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[Page 39]

and excitement around them. Other parties were wandering about in the darkness and being directed up the hills by their officers. In fact there seemed to be a continuous stream of men going and returning. On the hills above there was a perfect inferno of rifle fire, and shells bursting.
      In fact the air was buzzing with bullets, like a drone in a bee on a hot summer's day. Once I had got ashore I did not know where to go or what to do, but I saw a little group of men standing apart, which from their caps I could make out to be officers. One of them, a short man in the centre, seemed to be giving directions to the others, and on going up close to them, I recognised him as General Birdwood, from his photograph, although I had not yet met him. Now I was wearing a khaki suit, but had unfortunately come ashore in my old green hat, and on approaching close to this group a big man, whom I discovered afterwards was a very jumpy and nervous Australian Colonel attached to the Staff, on seeing me, shouted out "Who are you. What are you doing here?" and before I could answer he said "Seize that man, he's a spy."
      Of course allowance must be made for the terrible day, they had all been through, and for the fatigue and dangers they had faced, and were still facing, but it struck me as being rather queer that a spy should be dressed differently to everybody else instead of being in exactly the same uniform. Before I had time to explain, the soldiers rushed up and I found myself a prisoner, and I then went up to the Staff, and said "l am Ashmead-Bartlett, the official War Correspondent attached to the Expedition". The trouble was this, that having no official connection with theArmy at this period, I

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