loose-jointed, easy-swinging trappers; athletes from the city foot-ball
and hockey teams; and gawky, long-armed farmers joined the First
Newfoundland Regiment at the outbreak of war. A rigid medical
examination sorted out the best of them, and ten months of bayonet
fighting, physical drill, and twenty-mile route marches over Scottish
hills had molded these into trim, erect, bronzed soldiers. They were
garrisoning Edinburgh Castle when word came of the landing of the
Australians and New-Zealanders at Gallipoli. At Ypres the Canadians had
just then recaptured their guns and made for themselves a deathless
name.
[Sidenote: Not militaristic.]
So the Newfoundlanders felt that as colonials they had been overlooked.
They were not militaristic and hated the ordinary routine of army life,
but they wanted to do their share. That was the spirit all through the
regiment. It was the spirit that possessed them on the long-waited-for
day at Aldershot when Kitchener himself pronounced them "just the men I
want for the Dardanelles." That day at Aldershot every man was given a
chance to go back to Newfoundland. They had enlisted for one year only,
and could demand to be sent home at the end of the year; and when
Kitchener reviewed them ten months of that year had gone.
[Sidenote: Re-enlistment at Aldershot.]
[Sidenote: The desire to get to the front.]
With the chance to go home in his grasp, every man of the first
battalion reenlisted for the duration of war. And it is on record, to
their eternal honor, that during the week preceding their departure from
Aldershot breaches of discipline were unknown, for over their heads hung
the fear that they would be punished by being kept back from active
service. To break a rule that week carried with it the suspicion of
cowardice. This was the more remarkable because many of the men were
fishermen, trappers, hunters, and lumbermen who until their enlistment
had said "Sir" to no man, and who gloried in the reputation given them
by one inspecting officer as "the most undisciplined lot he had ever
seen." From the day the Canadians left Salisbury Plain to take their
places in the trenches in Flanders the Newfoundlanders were obsessed by
one idea: they had to get to the front.
[Sidenote: Troop-ships in Mudros Harbor.]
So it was with eleven hundred of such eager spirits that I lined up, on
a Sunday evening early in August, 1915, on the deck of the troop-ship in
Mudros Harbor, which is the center of the historic island of Lemnos,
about fifty miles from Gallipoli. Around us lay all sorts of ships, from
ocean leviathans to tiny launches and rowboats. There were
gray-and-black-painted troopers, their rails lined with soldiers;
immense four-funneled men-of-war; and brightly lighted, white hospital
ships, with their red crosses outlined in electric lights. The landing
officer left us in a little motor-boat. We watched him glide slowly
shoreward, where we could faintly discern through the dusk the white of
the tents that were the headquarters for the people at Lemnos; to the
right of the tents we could see the hospital for wounded Australians and
New-Zealanders. A French battleship dipped its flag as it passed, and
our boys sang "The Marseillaise."
[Sidenote: The Iron Ration.]
A mail that had come that day was being sorted. While we waited, each
man was served with his "iron ration." This consisted of a one-pound
tin of pressed corned beef--the much-hated and much-maligned "bully
beef"--a bag of biscuits, and a small tin that held two tubes of Oxo,
with tea and sugar in specially constructed air- and damp-proof
envelopes. This was an emergency ration, to be kept in case of direst
need, and to be used only to ward off actual starvation. After that we
were given our ammunition, two hundred and fifty rounds to each man.
[Sidenote: The solitary letter home.]
But what brought home to me most the seriousness of our venture was the
solitary sheet of letter paper, with its envelope, that was given to
every man to be used for a parting letter home. For some poor chaps it
was indeed the last letter. Then we went over the side and aboard the
destroyer that was to take us to Suvla Bay.
The night had been well chosen for a surprise landing. There was no
moon, but after a little while the stars came out. Away on the port bow
we could see the dusky outline of land, and once, when we were about
half-way, an airship soared phantomlike out of the night, poised over us
a short time, then ducked out of sight. At first the word ran along the
line that it was a hostile airship, but a few inquiries soon reassured
us.
[Sidenote: Approaching Cape Hellas.]
[Sidenote: Passing Anzac.]
