THE LAST OF ANZAC
The Column had dug themselves in on the ruins of our old headquarters.
They were handy to the beach, and boasted an uninterrupted view of
the sea. The place had much to recommend it; but it suffered from the
attentions of Beachy Bill and his comrade of Anafarta. As a newcomer, I
had poor choice of funk-holes; but I picked one in a hollow, screened
from Beachy Bill and moderately protected from the Anafarta gun. Here I
laid my kit and waited what might be in store.
I was growing ill. I had suffered long from dysentery, but that was in
common with all the army. Now a terrible weariness took hold of me, with
headache and bodily pains. I thought the attack would prove the affair of
a day; but I could get no better. I wondered what was becoming of me.
I had no complaint to lodge on the score of duty. Two days after arrival,
I was detailed three men and sent a little way up the valley to guard
a provision depot built in anticipation of the reinforcements. These
reinforcements now were expected daily. I divided the guard into shifts
of two hours on duty and four hours off, and after seeing that the work
was carried out, I could call my time my own. I put up an awning, and
slept under its shadow through the heat of the day, in defiance of the
searching odours of the yellow cheeses simmering in the sun. At five
o’clock in the afternoon it was possible to move abroad, and about then
the enemy put in a few rounds of some ancient field-piece, half cannon
and half trench mortar. It hurled a rough iron ball which shattered into
three or four pieces. The provision stack seemed always the target. And
visiting Taubes commonly left a card in the shape of a bomb. Several
stretcher-parties started from our neighbourhood on the journey to the
beach, but the provision stack and its guard remained. But, as I hint, if
nothing demanded your stay, it was as well about five o’clock to visit
other parts.
Thus, between five and six o’clock, I took such of our water-bottles as
wanted filling, and started towards the beach. The first of the bathers
were coming down, and most of them carried empty water-bottles slung
round their shoulders. Below the junction of Monash and Shrapnel Valleys
began a wide deeply-cut road, driven by the sappers in earlier days.
On the left hand was a considerable fenced cemetery, full of cared-for
graves. As afternoon declined, this sheltered road became crowded with
passengers. At the end of twenty or thirty yards it emptied on to a
hillock overlooking the sea. Here was a square of ground quite destitute
of cover from shell-fire. The path ran round it, and by a flight of steps
led you down on to the beach.
The ocean was always blue and always calm; but it was emptier than of
yore. The transports long since had steamed away, and enemy submarines
had scared the main body of the fleet. Commonly a monitor waited there,
and a number of destroyers; and these were all the craft of battle. But
in shore, round about the jetties, was much movement. All day arrived
barges of provisions and ammunition, and if you waited long and watched
carefully, you might welcome a battery of guns. And many barges were
anchored at hand, waiting their turn. Also there were the pinnaces
bearing the wounded to the hospital ship. The army medical men had a
jetty of their own, decorated with a Red Cross flag, at the foot of
the road I have spoken about: the other jetties overflowed men bearing
provisions and ammunition from the barges, or pumping up the fresh water.
And at sunset these workers were exchanged for scores of naked bathers.
Always there was something to interest you on the beach, be it Reuter’s
telegrams, or the chance meeting of acquaintances, or the sight of other
men working while you loafed. Then there was the delightful uncertainty
of Beachy Bill. You remembered him most acutely while waiting in a long
queue of men to fill your water-bottle. The sun blazed on you, and
you thought of Beachy Bill and his ill-humours. Water-tanks were his
favourite targets.
Beachy Bill had no call to be careful of his mark; did he miss one
target, he found another. There were stacks of provisions larger than
houses. There were stores of fodder. There were the hospitals and the
headquarters of the generals. There were the baker shops, the butcher
shops, the cobblers, the workshops, the post offices, and such places.
Also from end to end the beach was crowded with soldiers and mules,
and blocked with a hundred matters of value. One met many sounds and
smells; and to the last the pebbles sank underfoot. No amount of passage
stamped them flat. At the farther end of the beach, better protected from
enemy fire, were in building the vast ammunition reserves, and guns and
their waggons accumulated here for the expected advance. It seemed the
colonel’s dream—ammunition to burn—must find realisation.
Seldom I went farther than the Australian post office, where I had
acquaintances; and my visits were paid at tea-time. In the same
neighbourhood was a wire enclosure, where were kept prisoners of war
until such time as they could be shipped away. Those I saw were shabby,
depressed creatures; and the hair and beards of many were streaked
with grey. Yet our own appearance could scarcely have been better. The
prisoners had put up what shelter was possible, and they sat and dozed in
it all day, and at evening wandered round the enclosure with morose looks.
The shadow of Death over the land did not prevent certain spirits from
seeking to turn an honest or dishonest penny. A trade began in eggs,
chocolate, tinned fish and cigarettes, smuggled over from Imbros and
elsewhere. Profits made were three and four hundred per cent. Eggs at
four and five shillings the dozen were sold out at once. I have been
abroad at four in the morning to be in time. The traffic was stopped by
order presently; but you might still find what you wanted did you know
where to go.
My guard duty at the provision depot continued for the better part of a
fortnight, and during that time considerable preparations for our attack
were made. Batteries arrived ashore, including a number of howitzer
batteries. Some of them were concealed among the gullies running from
the sea, others were parked for the present on the beach. Men unloaded
shells until it seemed we never could fire the total. We had a hard nut
to crack; but this time it appeared we would be given the nutcrackers.
Presently the first of the reinforcements appeared on the scene. Those I
saw—and I saw thousands—were newly formed battalions showing over many
youthful faces. I could not lose the feeling that we needed sterner
material. However, there came good Indian regiments—Sikhs and Gurkas I
recognised. The Englishmen dug themselves in in all unoccupied places.
