This morning we have been notified that we go to Imbros, probably for a week, on the night of the 8/9th. This does not seem to give pleasure to many. It means a night spent in crossing, and being tired all next day when we will have to work hard to provide shelter, then returning before we get really settled down. If this order takes effect we will besides miss the "grand finale" which will be held among the forts of "The Narrows" (!!!)
There was much artillery fire by both sides yesterday, and this morning they have been very busy—they even managed to send two shells after a Taube, these bursting many hundred yards behind their objective. But it let the Taube see that we were not asleep at 7.30 a.m.
My friend Pirie, M.O. to the Royals, passed through this in the afternoon, having been wounded in the back while he was holding his Sick Parade—only a "couchy wound," such as the Irish pray to the Virgin Mary to send them at the beginning of a fight, so that they might escape something worse. Pirie walked in with his usual smile, and pleaded with us, before we knew there was anything wrong, "not to make him laugh as it was sore". (To everyone's sorrow, Pirie was afterwards killed in France.)
September 7th.—It was the duty of Agassiz and myself to take over the dressing station last night, and there we now are. After the experience we had last time when we did not feel over comfortable after dark and the bullets began to fly, we were glad to occupy the same dug-out during the night, for the sake of company. It is a most unpleasant feeling to find you are fired at when alone. I have noticed this especially when out a walk just as it is getting dark. You ask yourself how long you may have to lie, if you get wounded, before anyone comes your way. But even in daylight if shells are dropping about they are doubly terrifying if you are alone.
This Gully has been a most uncomfortable place all along, its banks afford little protection from rifle fire; they are too low for cross-fire, and a few days ago we found it could be enfiladed. At ordinary times we have only occasional bullets during the day, but as soon as the shades of night begin to fall they come in a constant stream, and we are only safe when we retire to the depths of our dug-outs—if our shallow pits are worthy of the name.
We keep wondering what sort of a holiday we are to have in Imbros. Are there to be plagues of flies and dust as in Lemnos? However, it will break the monotony which is getting very oppressive, and some of ours keep up a constant grumble at everybody and everything.
The nights are now very cold, but the heat by day seems about as intense as ever.
September 9th.—We had orders yesterday to embark at Little West Beach, at the north point of Suvla Bay. We were there at 7.30 p.m. and were to embark at 8. It was a weary trudge, for we were heavily laden, along the very edge of the bay to take advantage of the narrow strip of firm sand that gets washed by the "tideless Mediterranean". Our four Battalions were present, and after some delay over our baggage, all which was finally got on board, the great lumbering barge, which had 400 men and all the regimental baggage on board, refused to budge. She was fast on the rocks where the water was very shallow. At last she moved, going out a few yards then returning and taking all the Dublins and so many Royals on board. Then she again stuck fast. It was now getting late; the ship this barge was taking us out to was booked to sail at 3.30 a.m., and this time had to be kept regardless of our convenience. As she was still aground at that hour the order was given to disembark. All this time we had been lying shivering on the dust and stones, waiting for our turn, and now, with our spirits at zero, we marched back to our base, reaching it at 4.45 as light was showing in the east, so that we got back none too soon. The long wait we had put in, with a cold wind blowing, had chilled us all thoroughly. All had some brandy on our return, we got to bed at 5.30, and I for one slept like a top and rose refreshed at 8.30, as also did Agassiz. He and I felt so famished that we ground up some ration biscuits and made porridge, which we enjoyed. None of the others got off their stretchers before mid-day, when they did not know whether to order breakfast or dinner. It ended in high tea.
A wagon with six mules passed behind us this afternoon, and drew a hot shrapnel fire on all the Ambulances on the Beach. We had one man wounded, the 1st Welsh one killed (Capt. Clark) and three wounded, and the 3rd Welsh four wounded.
We again have orders to embark at 7.30.