[Sidenote: The name Anzac.]
Suddenly we changed our direction. We were near Cape Hellas, which is
the lowest point of the peninsula of Gallipoli. Under Sir Ian Hamilton's
scheme it was here that a decoy party of French and British troops were
to be landed to draw the Turks from Anzac. Simultaneously an
overwhelming British force was to land at Suvla Bay and Anzac to make a
surprise attack on the Turks' right flank. Presently we were going
upshore past the wrecked steamer _River Clyde_, the famous "Ship of
Troy" from the side of which the Australians had issued after the ship
had been beached on the shore hitherto nameless, but now known as Anzac.
Australian New Zealand Army Corps those five letters stand for; but to
those of us who have been on Gallipoli they stand for a great deal more;
they represent the achievement of the impossible. They are a glorious
record of sacrifice, reckless devotion, and unselfish courage; to put
each letter there cost the men from Australasia ten thousand of their
best soldiers.
And so we edged our way along, fearing mines or, even more disastrous
than mines, discovery by the enemy. From the Australasians over at Anzac
we could hear desultory rifle fire. Once we heard the boom of some big
guns that seemed almost alongside the ship. Four hours it took us to go
fifty miles in a destroyer that could make thirty-two knots easily. By
one o'clock the stars had disappeared, and for perhaps three-quarters of
an hour we nosed our way through pitch darkness. Gradually we slowed
down until we had almost stopped. Something scraped along our side.
Somebody said it was a floating mine, but it turned out to be a buoy
that had been put there by the navy to mark the channel.
Out of the gloom directly in front some one hailed, and our people
answered.
"Who have you on board?" we heard a casual English voice say, and then
came the reply from our colonel:
"Newfoundlanders." There was to me something very reassuring about that
cool, self-contained voice out of the night. It made me feel that we
were being expected and looked after.
[Sidenote: Arrival of a launch.]
"Move up those boats," I heard the English voice say, and from right
under our bow a naval launch with a middy in charge swerved alongside.
In a little while it, with a string of boats, was securely fastened.
Just before we went into the boats the adjutant passed me.
"Well," he said, "you've got your wish. In a few minutes you'll be
ashore. Let me know how you like it when you're there a little while."
"Yes, sir," I said. But I never had a chance to tell him. The first
shrapnel shell fired at the Newfoundlanders burst near him, and he had
scarcely landed when he was taken off the peninsula, seriously wounded.
[Sidenote: The Newfoundlanders land.]
In a short time we had all filed into the boats. There was no noise, no
excitement; just now and then a whispered command. I was in a tug with
about twenty others who formed the rear-guard. The wind had freshened
considerably, and was now blowing so hard that our unwieldy tug dared
not risk a landing. We came in near enough to watch the other boats.
About twenty yards from shore they grounded. We could see the boys jump
over the side and wade ashore. Through the half-darkness we could barely
distinguish them forming up on the beach. Soon they were lost to sight.
[Sidenote: Enemy artillery in action.]
During the Turkish summer dawn comes early. We transhipped from our tug
to a lighter. When it grounded on the beach day was just breaking.
Daylight disclosed a steeply sloping beach, scarred with ravines. The
place where we landed ran between sheer cliffs. A short distance up the
hill we could see our battalion digging themselves in. To the left I
could see the boats of another battalion. Even as I watched, the enemy's
artillery located them. It was the first shell I had ever heard. It came
over the hill close to me, screeching through the air like an
express-train going over a bridge at night. Just above the boat I was
watching it exploded. A few of the soldiers slipped quietly from their
seats to the bottom of the boat. At first I did not realize that any
one had been hit. There was no sign of anything having happened out of
the ordinary, no confusion. As soon as the boat touched the beach the
wounded men were carried by their mates up the hill to a temporary
dressing-station.
[Sidenote: Beginning of bombardment.]
[Sidenote: Coolness of the Newfoundlanders.]
