“This modern ‘wooden horse of Troy,’” said Commander Wedgwood, “was run ashore on a beautiful Sunday morning, 400 yards from the medieval castle of Seddul-Bahr.  I was on the vessel, but never noticed her grounding for the horrors ahead of us in the shallow waters on the beach.  Five tows of five boats each, loaded with men, were going ashore alongside of us.  One moment it had been early morning in a peaceful country, with rustic sights and sounds and smells; the next moment, while the boats were just twenty yards from shore, the blue sea around each boat was turning red.  It was truly horrible.  Of all those brave men two-thirds died, and hardly a dozen reached unwounded the shelter of the five-foot sand dune.

“About 9 o’clock a dash across the row of lighters from the Wooden Horse was led by Gen. Napier and his brigade major.  Would they ever get to the end of the lighters and jump into the sheltering water?  No; side by side they were seen to sit down.  For one moment one thought they might be taking cover; then their legs slid out and they rolled over.

“It was the Munsters that charged first, with a sprig of shamrock on their caps; then the Dublins, the Worcesters, the Hampshires.  Lying on the beach, on the rocks, on the lighters, they cried on the Mother of God.  There, now, was Midshipman Drury swimming to a lighter which had broken loose, with a line in his mouth and a wound in his head.  If ever a boy deserved his Victoria Cross, that lad did.  And there was the captain of the River Clyde, now no longer a ship to be stuck to but a part forever of Gallipoli, alone with a boat by the spit of rock, trying to lift in the wounded under fire.

“All these things I saw as in a dream.  Columns of smoke rose from the castle and town of Seddul-Bahr as the great shells from the fleet passed over our heads and burst, and in every lull we heard the wounded.

“At 1 o’clock the Lancashires were appearing over the ridge to the left from ‘Lancashire landing.’  “We saw fifteen men in a window in the castle on the right by the water.  They signaled that they were all that remained of the Dublins who had landed at the Camber at Seddul-Bahr.  At 3 o’clock we got 150 men alive to shore.  We watched our men working to the right and up into the castle ruins—­at each corner the officer crouching in front with revolver in rest.

“When night came a house in Seddul-Bahr was burning brightly and there was a full moon.  We disembarked men at once.  All around the wounded cried for help and shelter against the bullets, but there was no room on boats or gang-way for anything but the men to come to shore.

“For two nights no one had slept and then another day dawned.  We were firmly ashore at Lancashire landing, and at Du Toit’s battery to the northeast, and the Australians were dug in at Anzac.  An end had to be made of V beach.  The whole fleet collected and all morning blew the ridge and castle and town to pieces.