By night we artillery fellows—those who had got over—had made our headquarters near by the little battlefield of the morning. When the colonel and I came back, men were digging in the guns.
It was necessary to keep communication through the night with Divisional Artillery by means of lamp signals. The Staff were taking turns at this. My turn was somewhere about the middle of the night, so I dug a shallow funk-hole, and when the stars came out took off my boots and lay down. The bad weather had long cleared away, and the stars were very bright.
“So another day was ending, and again came darkness to cover up the ruin and the agony. Higher were heaped the dead, and braver were the ranks of the maimed. More men had stood their trial, had proven themselves or had been found wanting. And you, Gunner Lake, have you thanked the God of Battle that you have stayed unafraid?”
Old Grandmother Lake used to take me, a small boy, to her knee, and bid me pray for the welfare of the British army. Now her grandsons fight in many corners of the world. Among the battle maidens Grandmother Lake sits in Valhalla and waits serenely their coming.
Hardly was I asleep when someone shook me by the shoulder. I opened my eyes to find the stars shining, and Wilkinson kneeling beside me.
“What’s the time?” I mumbled.
“Twelve o’clock and your shift.” I muttered, yawned, and sat up.
“What’s to be done?”
“Watch Divisional Artillery for any lamp signals. Do an hour and wake Foster. He’s next man.”
I nodded, and while I let out another yawn Wilkinson disappeared. With many an unuttered curse I got to my feet. I found a weary wind had risen, as full of toothache as a stick of nougat. I put my coat on, turning up the collar; and over head and neck I pulled a big woollen cap, thanking as I did so the good women of Melbourne that had knitted it. I stumbled along the track to a better spot and sat down. The stars shone clearly; but the sea, the hillsides, and even more so the beach were folded in gloom. Like the boiling of a pot sounded ceaseless distant musketry fire—low now and fitful; now waking to life—never, never silent. Every few minutes a shell came whistling overhead, to burst threateningly in the sea. The transports had drawn several miles away, the battleships lay before them; and in and out moved restless destroyers. Other craft were there—numberless they seemed and of every kind—anchored among the shadows closer in shore. I saw the Morse lamps winking to one another, and felt companionship, knowing others watched with me. I followed great yellow searchlights in ceaseless journeyings round the bay, and knew that others too guarded the sleeping multitude.