The first shell was the beginning of a bombardment. Beachy Bill, a
battery that we were to become better acquainted with, was in excellent
shape. Every few minutes a shell burst close to us. Shrapnel-bullets and
fragments of shell-casing forced us to huddle under the baggage for
protection. A little to the left some Australians were severely
punished. Shell after shell burst among them. A regiment of Sikh troops,
mule-drivers, and transport-men were caught half-way up the beach. Above
the din of falling shrapnel and the shriek of flying shells rose the
piercing scream of wounded mules. The Newfoundlanders did not escape.
That morning Beachy Bill's gunners played no favorites. On all sides the
shrapnel came in a shower. Less often, a cloud of thick, black smoke and
a hole twenty feet deep showed the landing-place of a high-explosive
shell. The most amazing thing was the coolness of the men. The
Newfoundlanders might have been practising trench-digging in camp in
Scotland. When a man was hit some one gave him first aid, directed the
stretcher-bearers where to find him, and coolly resumed digging. In two
hours our position had become untenable. We had been subjected to a
merciless and devastating shelling, and our first experience of war had
cost us sixty-five men. In a new and safer position we dug ourselves in.
[Sidenote: Four miles of graveyard.]
No move could be made in daylight. That evening we received our ration
of rum, and under cover of darkness moved in open order across the Salt
Lake for about a mile, then through three miles of knee-high, prickly
underbrush, to where our division was intrenched. Our orders were to
reinforce the Irish. The Irish sadly needed reinforcing. Some of them
had been on the peninsula for months. Many of them are still there. From
the beach to the firing-line is not over four miles, but it is a ghastly
four miles of graveyard. Everywhere along the route are small, rude
wooden crosses, mute record of advances. Where the crosses are thickest
there the fighting was fiercest, and where the fighting was fiercest
there were the Irish. On every cross, besides a man's name and the date
of his death, is the name of his regiment. No other regiments have so
many crosses as the Dublins and the Munsters. And where the shrapnel
flew so fast that bodies mangled beyond hope of identity were buried in
a common grave, there also are the Dublins and Munsters; and the cross
over them reads "In Memory of Unknown Comrades."
[Sidenote: The incomparable Twenty-ninth.]
[Sidenote: How the hill was taken, and lost.]
The line on the left was held by the Twenty-ninth Division; the Dublins,
the Munsters, the King's Own Scottish Borderers, and the Newfoundlanders
made up the 88th Brigade. The Newfoundlanders were reinforcements. From
the very first days of the Gallipoli campaign the other three regiments
had formed part of what General Sir Ian Hamilton in his report calls the
"incomparable Twenty-ninth Division." When the first landing was made,
this division, with the New-Zealanders, penetrated to the top of a hill
that commanded the Narrows. For forty-eight hours the result was in
doubt. The British attacked with bayonet and bombs, were driven back,
and repeatedly re-attacked. The New-Zealanders finally succeeded in
reaching the top, followed by the 88th Brigade. The Irish fought on the
tracks of a railroad that leads into Constantinople. At the end of
forty-eight hours of attacks and counter-attacks the position was
considered secure. The worn-out soldiers were relieved and went into
dug-outs. Then the relieving troops were attacked by an overwhelming
hostile force, and the hill was lost. A battery placed on that hill
could have shelled the Narrows and opened to our ships the way to
Constantinople. The hill was never retaken. When reinforcements came up
it was too late. The reinforcements lost their way. In his report
General Hamilton attributes our defeat to "fatal inertia." Just how
fatal was that inertia is known only to those who formed some of the
burial-parties.
[Sidenote: Newfoundlanders run in battle.]
[Sidenote: The Turks charge in mass formation.]
[Sidenote: Terrible casualties of the enemy.]
After the first forty-eight hours we settled down to regular trench
warfare. The routine was four days in the trenches, eight days in rest
dug-outs, four in the trenches again, and so forth, although two or
three months later our ranks were so depleted that we stayed in eight
days and rested only four. We had expected four days' rest after our
first trip to the firing-line, but at the end of two days came word of a
determined advance of the enemy. We arrived just in time to beat it off.
