud couldnot get up to view the scene. But Paddy watched it all. His eyesscanned the faces on shore. At last they rested on a familiarfigure--a girl with a beautiful form, a charming but an anxious face. Yes, it was Sybil Graham. He slipped down to the ward below andstepped 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 excitedowner of this Australian girl's heart. 

The boat was now alongside. Ropes were down and fixed. The shoregangway was up, and, in response to the somewhat wild and franticshouts and grins of Paddy Doolan, Sybil Graham dashed up the stepsthree 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 madlyexcited Irishman. Sybil followed. As she reached the foot of thestairs she saw her lover. Nurses, doctors, and patients were thenstartled with a shriek of delight from a beautiful vision who pouncedto a bed and smothered her hero with kisses. Bill and Paddy watched itall. 

"Say, Miss Sybil, where do I come in?" said Bill with a sort ofwell-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 myboy to safety too. " And so Paddy received his dues. 

"And now, miss, " said a smiling nurse, "we're going to take those threelovers of yours to hospital in Cairo. "

"How mean of you, " said Sybil with a smile. "Of course, you can'tprevent 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 thevery happy girl went out. 

CHAPTER XI

WHAT LADY READERS LIKE

(_Extract from Cairo Press_)

"At Shepheard's Hotel, Cairo, Lieutenant Claud Dufair, eldest son ofLord Dufair, to Sybil Graham, daughter of "Bob" Graham, of New SouthWales. Private Bill Buster, V. C. , and Private Doolan, V. C. , acted asgroomsmen. Colonel Killem, D. S. O. , also attended the ceremony. Thehappy couple left for a three days' honeymoon, as Lieutenant Dufair isreturning to the trenches. "