AT THE DARDANELLES
ON THE MOVE--SEND-OFF FROM MA'ADI--THE BLUE MEDITERRANEAN--OFFICERS
AND MEN OF THE A.L.H.--A COLLISION--AN AIR RECONNAISSANCE--OUR COLONEL
ADDRESSES HIS MEN
As I sit and gaze over the limpid waters of Aboukir Bay I think of
the old-time rivalry of France and Britain, and the struggle for the
possession of Egypt.
In 'ninety-eight we chased the foe
Right into Bouky Bay!
These are the opening lines of the old sea ditty which describes
how Nelson won the Battle of the Nile. Right here it was that the
_Orient_--flagship of the French admiral--was blown up.
And now, a hundred years after, we see French and British warships
again off Alexandria. But this time the Union Jack and the Tricolour
are intertwined, and in the streets of Alexandria French and British
soldiers and sailors walk arm in arm, while the ancient city is gay
with flags and bunting. For big things are brewing in the Levant.
Before the eyes of the citizens during the past week was a unique
international naval and military pageant--Zouaves, with their blue
jackets and red trousers, French infantry in their blue-grey uniform,
cavalry with gay tunics, British Jack Tars in blue and white,
Australians in sombre khaki, swarthy-skinned Maoris from the Wonderland
of the Southern Seas, and dusky warriors from the Punjab. British
troops--and especially those young giants from Australia--had the
better of the Frenchman in the matter of physique; but there was clear
evidence of "grit" in the intelligent, humorous faces of the French,
which helped one to understand why, for instance, they are said to be
the finest marchers in Europe, and why the Germans never got to Paris!
At last the Australian Division is on the move. After weary weeks of
waiting the order has come. There were wild cheers at Mena when the
news buzzed round; lusty cheering at Zeitoun when the New Zealanders
heard it; more wild cheering at Heliopolis and Abassia as the message
flashed further afield. Out at Mena camp there was great excitement as
battalion after battalion marched away, encouraged by the cheers of
their comrades behind. Trams brimming over with jubilant human freight
moved off from Mena House, and glided along the well-known road to
Cairo, where trains were waiting to convey the men to Alexandria. At
Alexandria the transports were waiting to take us to the Dardanelles.
Turkey, forgetting the traditional friendship of Great Britain, had
allowed Germany to bluff her into invading Egypt. Now, in return,
Britain was knocking at the front door--the impregnable front door of
Constantinople.
We had a final concert in the cinema tent, and it was a huge success.
The good folk of Ma'adi rolled up in full force. Charles Knowles, the
famous baritone, came out and sang "The Trumpeter" and "My old Shako"
and "The Old Brigade" and "Land of Hope and Glory," and we all joined
in the choruses. The brigadier made a farewell speech, and thanked the
residents for all their kindness to the men of the 2nd Brigade. He
said we were sorry to part with such good friends, but were glad at
last to have a chance of striking a blow for freedom and justice and
the grand old flag of the Empire. Of course, we cheered all the time,
and we laughed when genial Mr. Hopkins, President of the Citizen's
Committee, farewelled us with the words, "God bless you" and "God help
the Turks if you get at them with the bayonet."
We marched away at last. British folk at Ma'adi and Cairo were
enthusiastic, and gave us a great farewell. Some of the "gyppies"
and Arabs along the roadway were sullenly passive and apathetic. At
the main station, Cairo, crowds of soldiers assembled to cheer the
horseless horsemen. "We went to South Africa as infantry, and they
mounted us," said a philosophic Riverina grazier. "Now, we come to
North Africa as Light Horsemen, and they bundle us off as infantry."
We profited by the experience of the infantry. Our officers dressed
exactly like the men. They carried rifles and wore bandoliers. All
their pretty uniforms that they "swanked" in at the continental dances
and dinners went by the board, and they roughed it in service jackets
and hobnailed boots.
Seen from aloft, the 2nd Light Horse embarking resembled nothing
so much as a swarm of khaki ants covering the quays at Alexandria.
They scurried hither and thither, and to the onlooker it seemed all
confusion worse confounded by the arrival of additional trains from
Cairo.
But the confusion was more apparent than real. One noticed soon that
all the soldiers going to the transports were loaded with arms and
ammunition and stores. Those coming from the ships were empty-handed.
And soon the trains rattled off, the wharves were cleared and all the
troops were aboard. But there were no fond farewells this time. All the
folk who were near and dear to us were far, far away. A coffee stall
on the quay "manned" by the Y.W.C.A. worked overtime from four o'clock
in the morning, and our fellows were very grateful to the ladies of
Alexandria who did us this kindness. They wished us "Good luck," and
we glided out. There were no cheers or sirens to hearten us. That
was all past. We were starting off in grim earnest this time. A few
embarkation officers and transport officials on the wharf called out
"Good luck, boys"; and that was all.
