That night was dark, with no stars. I didn't know what part of Gallipoli
we were in, and the maps issued were useless.
The first cases had been picked up close to the firing-line, and were
mostly gun-shot wounds, and now--late in the evening--all my squads
having worked four miles to the beach, I was trying to get my own
direction back to the ambulance.
The Turks seldom fired at night, so that it was only the occasional
shot of a British rifle, or the sudden “pop-pop-pop-pop-pop!” of a
machine-gun which told me the direction of the firing-line.
I trudged on and on in the dark, stumbling over rocks and slithering
down steep crags, tearing my way through thorns and brambles, and
sometimes rustling among high dry grass.
Queer scents, pepperminty and sage-like smells, came in whiffs. It was
cold. I must have gone several miles along the Kapanja Sirt when I came
to a halt and once more tried to get my bearings. I peered at the gloomy
sky, but there was no star. I listened for the lap-lap of water on the
beach of Suvla Bay, but I must have been too far up the ridges to hear
anything. There was dead silence. When I moved a little green lizard
scutted over a white rock and vanished among the dead scrub.
I was past feeling hungry, although I had eaten one army biscuit in the
early morning and had had nothing since.
It was extraordinarily lonely. You may imagine how queer it was, for
here was I, trying to get back to my ambulance headquarters at night on
the first day of landing--and I was hopelessly lost. It was impossible
to tell where the firing-line began. I reckoned I was outside the
British outposts and not far from the Turkish lines. Once, as I went
blundering along over some rocks, a dark figure bolted out of a bush and
ran away up the ridge in a panic.
“Halt!” I shouted, trying to make believe I was a British armed sentry.
But the figure ran on, and I began to stride after it. This led me
up and up the ridge over very broken ground. Whoever it was (it was
probably a Turkish sniper, for there were many out night-scouting) I
lost sight and sound of him.
I went climbing steadily up till at last I found myself looking into
darkness. I got down on my hands and knees and peered over the edge of a
ridge of rock. I could see a tiny beam of light away down, and this
beam grew and grew as it slowly moved up and up till it became a great
triangular ray. It swept slowly along the top of what I now saw was
a steep precipice sloping sheer down into blackness below. One step
further and I should have gone hurtling into the sea. For, although I
did not then know it, this was the topmost ridge of the Kapanja Sirt.
The great searchlight came nearer and nearer, and I slid backwards and
lay on my stomach looking over. The nearer it came the lower I moved,
so as to get well off the skyline when the beam reached me. It may have
been a Turkish searchlight. It swept slowly, slowly, till at last it was
turned off and everything was deadly black.
I started off again in another direction, keeping my back to the ridge,
as I reckoned that to be a Turkish searchlight, and, therefore, our own
lines would be somewhere down the ridge. Here, high up, I could just see
a grey streak, which I took to be the bay.
I tried to make for this streak. I scrambled down a very steep stratum
of the mountain-side and landed at last in a little patch of dead grass
and tall dried-up thistles.
By this time, having come down from my high position on the Sirt, I
could no longer see the bay; but I judged the direction as best I could,
and without waiting I tramped on.
I began to wonder how long I had been trudging about, and I put it at
about two hours.
“Halt!--who are you?” called a voice down below.
“Friend! stretcher-bearer!” I shouted.
“Come here--this way!” answered the voice.
I went down to a clump of bushes, and a man with a rifle slung over his
shoulder stepped forward, and we both glared at each other for a second.
“Do yer know where the 45th Company is?”
“No idea,” said I.
“Any water?”
“Not a drop left.”
“We're trying to get back to the firing-line but we're all lost--there's
eight of us.”
“I'm trying to get to the 32nd Field Ambulance--d'you know the way?”
“Yes; go right ahead there,” he pointed, “and keep well down off the
hills--you'll see the beach when you've gone for a mile or so--”
“How far is it?”
“'Bout four miles;” and then, “Got a match?”
“Yes--but it's dangerous to light up.”
“Must 'ave a smoke--nothink to eat or drink.”
“Well, here you are; light up inside my helmet.”
He did; this hid the lighted match from any sniper's eye. The other
seven men came crawling out of the bushes to light up their “woodbines”
and fag-ends.
“Well, I'm off,” said I, and once more went forward in the direction
pointed out by the corporal and his lost squad.
“So long, mate--good luck!” he shouted.
“Same to you!” I called back.
And now came sleep upon me. Even as I walked an awful weariness fell
upon every limb. My legs became heavy and slow. That short rest had
stiffened me, and my eyelids closed as I trudged on. I lifted them with
an effort and dragged one foot after the other. I knew I must get back
to my unit, and that here it was very dangerous. I wanted to lie down
on the dead grass and sleep and sleep and sleep. I urged my muscles to
swing my legs--for I knew if once I sat down to rest I should never keep
awake.
It was while I was thus trying to jerk my sleepy nerves on to action
that I came upon a zigzagged trench. It was fully six feet deep and
about a yard wide. It was of course an old Turkish defence running
crosswise along the great backbone of the Sirt. I knew now that I was
nearing the bay, for most of these trenches overlooked the beach.
There was a white object about ten yards from me. What it was I could
not tell, and a quiver of fear ran through me and threw off the awful
sleepiness of fatigue.
Was it a Turkish sniper's shirt? Or was it a piece of white cloth, or a
sheet of paper? In the gloom of night I could not discover.
However, I determined to go steady, and I crept up to a dark thorn-bush
and stood still. It did not move. Still standing against the dark bush to
hide the fact that I was unarmed, I shouted--
“Halt! who are you?” in as gruff and threatening a tone as I could
command.
Silence. It did not move. I ran forward along the trench and there
found a white pack-mule all loaded up with baggage; I could make out
the queerly worked trappings, with brass-coins on the fringed bridle
and coloured fly-tassels over the eyes. It was stone dead and stiff. Its
eyes glared at me--a glassy glare full of fear. The Turkish pack-mule
had been bringing up material to the Turks in the trench when it had
been killed--and now the deep sides of the trench were holding it
upright.
I trudged away towards the beach and lay down to sleep at last among the
other men of the ambulance, who were lying scattered about behind tufts
of bush or against ledges of rock.
When weighed down with sleep any bed will serve.
And this was the end of our first day's work on the field.