'But we are dug in. We hold the trench.'

'Fat lot of use that is in its present condition. All the earthworks are
on the seaward side. We have little or no protection on the land side.

'Ah, I thought so,' he continued, as the voice of Sergeant O'Brien made
itself heard.

'Dig, lads! dig! Make yourselves some head cover. They'll be turning guns
on us an' blowing blazes out of us as soon as the day dawns.'

Blown and weary as they were, the men set to work at once with their
entrenching spades. It was in Egypt they had learnt the art of
trench-making, but they found this rocky clay very different stuff to
shift from desert sand.

The order came none too soon, for in a very few minutes snipers got to
work again. There were scores of them. Every little patch of scrub held
its sharpshooter, and although the darkness was still against accurate
shooting there were many casualties.

'They're enfilading us,' said Ken. 'They've got men posted up on the cliff
to the left who can fire right down this trench. It's going to be awkward
when daylight comes.'

It was awkward enough already. The Red Cross men were kept busy,
staggering away downhill with stretchers laden with the wounded. There was
no possibility of returning the enemy's fire, and in the darkness the
ships could not help. All the Colonials could do was to crouch as low as
possible, flattening themselves against the landward wall of the trench.