"STUNTS"
AN INCONVENIENT COUGH--"IMSHI"--AN EMPTY NEST AND A DASH FOR COVER--A
CLOSE SHAVE--SNIPER SING--MIDGLEY'S MYRMIDONS--A GOOD "BAG"--A WAR OF
TROGLODYTES--BEATING THE TURK AT HIS OWN GAME
They are not battles or fights; they are hardly skirmishes even. They
are just "stunts."
I don't like the word "stunt"; it sounds like an American vaudeville
turn. But somehow it attained a general vogue on Gallipoli, and it
meant any of the little incidents, episodes, and brushes with the enemy
which served to relieve the monotony of trench warfare.
Having been ousted from their "impregnable" positions on the coast, the
Turks dug in deep to block the advance of the Australians on the west
and the Allies on the south. Slowly they were being shifted; more by
the pick and shovel than the rifle. The trenches were only a few yards
apart in some places; several hundred yards apart in others. And it was
in the neutral zone between the hostile armies that these "stunts" took
place.
Mostly they were planned and executed under cover of darkness, for a
head couldn't be shown above the trenches in daylight without getting a
score of bullets. Our chaps were far more enterprising and venturesome
than the Turks, but the latter were better patrols. The reason was that
the Turks know the country, wear a kind of moccasin on their feet, and
move about quite noiselessly. With our heavy service-boots silence is
impossible. So we got out early--just after dark--waited in ambush, and
caught Tommy Turk when he came poking his nose into our business.
One fine "stunt" was spoilt by a cough. Lieutenant Chatham, of the
5th Light Horse, had a troop out in ambush near the Balkan gun pits,
where the Turks were working each night. Just when the enemy's patrol
approached, one of our troopers felt a tickling in the throat. He
tried to swallow the tickle and couldn't. He gulped, but the tickling
continued aggravating. At last he stuffed his handkerchief in his
mouth and coughed. It was only an insignificant little cough; but
it sufficed. The Turkish patrol halted and the leader investigated.
Stealthily he crept up till he could almost touch the crouching
Australian. Bang! Finish Turk. Patrol "imshi." That was one to us. But
for the unfortunate cough we might have got half a dozen.
The enemy scored next time. One of their snipers, over-bold, crept up
in the scrub to within twenty yards of the trenches of the 7th Light
Horse, and started blazing away. Our fellows could not get him from the
trenches, so Sergeant Ducker and three others volunteered to rush the
Turk's "posey" and bring him in, dead or alive. Cautiously they fixed
bayonets, climbed on to the parapet, and then dashed out. They found
the sniper's nest, but the bird had flown. A number of empty cartridge
cases bore testimony to his activity. But the scrub was full of
snipers, and as our dashing quartette dashed for home a hot fusillade
was opened on them from the Turkish trenches and the scrub. Ducker
dashed into shelter so fast that he landed on General Ryrie's back.
No. 2 sent a miniature avalanche of dust and débris on top of Colonel
Cox; No. 3 landed on my pet corn; and No. 4, Trooper Edgeworth, got a
Turkish bullet in the arm. "Maleesch."
One of our best exploits was "White's one-night stunt," as it was
called. The General wanted a certain position taken and occupied.
Our brigade had to do it. Under cover of night a patrol went out,
reconnoitred the position, and formed a covering party for the work to
come. Major Fred. White then took 150 men of the 6th Light Horse, armed
with picks and shovels as well as their rifles, and dug a long sap six
feet deep, right out to Harris Ridge. Then the trenches were dug, and
the position occupied. The Sixth dug like miners, and burrowed like
rabbits. Next morning when Abdul awoke he beheld the smoke of the Light
Horse camp fires and the hill in possession of the enemy. And the Turks
wondered what had happened.
One morning early, Major Windeyer, of the 7th, poked his head over the
parapet to enjoy the panorama, and a Turkish sniper let fly, the bullet
just whizzing past his ear. Several snipers had been heard in front
of our lines, but not located. So it was decided to drive them off.
Fifty volunteered for the job; six were chosen, but it was found that a
dozen joined in the rush. The Turkish patrol was easily driven back by
Sergeant Walker and his comrades, and the Turks in the foremost trench
were so surprised that about fifty rounds were poured into them before
they got busy. At least one was killed before their reinforcements came
tumbling up. Then the Australians bolted for home, and reached safety
without any casualties, though the Turks blazed away like fury. That's
the luck of the game.
Sergeant Brennan, who used to be in the Dublin Fusiliers, and whose
camp kitchens at Liverpool have often been admired by Sydney visitors,
was in charge of the cooks and dixies of the 7th Light Horse. Every
morning, breakfast over, he took down his rifle, strolled across to
the trenches, and had innumerable duels with Turkish snipers. He had
the range of all their trenches, and when he saw a sniper's "posey"
he blazed away till he silenced the enemy. Now and then an unwary Turk
showed half a head, and this Irish sharpshooter was on to him like a
shot. Some days he would come back to camp angry and disappointed.