Half an hour later we were out on the Mediterranean--the blue
Mediterranean--and we thought of all the fleets that in the centuries
gone by had sailed these waters--Greeks, Romans, Carthaginians,
Spaniards, Turks, French and British. Our ship was numbered A25--the
_Lutzow_, one of the many German liners that had fallen to the mighty
British Navy. And on board were crowded 2,000 men. No horses! Our
gallant steeds had all been left behind at Ma'adi, ready to follow the
moment we drove the Turks from the hills and reached "cavalry country."
Our boys had had the chance of coming without horses or stopping
behind; they never hesitated for a moment.
"Submarine," whispered some one the first day out. And all eyes
searched the waters round us. But no submarine had been seen. We had
simply been warned that there was a Turkish submarine somewhere outside
the Dardanelles. So the brigadier, Colonel Ryrie, took steps to give
it a warm reception in case it poked its nose--its periscope--above the
surface of the sea.
The whole brigade was remarkably happy. Despite the fact that within
a couple of days these men would be fighting for their lives, despite
the fact that their comrades of the Australian Infantry had just
suffered 4,000 casualties in four days, they went as cheerily forward
as their relations in Sydney went to the Easter Show. And that reminds
me that right here near the Dardanelles I came across a copy of the
Easter number of the _Sydney Mail_. What a joy it was to escape the war
pictures for a brief while and see, instead, the photographs of prize
pumpkins, of milking shorthorns, and the great stock parade, and the
high jump, and all the other attractions of one of the greatest shows
on earth! It was just like a message of good cheer from sunny New South
Wales.
We had left Alexandria under sealed orders. We had to meet a certain
warship in a certain place and get certain instructions. We travelled
at night with all lights out, and threaded our way with care through
the Archipelago. Passing Rhodes and Crete and Tenedos, we reached the
scene of what has been described as the most picturesque phase of the
Great World War--the attack on the Dardanelles.
There had been many changes in the brigade, since the men first went
into camp at Rosebery Park, Sydney, nine months before. Nearly a
thousand men passed through Colonel Cox's regiment before it finally
started out to smash the Turk and thrash the Hun. There had been
changes also amongst the officers, and as the exact list has never
been published and many of these officers were soon to lay down their
lives in the service of their country, let me give their names here--a
permanent record which will be cherished by those officers and men who
remain and by the families of all the brave dead.
Headquarters Staff: Brigadier, Colonel Granville Ryrie; Brigade Major,
Major T. J. Lynch; Staff Captain, Captain R. V. Pollok; Orderly
Officer, Lieutenant Oliver Hogue; Field Cashier, Lieutenant B. E.
Alderson.
5th Light Horse Regiment (Queensland): Lieutenant-Colonel Hubert
Harris, V.D., Major L. C. Wilson, Major H. H. Johnson, Major S.
Midgley, D.S.O., Captain P. D. Robinson, Captain Donald Cameron,
Captain J. C. Ridley, Captain G. P. Donovan, Captain J. E. Dods
(Medical Officer), Chaplain Captain Michael Bergin, Lieutenants Pike,
Nimmo, Chatham, Wright, Hanley, Fargher, Rutherford, McNeill, Irving,
Bolingbroke, McLaughlin, Lyons and Brundrit.
6th Light Horse Regiment (New South Wales): Lieutenant-Colonel C. F.
Cox, C.B., V.D., Major C. D. Fuller, Major W. T. Charley, Major F. D.
Oatley, Major J. F. White, Captain G. C. Somerville, Captain (Medical)
A. Verge, Chaplain Captain Robertson, Captain H. A. D. White, Captain
M. F. Bruxner, Lieutenants Richardson, Ferguson, Anderson, Huxtable,
Cross, Roy Hordern, H. Ryrie, Robson, Cork and Garnock.
7th Light Horse Regiment (New South Wales): Lieutenant-Colonel J. M.
Arnott, Major G. M. Onslow, Major E. Windeyer, Major T. L. Rutledge,
Major H. B. Suttor, Captain (Medical) T. C. C. Evans, Chaplain Captain
J. Keith Miller, Captain J. D. Richardson, Lieutenants Board, Elliott,
Fulton, Bice, Higgins, Hession, Gilchrist, Stevenson, Maddrell, Bird,
Barton and Lake.
Brigade Train: Lieutenant R. G. Bosanquet and Lieutenant G. D. Smith.
Field Ambulance: Lieutenant Colonel Bean, Major D. G. Croll, Captains
Fraser, McDonnel, Pitcher and Buchanan.
Signal Troop: Captain R. A. Stanley.
[Illustration: Officers of the 6th Australian Light Horse Regiment, 2nd
Light Horse Brigade.
Left to right.--Standing at back: Lieut. R. N. Richardson, Lieut. J. M.
