Mac set off for his Regiment, which was holding the front trenches of Russell's Top. Knowing it was a hopeless business poking about trenches among sentries in the dark looking for his unit, he lay down at the base of the Top, and slept there on the ground till daylight.

He found his Squadron in the most uncomfortable of trenches, and not particularly enjoying itself. It was holding the portion of the Top nearest the enemy, who were between twenty and thirty yards away and well within range of hand grenades. But two could play at the same game, and the Turks had a better supply of bombs.

Two halves of the Squadron took in turn the holding of the front saps and the main line. The former were narrow, shallow twisting ditches between piles of loose earth and rotting bodies. Parts were covered in as bomb-proof shelters, and in places sloping shafts led steeply down to mine galleries before the enemy's front line. Between those two series of drab mounds of earth which marked the opposing lines, lay as terrible an acre as ever was. The hasty burying during the armistice three months ago had been inadequate, and the saps had cut through many of the hastily-scratched graves. Since then many men had fallen, to rot unburied in the sun and to be again and again torn by shells and bombs and bullets.

A few shattered sticks were the forlorn remnants of the luxurious scrub. Wire twined in untidy coils here and there, but there was nothing to hide the blackened bodies. Sometimes at night low fires licked among the corpses, apparently started by the Turks by throwing over their parapet paraffin or petrol, and there would be spasmodic explosions for an hour or more of the ammunition in the equipment round the dead forms, sounding like the burning of a Guy Fawkes effigy.

Mac had never more than swiftly surveyed the scene direct—for there was a deadly accuracy in the practice of the snipers at twenty yards range—but viewed its details and the Turkish parapets through a periscope. These, too, the snipers shattered with annoying frequency, though the Turks themselves had no rest whatever in the matter of being sniped at. And in these wretched saps amid a horror of desolation Mac and his cobbers passed every second twenty-four hours. In the day-time the sun beat into them with unrelieved violence, and many troopers squeezed into the bomb-proof shelters and tunnel entrances to seek shade. There was no where to cook food, and bully beef, biscuits and water formed the fare. But they had small appetite for anything, as the stench of the dead and the flies which swarmed left few men hungry. At one corner hung a blanket. Some time a sapper in his work had come to a body, and had turned the sap to the right to avoid it, and the blanket had been tacked up as a screen to the body in the recess.

One hard case found this recess a shady spot and with more room for his cramped legs, and declared that it was no worse alongside the several months old corpse than anywhere else in the saps. In one place the lower leg and boot of a dead Turk stuck out from the corner of a trench, and at another a bony hand protruded. Grim humorists shook it as they passed.

The warm nights dragged drowsily by. In these trenches the troops were not supposed to sleep because of the bombs thrown so frequently by the Turks. If one were awake, they could be easily dodged, but, if a bomb caught a man asleep, there was little chance of escape. Every second twenty-four hours were passed in the main firing line, a few yards farther back than the saps, or close up in reserve. Sometimes, during these second days, it was possible to get a bathe when on a journey for rations or water, and a little cooking could be attempted on a ledge in the side of a communication trench. But altogether everything was most uncomfortable, and with the cramped life Mac's rheumatism was returning. There was little sleep too, rarely exceeding two hours a day as the fortnight passed. Strong enemy reinforcements had been reported by aerial reconnaissance within easy march of Anzac, and an attack was expected any night. The Regiments were very much under strength from disease, and the burden of watching fell heavily on the remaining men. Mac was disappointed too that, in their present limited quarters, they could make no use of the provisions he had brought from Lemnos.

Relief came at last, without the enemy having made an attack, and the Mounted Rifles again handed Russell's Top over to the Australian Light Horse. They thankfully trundled away down the hill with all their gear to a pleasant bivouac near the sea, and proceeded without delay to make themselves as clean and as comfortable as could be. Mac went off for the provisions, and soon the section had a small awninged dug-out in excellent domestic order. Here, terminated by a stone wall, the main Anzac left flank met the sea. The trench line here was but thinly held, as it did not directly oppose Turkish trenches. Beyond it, at the seaward end of the sharp ridges which ran up to the main broken mass of Sari Bair, Chanak Bair and Battleship Hill, were No. 1 and No. 2 Outposts, faced by the formidable Turkish outposts on the forbidding crags above. So, separated by some distance from the enemy, the regiment proceeded to enjoy itself.