"Thirty shots and not a single scalp," he exclaimed, kicking aside some
innocent mess tin. But at other times he stalked back as if he had won
the battle of Anzac "on his own." "Killed three Turkeys," he cried. And
then he was as happy as Larry all day.
But there was one man in the 5th Light Horse Regiment whom we called
"The Murderer." He played the Turks at their own game, and beat them
badly. He himself admitted it was "a shame to take the money." He used
to sit with his rifle set at a certain track which the enemy thought
was well concealed behind the hills. His mate had a telescope, and
spotted for him. They waited till they saw a head appear, and they knew
that three seconds later a Turk would be in full view for two seconds.
That was quite enough. "The Murderer" was ready. The spotter said
"Right"; the rifle fired, and another victim of German "kultur" fell.
The man's name was Billy Sing, a Queenslander, belonging to "Midgley's
Myrmidons." The 5th Light Horse Regiment was nominally composed of
Queenslanders; but the North Coast rivers of New South Wales were
included in the 1st Commonwealth Military District. A great many men
from the Tweed, Richmond, and Clarence Rivers enlisted in Brisbane.
This was particularly true of the 5th Light Horse, for the majority
of Major Midgley's squadron hailed from Northern New South Wales.
They revelled in the exploits of the gallant little Major, swearing
to follow him anywhere, so we called them Midgley's Myrmidons. If he
were casually to remark, "Come on, boys, I think we'll take Achi Baba
to-night," not one of them would have hesitated an instant. Major
Midgley reckoned that since the glorious game of War degenerated into
a battle of troglodytes, we might as well make it interesting and
diverting. So, in this particular section of our line of battle, things
were always happening. We never wanted for diversion. But this same
diversion was always at the expense of our friend the enemy, and poor
Abdul was correspondingly angry.
Sing held the Australian snipers' record. He was a crack shot, and had
often won prizes at Brisbane and Randwick. Day after day, night after
night, he used to settle down comfortably in his "posey" and wait for
his prey. His patience was inexhaustible. He would sit for hours on end
with a telescope glued to his eye, watching the tracks or trenches,
where sooner or later a Turk was sure to show himself. If a Turk
looked up, and then bobbed down quickly, Sing only grinned and waited.
He would get his Turk later on. Emboldened by fancied immunity, the
unsuspecting one would show his head again, then his shoulders, then
half his body. Then Sing's rifle would crack, and another notch be made
in the stick. There was not the slightest doubt of his performances,
for every day an officer or non-commissioned officer checked the shot
and recorded the kill. Before he left Anzac Billy Sing bagged over 150
Turks.
One night he went with the rest of Midgley's Myrmidons on a rather
hazardous enterprise. It turned out to be one of the most successful
affairs undertaken. General Ryrie wanted to know how strongly held were
the Turkish trenches on an imposing ridge opposite our lines. The 5th
Light Horse Regiment (Major Wilson) had to find out. Major Midgley's
squadron had to make the attack. Major Johnson's squadron skirted the
coast to keep Gaba Tepe quiet and guard against a flank attack. Captain
Pike's squadron manned our outpost, and brought covering fire to bear
on the enemy's right. One of our destroyers fired a few salvos at the
Turks' position; just something to go on with. Then the Myrmidons
sneaked out. It was about four o'clock in the morning. The moon had
just set. Through the scrub they crept silently and stealthily. Not a
sound escaped them till they were within thirty yards of the enemy's
trenches. Then something warned a sentry, and he fired half a dozen
shots into the scrub. But our lads lay low and made no sound, and the
sentry evidently thought he was mistaken.
At a word from the Major the line started slowly forward again, and,
unnoticed, reached a little knoll, not ten yards from the Turkish
trenches. Then the music began, with a pyrotechnic display thrown
in. Our "grenadiers" threw bombs and grenades thick and fast on the
bewildered garrison, while on either wing our riflemen blazed away,
driving back the supports which hurried up from the enemy's rear. On
the shore line, B Squadron opened on the Gaba Tepe defences, while we
in the trenches blazed away at Pine Ridge till our rifles burned our
hands. The silence of the night was broken by a fierce fusillade, as
pin-points of fire burst from the whole length of the Turkish trenches.
But the regiments on our left lay low in their trenches, and laughed
at the Turks' impotent rage. We on the post had one man very slightly
wounded--just a scratch. The shore line squadron had also one man
wounded--rather badly.
Midgley's gallant Myrmidons effected a splendid withdrawal, for after
they had cleaned out the Turks' advance trench they came back to our
lines with only one man wounded in the leg. When he came in Major
Midgley reported to the General: "We've got 'em stone cold. My birds
simply bombed them out, cleaned out the trench, bagged about thirty,
and are now back for breakfast."