Chisholm, Lieut. D. Drummond, Capt. L. McLaglan, Lieut. G. Ferguson,
Lieut. R. Hordern, Lieut. H. S. Ryrie.
Sitting: Capt. H. O'Brien, Capt. M. F. Bruxner, Major F. J. White,
Major C. D. Fuller, Lt.-Col. C. F. Cox, C.B., V.D., Lieut. M. D.
Russell, Capt. A. Verge, R.M.O., Capt. H. A. D. White.
In front: Lieut. N. M. Pearce and Lieut. W. M. Anderson.]
The exact strength of the brigade as it entered Turkish waters was
76 officers and 1,455 other ranks. Back at Ma'adi we had left about
twenty-five per cent of our men and all our horses. Major Righetti, of
the 5th Light Horse Regiment, had been appointed Camp Commandant, and
we were hoping that in a couple of weeks at the latest he and his merry
men would join us and then, once more mounted, we would canter gaily
along the Gallipoli road to Constantinople. We were mostly young and
optimistic! We were soon to find what a long, long road it was.
It seemed as if they had made special arrangements for a fine big
bombardment just to let the Light Horse see how it was done. As the 2nd
Light Horse Brigade arrived off Gallipoli we were eyewitnesses of a
spectacular bombardment that thrilled us. It was about seven o'clock on
the evening of May 18 that our transport glided in between Tenedos and
Imbros and anchored off Helles. Long before we anchored we could hear
the rumbling of heavy artillery, and we knew that the fleet was busy.
Soon we saw the intermittent flashes of the guns, and then there loomed
up out of the dusk the spectre-like shapes of the allied warships. A
long, impregnable-looking line they made, stretching from Kum Kale
north and west, and north again, till they were lost to sight in the
murky pall which was fast settling down on the Ægean Sea.
All night long the firing continued, but we slept just as soundly as
we had done out on the desert at Ma'adi. By sunrise the troopers were
astir, crowding the rigging and watching with intense interest the
panorama spread before them. As the sun peeped over the hills we could
see the tents of the field hospital whitening in the growing light. All
around us were warships and transports and colliers and supply ships of
all descriptions. Here and there were the low grey hulls of destroyers
streaking across the waters. From our warships came a desultory fire on
the Turkish trenches.
So intent were we as we watched the camp of the Allies that we never
noticed that our own vessel had dragged its anchor and was fast bearing
down on a French transport a few cable-lengths off. The ships came
together with a crunch that startled us. We thought for the moment that
we had either been torpedoed or rammed. Then the nose of the Frenchman
crunched along our port side, smashing stanchions and gangways,
twisting sheet iron into fantastic shapes and breaking horse-boxes into
matchwood. The active troopers all sprang free of the danger--all but
one, who was so intent on adjusting his puttees that he never noticed
what was happening. First thing he knew was when an anchor fluke caught
him bending and drove him with the force of a battering ram headlong
amongst the pans and dixies. His angry "Imshi yaller" was drowned in
the roar of laughter from his comrades.
Just before breakfast an airman went up--up with the lark. He flew
up the Dardanelles towards the Narrows, cut across Maidos to the
Australian Division, doubled back, then swung round over our heads and
turned in and landed. A valuable reconnaissance was made, the report
was sent to headquarters, and then the airman strolled into breakfast.
This man and his aeroplane were a target for Turkish shells and German
gunners all the time. Shell after shell burst around him, but he took
not the slightest notice--he said afterwards, with a laugh, that
they were quite "beneath his notice." At one time we counted eight
shell-bursts round about the aeroplane. It seemed to us who watched him
that the aviator must have borne a charmed life.
Every time I see an air pilot I feel like saluting him. Colonel Ryrie
said that morning, when he saw the spot on which our infantry had
landed: "After that, I'll take off my hat to the Australian soldier
every time." And that's how I feel about those gallant airmen.
The enemy's gunners were good; there was no doubt of that, even though
they failed to "wing" the aeroplane. They next turned their attention
and their fire on the British trenches. For a while the shells flew
wide. Some fell into the sea; others burst high. Then they got the
range, and kept it. To what extent our comrades suffered, or how well
they were dug in, we could not see. But the warships soon got to work
and silenced the enemy's guns. Then we went in to breakfast.
Just before we disembarked Colonel Ryrie addressed the assembled
soldiers. He said his only fear was that they would be too impetuous.
Their comrades who had gone before had made history. Their courage
and dash and their invincible charge on a well-nigh impregnable
position would be a theme for historians throughout the ages. Their
only fault was--they were too brave. They were ordered to take one
strongly-fortified line of trenches and they actually took three.
Concluding, the brigadier said: "If I get back to Australia and some of
you fellows don't, I know I shall be able to tell your people that you
fought and died like heroes. If you get back and I don't, I hope you
will be able to tell my countrymen that Colonel Ryrie played the game."