IN THE FIRING LINE
That first night on land was a restless night and a never-ending one,
though everybody was up by the first streak of dawn. I woke and slept,
woke up and slept. Twice the rain pattered in my face, forcing me to
cover my head, then the men guarding a pool of water somewhere at hand
relieved guard, and trod on me in the process. The colonel went away
once, giving me his glasses and map case and other things to look after.
Yet again I was wakened by two fellows close beside me. I came out of a
doze, and heard them speaking in mysterious tones.
“There’s a bloke moving in the bushes. I heard him sure. Is anybody round
the other side?”
“I don’t think so.”
“It may be a sniper.” The other fellow grunted. “We had better make
certain.” The other fellow grunted again. Something more was said, and
one got up, went a little way into the bushes and poked about a bit with
stick or bayonet, I could not see which. The search was without result,
and he came back and lay down, and the conversation went on a while
in whispers. I was dozing again when a couple of bullets plumped into
the bank three or four foot overhead, and tiny showers of dirt trickled
down. That woke me up with a vengeance. The night was much clearer, but
damp and forbidding; and my circulation played tricks, for I seemed more
exposed than I had believed. I moved my head about to find where to go,
and in the end dragged everything a few yards lower down, where I was
alone and could be closer in to our right bank. I felt more secure; but
I was wide awake, and stayed so a long while. I doubt not all were glad
when dawn arrived.
I got up feeling like a cat rubbed the wrong way. My clothes had not
been off. Yet there was no wash nearer than the sea. In the manner of
last night we had breakfast of biscuits and bully beef, sent down with a
mouthful of water, and afterwards I sat huddled and yawning, picking my
teeth with a twig from the nearest bush. It was pretty cold just then,
and I wished the colonel would make a start on his travels. He was not
long about it. Breakfast over and the world properly alight, we set off,
turning as usual for the beach.
The beach was like yesterday, as crowded and as busy. There was more
ammunition about, and a higher stack of provisions. Our battleships
were moving, for action later on it might be, and Turkish shrapnel came
over in merry morning bursts. We spent much time on the beach, and the
sun rose high up at last. We went this way and that way and every
way, tramping over the shingle and threading through the crowds. The
colonel was full of business. He met endless officers, talked plans with
some, and gave a how-de-do to others just ashore. Also there were long
intervals of waiting, when one might look round and find out what was
happening.
The morning was bright with sunshine, the air a trifle sharp. Over all
the ocean mounted thin smoke lines from the battleships and transports.
High up into the sky they went, for there was no wind to speak of.
Between those waiting giants and the shore hurried the thousand small
craft which already I have told you of. It was like grown-ups and
children on an autumn morning, the elders rheumy and contained, the
youngsters racing in good spirit.
Wandering thus, we came on a party of sailors leaning back on a rope
lashed to a barge, I think. The group was large, and a warrant officer
with a gold band on his sleeve took charge. The men were elderly or over
youthful, naval reservists and recruits, said I, and I saw such pimply,
ill-bred faces as London breeds. The warrant officer was short and vast
of girth, and a khaki solar hat covered a face seamed and fiery from
tropic suns and strong spirits. I thought of a barrel on legs. I warrant
his wife made small demur when he packed up for the wars. He marched
solemnly up and down the line of men, eyeing this one and that one, and
giving short, sharp commands. The front men splashed in the water, and
the tail of the line trailed across the beach; and all the while the
shrapnel came over in a dirty fashion, clawing at the water sometimes,
and sometimes spurting on to the pebbles. I could not help measuring
the distance to the friendly cliffs; but ill it became one to consider
retreat, and I swelled my chest and looked as though I liked it.