It was the pleasantest possie Mac had ever found it his privilege to occupy. The bivvies were roomy and comfortable, the ground was comparatively clean, and was sufficiently gradual in its rise to prevent constant avalanches of earth from above. The sea lay at their door, and the freshwater tanks were near enough to make certain a regular water supply. Mac and his mates made merry with the provisions he had secured at Lemnos, and the products of their culinary art knew no bounds, either in variety or perfection. With an abundance of firewood and water, with the sea always near to be bathed in, awninged bivvies and a well-stocked larder, they lived in undreamed-of luxury. They had hoped for the usual fortnight there; but it was not to be.

As the long, hot, dusty July days came to a close, the pulse of Anzac seemed to quicken. Men went about their work with increased energy, the Cove was busier than ever, and life altogether in that sun-scorched, sordid spot seemed less burdensome. Staff officers walked about with unaccustomed briskness, and made unnaturally long visits to observation points, gazing absorbedly at Turkish terrain. Visible signs there were that the dormant days of Anzac were drawing to an end, and that at last the summer lethargy would give place to times of action. Rumours filled the air. Wild they were, but there was definite evidence that something was in the wind, and everybody rejoiced accordingly. There would be a real ding-dong go; and then, probably, Constantinople.

It was now obvious that the scheme of operations involved a flank attack to the north, which, it seemed, from the extensive preparations, might be the main thrust. Anzac positions were faced immediately by the frowning outposts of Destroyer Ridge, Table Top, Old No. 3, Rhododendron and Baeuchop's [Transcriber's note: Beauchop's?] Ridge, beyond which stretched that maze of broken ridges, which rose sharply to the main peaks of Sari Bair, Chanak Bair and Kojatemen Tepe, which commanded the whole width of the Peninsula and the Turkish positions and lines of communication. Gain them, and Gallipoli would be won.

On the dark, moonless nights of the 3rd, 4th and 5th of August transports stole silently to anchor off the Cove, and many battalions of Kitchener's Army and batteries of Field Artillery came ashore. When the sun again lifted above the eastern hills, the anchorage was deserted and the new arrivals hidden from aerial observation beneath prepared covering. Anzac grew tense in anticipation of a battle royal.

For the five days spent in this bivouac—the days of the awakening of Anzac—to Mac and a dozen of his mates fell the duty of guarding the exit from the main position to the outposts. The exit consisted of a large barbed-wire gate across a great communication trench, close to the stone wall on the beach. They did four-hour watches there night and day, taking a tally of all who came and went, and watching keenly for spies. During their daylight hours of duty, Mac and Bill sat on sandbags under the shady wall of the sap. Their bayoneted rifles leaned against the bank close at hand, while they, scantily clad in the scorching hours, lazily noted in tattered note-books the particulars of sweating, dust-covered wayfarers. When they were not busy, they sat there automatically flicking away the flies, and watching through a gap in the trench the horde of naked men on the beach. Passing mules often left Mac and Bill grousing in a cloud of dust. Aussies, Maoris and New Zealanders stopped now and then for a few minutes' rest beneath their awning. They would yarn for a while, and the guards would accept from their freshly-filled cans a drink of cool spring water. When the relieving guard came, Mac and Bill just stripped off their shorts, and ran across the stones for a splash in the sea.

At night they were more alert on guard. Sleepy as Anzac appeared in the hot sunlight, dark hours shrouded a scene of energy and purpose. As soon as the evening light had gone, long strings of heavily-laden mules, with tall Indian muleteers struggling among them, came along the sap and passed out through the gate. There were pauses, but soon more mule trains followed, and the earlier ones passed back empty for further loads. All the time the guard watched carefully lest there should be strangers attempting to pass through hidden among the mules. Great piles of bully beef, biscuits, sealed paraffin tins of water and ammunition grew steadily bigger in hidden spots behind the outposts, and the troops were light-hearted accordingly.

Platforms had been cut in hill-sides for the accommodation of troops away from enemy observation, communication trenches had been widened, some had been bridged and others had been created silently and swiftly in a single night. Without orders from officers, the troops energetically overhauled rifles, ammunition and gear; and private possessions were looked into, diaries written and letters despatched. Between the opposing lines warfare continued its accustomed way, and the normal exchange of bombs, shells and bullets went on, though Turkish artillery fire was increasing in strength.

On Thursday, August 5th, the Regiment sorrowfully packed up all unnecessaries and piled them in the regimental dump. Mac grieved to part with the unfinished half of the Lemnos provisions, for heaven only knew when they might see them again, and probably some one else would thrive on them.

That night the Regiment moved out through the wire gate, and crowded on the platforms at the back of No. 1 Outpost, there to remain till the following evening, when the battle was to open.