the fact that in most cases companies were entirely without officers,
there was no forming up for charges--indeed, there were no orders at
all, but every man knew that he could not but be doing the right thing
every time he killed a Turk, so they just took their rifle and bayonet
in their naked hands and went to it. There was no line of battle, it
was just here, there, and everywhere, khaki-clad, laughing demons,
seeking Turks to kill.

Never was there fighting like this. All that day it went on. On the
beach, up the cliff, in the gullies, miles inland were men fighting.
It was not a battle; it would have made a master of tactics weep and
tear his hair, but these man-to-man fights kept on. Many were shot
from behind, many were wounded and fell in places where no one would
find them--some, fighting on, went in a circle and found themselves
back on the beach again. However, at nightfall some had begun to dig a
shallow line of trenches, well inland across the cliff. Single men and
small groups of them, not finding any more Turks where they were, fell
back into this ditch and helped deepen it.

Fresh Turks were massing for counter-attack, and soon came on with
fury, but we were something like an army now, and although the line had
to be shortened it never broke. The landing had been made good, the
impossible had been achieved. But there were many who died strange
deaths, many left way in, helpless, who could not be succored--many
whom the fighting lust led so far that when they thought of seeking
their comrades they found the barrier of a Turkish army now
intervening. Strange, unknown duels and combats were fought that day.
Unknown are the "Bill-Jims" who killed scores with naked hand--there
were many such. Though we beat the Turk with the odds in his favor,
yet this day and afterward he earned our respect as a fighting man.