Now the men on the rope pulled away, some with an even pull and some in
a heartless, jerky fashion, for their minds were on the shells hurling
over. There were those who dropped down nearly to the ground, and
grinned in sheepish and unhappy manner. The warrant officer trod heavily
up and down as cool as you like, and I wondered how soon he would say
something—something to the point, I mean. All suddenly sounded a rush
and a bang right over our heads, and that poor line of cockneys crouched
this way and that, and a fellow dropped the rope and ran away under the
cliff. The warrant officer turned round—revolved is the word, for round
objects revolve—and he did not wave his arms or do any other thing, lest
he should burst perhaps; but he roared out—and I liked his voice less
than the shrapnel—“Come out of that, you skulker! If you be killed, you
be killed!” Feebly the man came back, and the rope straightened again,
and the barge came ashore.
* * * * *
“My salute, sir. In all humility Gunner Lake offers his salute.”
* * * * *
Finally the colonel’s business on the beach ended, and he went the way I
had gone overnight. The sappers had driven the road out of sight, and
farther on the stairway over the hill was completed. We followed up the
ravine, until I made sure we were about to look for the A Battery gun;
but we moved somewhat to the right hand and gained the crest that way. I
say “gained the crest,” but we stopped just short of the top, for on the
farther side went forward with utmost spirit a dainty little battle. Had
all been quiet one would have looked and beheld only the wilderness, for
the guns were hidden in odd clumps of scrub, and of infantry there was no
sign. Later I found a few of them in a trench behind the guns and quite
close to us. I wondered then what they did there.
Now the sun had climbed up into the sky, a jolly warming sun who searched
alike open and thicket with his glances. To be sure, he drew away to
him the fresh morning scents; but he left all the scrubland silvery and
quivering, and threw a glad haze over the open country. Hills and valleys
were about us, and next a broad plain, and beyond that the great breast
of Achi-Baba. Hills and valleys were before us, and the flat sea behind.
We stayed but a few instants just here ere a bullet skimmed by and set us
thinking of healthier places. It happened that on the right of this crest
was a scooped-out spot, not exactly a trench, probably some old Turkish
observing station. The colonel saw there what he wanted, and we went for
it at the double, jumped down into it and dropped on our knees. It had a
depth of three or four foot, and we could stay fairly protected and look
over the top and scan the whole countryside. The morning was wonderfully
pretty—the place was ablaze with sunlights, browns and smoky blues. When
one found the guns and gunners, which was only possible of those near by,
their dress harmonised so exactly that they did not offend. And the roar
of battle was less hideous here. The musketry rolled from all around,
and the hissing bursts of machine guns were born and died. There was the
plucky “bang-bang” of a mountain battery, and the heavier voice of our
own gun, which opened its mouth ever and anon. But there was nothing of
that bellow of the ponderous guns at sea.
I was on my knees with only my head above the parapet, and not an inch
more of that than need be. The firing came from all over the place, so
much so that one was put to it to tell which was from us and which from
the enemy. Thus an extra inch was of account.
Briskly as went forward the battle, it must wait my attention while I
roamed a farmer’s eye across the landscape. All was so charming and so
full of contrast. We—the colonel and I—were perched in a land of heights
and depths, which in happier days may have grazed lean flocks of sheep
and goats. Over in the distance there was a wide flat country of vines
and cropland, even now filling with the harvest. Humble homes were hid
there, with anxious wife or aged mother as guardian. For the lords had
gone forth, changing the sickle for the musket.
Somewhere in that flat country the enemy lay, though I never picked them
up, as I was without glasses. I found our men slowly, and in every case
suddenly. They were beneath us, and rather to the left hand. A mountain
gun and our own A Battery gun were close—quite close, a matter of yards.
Yet one must look keenly to see the brown puggareed men at their posts,
and our own green-uniformed gunners beyond. It was their movements and
the flashes which made this possible.
I have said there was an old trench behind the guns, filled with a number
of our infantry. It had little depth, and from up here one might look
right in. The fellows crouched or sat, rifle in hand, helping nothing
towards the business. I could not understand it.
Now a track ran round the shoulder of our hill, joining the beach with
a broad valley thrusting into the mountains. One could not follow the
course of the valley far, as hills interrupted; but I had the belief
that at its head lay the trenches our infantry held. The track I speak
of curved in front of the guns, and was exposed all the way to such
attentions as the enemy liked to give. Yet continually passengers
passed up and down. All manner of men went, and all paces they went at.