Our trenches, instead of being at the top, were at the foot of the hill
that meant so much to us. The ground here was a series of four or five
hogback ridges about a hundred yards apart. Behind these towered the
hill that was our objective. From the nearest ridge, about seven hundred
yards in front of us, the Turks had all that day constantly issued in
mass formation. During that attack we were repaid for the havoc wrought
by Beachy Bill. As soon as the Turk topped the crest they were subjected
to a demoralizing rain of shell from the navy and the artillery. Against
the hazy blue of the sky-line we could see the dark mass clearly
silhouetted. Every few seconds, when a shell landed in the middle of the
approaching columns, the sides of the column would bulge outward for an
instant, then close in again. Meanwhile every man in our trenches stood
on the firing-platform, head and shoulders above the parapet, with fixed
bayonet and loaded rifle, waiting for the order to begin firing. Still
the Turks came on, big, black, bewhiskered six-footers, reforming ranks
and filling up their gaps with fresh men. Now they were only six hundred
yards away, but still there was no order to open fire. It was uncanny.
At five hundred yards our fire was still withheld. When the order came,
"At four hundred yards, rapid fire," everybody was tingling with
excitement. Still the Turks came on, magnificently determined. But it
was too desperate a venture. The chances against them were too great,
our artillery and machine-gun fire too destructively accurate. Some few
Turks reached almost to our trenches, only to be stopped by
rifle-bullets. "Allah! Allah!" yelled the Turks as they came on. A
sweating, grimly happy machine-gun sergeant between orders was shouting
to the Turkish army in general, "'Tis not a damn' bit of good to yell to
Allah now." Our artillery opened huge gaps in their lines; our
machine-guns piled them dead in the ranks where they stood. Our own
casualties were very slight, but of the waves of Turks that surged over
the crest all that day only a mere shattered remnant ever straggled back
to their own lines.
[Sidenote: The armies in a state of siege.]
That was the last big attack the Turks made. From that time on it was
virtually two armies in a state of siege. Every night at dark we stood
to arms for an hour. Every man fixed his bayonet and prepared to repulse
any attack of the enemy. After that sentry groups were formed, three
reliefs of two men each. Two men stood with their heads over the parapet
watching for any movement in the no-man's-land between the lines. That
accounts for the surprisingly large number of men one sees wounded in
the head.
At daylight every morning came "Stand to arms" again. Then day duties
began. In the daytime, by using a periscope, an arrangement of double
mirrors, a sentry can keep his head below the parapet while he watches
the ground in front. Sometimes a bullet struck one of the mirrors, and
the splintered glass blinded the sentry. It was a common thing to see a
man go to hospital with his face badly lacerated by periscope glass.
[Sidenote: When a shell comes.]
Ordinarily a man is much safer on the firing-line than in the rest
dug-outs. Trenches are so constructed that even if a shell drops right
in the traverse where men are, only half a dozen or so suffer. In open
or slightly protected ground where the dug-outs are the burst of a
shrapnel-shell covers an area twenty-five by two hundred yards in
extent.
[Sidenote: Shrapnel and bullets.]
A shell can be heard coming. Experts claim to identify the caliber of a
gun by the sound the shell makes. Few live long enough to become such
experts. In Gallipoli the average length of life was three weeks. In
dug-outs we always ate our meals, such as they were, to the
accompaniment of "Turkish Delight," the Newfoundlanders' name for
shrapnel. We had become accustomed to rifle-bullets. When you hear the
_zing_ of a spent bullet or the sharp crack of an explosive you know it
has passed you. The one that hits you you never hear. At first we dodged
at the sound of a passing bullet, but soon we came actually to believe
the superstition that a bullet would not hit a man unless it had on it
his regimental number and his name. Then, too, a bullet leaves a clean
wound, and a man hit by it drops out quietly. The shrapnel makes nasty,
jagged, hideous wounds, the horrible recollection of which lingers for
days. It is little wonder that we preferred the firing-line.
[Sidenote: The mode of intrenching.]
Most of our work was done at night. When we wished to advance our line,
we sent forward a platoon of men the desired distance. Every man carried
with him three empty sand-bags and his intrenching-tool. Temporary
protection is secured at short notice by having every man dig a hole in
the ground that is large and deep enough to allow him to lie flat in it.