There were curious, lonely infantrymen, who came out of the valley and
disappeared towards the beach. There were those who passed at a walk,
and those who went by at a halting run, dodging before the guns and
losing themselves in no time. Several lines of stretcher cases arrived
at slower pace, or a single stretcher advanced down the road, or even
a walking wounded man appeared, leaning on the shoulder of a friend.
Not one who went that way but was dusty, parched, and tired. And some
men would return towards the valley—stretcher-bearers in general case.
Some ran over the open as fast as weariness allowed, but others plodded
forward worn past anxiety.
But of all who came and went, I remembered best two men approaching with
utmost slowness from the valley. They were a chaplain and a wounded man
whom he supported. I watched them all the way, for they came so slowly
and with such small concern of the hubbub round; the chaplain engrossed
in his task, and the wounded man beyond all caring for what befell.
They passed near to us, at one time below our breast-work, the chaplain
talking to his friend or looking along the path towards the hospitals on
the beach. I am glad to have seen those men go by.
Merrily the fight went forward. Officers came up beside us, and talked a
little with the colonel and watched a little, and went away again. One
who came was Major Andrews, and I heard we were landing more guns, and
some of the Staff were on the way over. He spoke of meeting them and went
off.
All the while the colonel said never a word to me; but he scanned the
field with his glasses, and once or twice he used a telescope. Often he
would look towards the beach and curse the absence of his guns.
This cup in the hills was not the only spot of battle: the enemy still
remembered the beach and the sea, and many a shell went whistling past us
over that way. I began to tire of the place, and would have welcomed a
move; but just then I caught sight of some of our Staff climbing from the
beach. They had just landed, for they were loaded with flags and field
telephones, besides personal equipment. They panted from their efforts,
and coming to the top of the rise nearly below us, bunched together in
the open, and looked as though they knew it too. I was sending a good-day
nod from my funk-hole, when the colonel brushed me on one side, and,
lifting over the parapet all of his head that was wanted, called out
impatiently to Mr. Gardiner in charge.
“What about the guns, Mr. Gardiner? What have you done with them?”
“They’re here, sir. We met the major!”
And then there followed explanations, and it turned out the guns were
going the wrong way, and Gardiner went back in a hurry, put about for the
first time.
Though things straightened finally, the morning was confused and full
of running about. Afternoon was no better. Until evening I followed on
the colonel’s heels; and he went this way, that way, and every way, over
the shingle, and up and down the small hills which met the beach. All
day the shells came from inland, tumbling about us at every angle, or
tearing up the waters for a brief moment. All day the transports sent
reinforcements; and new guns and barges of ammunition and provisions
arrived. The hospital ships sailed away, and others steamed from the
horizon. Men dug in wherever an inch of cover was. Gangs of sappers drove
roads, and toiling lines of men dragged the field guns from the beach
along the roads to positions on the hills. Every hour left us surer of
our footing.
By night we artillery fellows—those who had got over—had made our
headquarters near by the little battlefield of the morning. When the
colonel and I came back, men were digging in the guns.
It was necessary to keep communication through the night with Divisional
Artillery by means of lamp signals. The Staff were taking turns at this.
My turn was somewhere about the middle of the night, so I dug a shallow
funk-hole, and when the stars came out took off my boots and lay down.
The bad weather had long cleared away, and the stars were very bright.
* * * * *
“So another day was ending, and again came darkness to cover up the ruin
and the agony. Higher were heaped the dead, and braver were the ranks of
the maimed. More men had stood their trial, had proven themselves or had
been found wanting. And you, Gunner Lake, have you thanked the God of
Battle that you have stayed unafraid?”
Old Grandmother Lake used to take me, a small boy, to her knee, and bid
me pray for the welfare of the British army. Now her grandsons fight in
many corners of the world. Among the battle maidens Grandmother Lake
sits in Valhalla and waits serenely their coming.
* * * * *
Hardly was I asleep when someone shook me by the shoulder. I opened my
eyes to find the stars shining, and Wilkinson kneeling beside me.
“What’s the time?” I mumbled.
“Twelve o’clock and your shift.” I muttered, yawned, and sat up.
“What’s to be done?”
“Watch Divisional Artillery for any lamp signals. Do an hour and wake
Foster. He’s next man.”
I nodded, and while I let out another yawn Wilkinson disappeared. With
many an unuttered curse I got to my feet. I found a weary wind had risen,
as full of toothache as a stick of nougat. I put my coat on, turning up
the collar; and over head and neck I pulled a big woollen cap, thanking
as I did so the good women of Melbourne that had knitted it. I stumbled
along the track to a better spot and sat down. The stars shone clearly;
but the sea, the hillsides, and even more so the beach were folded in
gloom. Like the boiling of a pot sounded ceaseless distant musketry
fire—low now and fitful; now waking to life—never, never silent. Every
few minutes a shell came whistling overhead, to burst threateningly in
the sea. The transports had drawn several miles away, the battleships lay
before them; and in and out moved restless destroyers. Other craft were
there—numberless they seemed and of every kind—anchored among the shadows
closer in shore. I saw the Morse lamps winking to one another, and felt
companionship, knowing others watched with me. I followed great yellow
searchlights in ceaseless journeyings round the bay, and knew that others
too guarded the sleeping multitude.
Soon I stood up. The wind stirred perpetually the low bushes; but I heard
few sounds of it. My mind was weary with the day just over: I saw anew
dead men, torn beasts: and heard the voices of guns, and the thousand
echoes of battle. Useless sacrifice the struggle seemed at this solemn
hour. Presently the night air crept through my coat, and sent my hands
into pockets and myself moving up and down. For all my watching no signal
appeared; but instead my footsteps sounded ever more mournfully on the
path. Nobody was here to say an army slept in the ragged scrub on either
side. Finally, to lose my thoughts, I fell to putting together a battle
prayer.
EVENING BATTLE PRAYER
Trench by trench, along the line,
Dies the spluttering musketry;
And the gunners at their guns
Lay the heavy shrapnel by.
Now the wearied flying-man
Glides in circles from the sky:
And, across the dimming bay,
Move the armoured ships away.
God of Battle! God of Right!
Guard and guide Thy troops this night!
Here and here, among the hills,
Gleam the tiny supper fires;
There and there a hard-spent man
To a barren bed retires.
Now across the darkened bowl,
Pass the stars on their patrol,
Staring down on War’s still feast,
Mangled man and broken beast.
God of Battle! God of Right!
Guard and guide Thy troops this night!
Steps and voices were coming behind me. Instantly I woke up and drew into
deeper shadow, and stood there several moments while the shuffling sounds
came forward. They proved to be a stretcher party, arriving painfully
round the bend in the path.
There was a difficult place, where the ground sloped abruptly; but with
much tenderness the Red Cross men lifted their burdens past. I left the
path altogether for them to file by, and they did so—a sorrowful, halting
procession—one lying here with torn shoulder, one here with a vast bloody
wrap about his face, one here with shattered feet—so they went by silent
and still, with closed eyes and grey faces.
After them shambled a numerous crowd with bandaged arms, and legs bound
up, talking in low tones and smoking cigarettes. I heard a thin voice
say, “Don’t think much of these smokes; but a bloke’ll take on anything
here.” After followed a gruff voice. “Blarsted bad luck getting put out
second day. Corporal Davis got outed altogether: you know ’im, a big
bouncing brute in D Company. ’E got a bullet through the heart, and
jumped about ten foot in the air.” And then a third voice. “I got three
in the arm from a swine of a machine gun. Aching like Hell!” So from the
trenches they came, and passed to the Red Cross station on the beach.
My hour was up, the watch over; gladly I hurried off and pulled my relief
out of bed. Next minute the blankets were over me, and I was falling
asleep.