The intrenching-tool is a miniature pickax, one end of which resembles a
large-bladed hoe with a sharpened and tempered edge. The pick end is
used to loosen hard material and to break up large lumps; the other end
is used as a shovel to throw up the dirt. When used in this fashion the
wooden handle is laid aside, the pick end becomes a handle, and the
intrenching-tool is used in the same manner as a trowel.
[Sidenote: The necessity for concealment.]
Lying on our stomach, our rifles close at hand, we dug furiously. First
we loosened up enough earth in front of our heads to fill a sand-bag.
This sand-bag we placed beside our heads on the side nearest the enemy.
Out in no-man's-land, with bullets and machine-gun balls pattering about
us, we did fast work. As soon as we had filled the second and third
sand-bags we placed them on top of the first. In Gallipoli every other
military necessity was subordinated to concealment. Often we could
complete a trench and occupy it before the enemy knew of it.
[Sidenote: The Turks use star-shells.]
Sometimes while we were digging the Turks surprised us by sending up
star-shells. They burst like rockets high overhead. Everything was
outlined in a strange, uncanny way that gave the effect of stage-fire.
At first when a man saw a star-shell he dropped flat on his face; but
after a good many men had been riddled by bullets, we saw our mistake.
The sudden blinding glare makes it impossible to identify objects
before the light fades. Star-shells show only movement. The first stir
between the lines becomes the target for both sides. So after that, even
when a man was standing upright, he simply stood still.
[Sidenote: Aeroplanes attacked by artillery.]
Every afternoon from just behind our lines an aeroplane buzzed up. At
the tremendous height it looked like an immense blue-bottle fly. At
first the enemy's aeroplanes came out to meet ours, but a few encounters
with our men soon convinced them of the futility of this. After that
they relied on their artillery. In the air all around the tiny speck we
could see white puffs of smoke where their shrapnel was exploding.
Sometimes those puffs were perilously close to it; at such times our
hearts were in our mouths. Everybody in the trench craned his neck to
see. When our aeroplane man[oe]uvered clear you could hear a sigh of
relief run along the trench.
[Sidenote: An air-man's adventure.]
One of our air-men, Samson, captured a German Taube that he used for
daily reconnaissance. Every day we watched him hover over the Turkish
lines, circle clear of their bursting shrapnel, and return to our
artillery with his report. One day we watched two hostile planes chase
him back right to our trench. When they came near us we opened rapid
fire that forced them to turn; but before Samson reached his
landing-place at Salt Lake we could see that he was in trouble; one of
the wings of the machine was drooping badly. We watched him land in
safety, saw him jump out of his seat, and walk about ten yards to a
waiting motor-ambulance. The ambulance had just turned when a shell hit
the aeroplane. A second shell blew it to pieces.
[Sidenote: A naval and artillery bombardment.]
But Samson had completed his mission. About half an hour later the navy
in the bay and our artillery began a bombardment. From our trenches,
looking through ravines, we could see the men-of-war lined up pouring
broadsides over our heads into the Turkish lines. From our position in
the valley we watched our shells demolish the enemy's front-line
trenches on the hill well to our left. Through field-glasses we could
see the communication-trenches choked with fleeing Turks. Some of our
artillery concentrated on the support-trenches, preventing
reinforcements from coming up. A mule-train of supplies was caught in
the curtain of fire. The Turks, caught between two fires, could not
escape. In a few minutes all that was left of the scientifically
constructed intrenchments was a conglomerate heap of sand-bags,
equipments, and machine-guns; and on top of it all lay the mangled
bodies of men and mules.
All through the bombardment we had hoped for the order to go over the
parapet, but for the Worcesters on our left was reserved the distinction
of making the charge. High explosives cleared the way for their advance,
and cheering and yelling they went over the parapet. The Turks in the
front-line trenches, completely demoralized, fled to the rear. A few,
too weak or too sorely wounded to run, surrendered.
[Sidenote: The Turk's dislike for German officers.]
Prisoners taken in this engagement told us that the Turkish rank and
file heartily hated their German officers. One prisoner said that he had
been an officer, but since the outbreak of this war had been replaced by
a German. At present the Turks are officered entirely by Germans.
[Sidenote: Losses from disease.]