The valleys filled with them. We were quick to experience the change of
numbers; henceforward the filling of water-bottles was a bitter business.
Three or four days must be spent before the attack, and the Englishmen
had no luck in that time. The big shells fired by the enemy haphazard
into the valleys found targets on many occasions. This cold-blooded
sitting-about to be blown up must have tried severely new nerves.
When the Englishmen arrived, my guard on the stores ended. An officer
turned up at dark one evening and took over the place. I was neither glad
nor sorry at the change: I dismissed my men, rolled my blankets, and went
back to the Column. To tell the truth, ill-health had brought me to the
end of my tether. Strength was leaving me: it was hard work now to walk
uphill; I could not travel far without resting. At morning I did not know
how I should last through the day.
The night following my return to the Column was passed dragging a battery
of heavy guns from the beach into position on our left flank. The work
went forward in the dark, with no more than the occasional light of a
lantern. We moved the guns by means of ropes, men in long lines toiling
at the work. The sea, lit dimly by chilly stars, moved on our left hand,
throwing the little waves upon the pebbles with the sound of rustling
leaves. All the distance of our journey, the beach was busy with men at
final preparations. Batteries of guns moved to this and that position;
long lines of men bore after them ammunition. In quiet places we passed
drafts from Indian regiments. Brief commands and the jangle of arms came
to us. Such parties as I describe were engaged on their own business, and
said no word to us, nor took we account of them. There was endless mutter
of rifle-fire from the trenches, and other sounds were the rustling of
the wavelets and the mumble of the guns rolling over the sand. In early
morning hours the battery was in position; but much was to do. It must be
hid from aircraft. Greenery was scarce in the neighbourhood, and tough
to cut when found. That we might not sleep over our duty, at intervals
shells fired at random hurled by us and burst with blinding flashes, and
star shells climbed into the sky. Dawn moved vaguely in the heavens as we
turned home.
* * * * *
Twelve hours later the attack had begun, and our batteries were heavily
engaged. By evening the fury of both armies was terrible. Shells of all
weights descended upon us. And the fierceness of our replies can have
been no whit less, for the big reserve of shells attacked by the guns
threatened exhaustion, and a call came for further supplies. The Column
worked themselves to a standstill that night: neither, I warrant you,
was their work a coward’s work. A man carried on either shoulder a live
eighteen-pounder shell. As you left the A Battery trenches to cross
the open space to the Pimple, the country seemed ploughed by a giant’s
plough. It was hard to be sure of things in the dark; but all standing
objects appeared swept from the scene. Dead men gaped at you wherever
shadows were least thick. When I arrived the fury of the Turkish fire had
abated for a while, but even so it was not a journey one would wish to
repeat. However, my first journey was my last. The climb up the hills
and the weight of the shells stole my strength. I fell down half a dozen
times on the journey, and though I managed the return empty-handed, I
could reach my funk-hole and do no more than that. I went to sleep with
the gun-fire knocking at my ears.
And the sound heard last at night woke me in the morning. It was even
more terrible than before, so that I looked to sea, and there found
the ocean filled again with a great fleet. The guns of the battleships
bellowed with the voices of olden days. Verily we must succeed this time,
was my thought. It was early yet, though the day was quite light. I found
I could scarcely raise my head. A fever burnt me; and my strength seemed
all gone. I lay back again among the blankets. Ever and anon the guns
at sea ceased fire, and then I discovered the army still was heavily
engaged. Again and again broke out the fierce voices of field-guns, and
the musketry rolled up and down tirelessly. The enemy replied with fully
as much spirit; but the beach bore most part of their fury. Continually
the walls of my funk-hole vibrated.
Strength returned somewhat while I lay there; but I continued to feel
most miserable. Presently I pulled clothes on and made breakfast. I drank
a little; but I could not eat. Then I joined the other fellows, and
together we watched the battle. I was not on duty before nightfall, and
the day was my own. The enemy fire continued with great fury, and kept us
on the threshold of our funk-holes; but in the afternoon I went down to
the tanks to fill a water-bottle, and to see anything worth seeing.
Below my funk-hole, where the road ran by the bottom of the hill, was a
small shed used as a mortuary. Stretcher-bearers coming from the valley
immediately to the right hand left their burdens here. Most days you
would find three or four blanketed forms on the floor, and sometimes the
number was greater. You might guess at the enemy shell-fire by what was
to be found here. To-day as I passed on the way to the beach, fifteen or
sixteen bodies lay there in two rows, and a party of men had arrived for
the burial. On my return the shed had filled again.
Near General Headquarters I saw a strange happening. Four men carried a
single man who struggled and shouted, and they found their work no easy
matter. At first I thought fear had sent him mad, later I discovered him
to be drunk. The party marched slowly, with many pauses for struggle.
They moved in the direction of the cells. It was no pleasant sight to
come on at an hour when every man was needed.
I made what inquiries of the attack I could; but gleaned no news of
value. Our success was enormous, I heard. The Englishmen had gained a
great bite of country round Suvla Bay. Numbers of prisoners were arriving
under escort of Indians, and that might be a fact to judge by. Round the
hospitals were countless wounded, and many hospital ships waited at sea.
Filling my water-bottle, I returned to the Column. The assault continued
all day; but it abated towards evening.
About sunset the sergeant-major sent for me to say I must report at
Brigade Headquarters. I made tea at once, and afterwards rolled together
blankets and kit and prepared for the march. So little strength remained
to me, I had difficulty in lifting the bundle to my shoulder. I began my
journey under the light of the stars.
By this time a great stillness had fallen over the land. The artillery of
both sides had shut their mouths. The musketry still rolled from end to
end of the trenches; but the sound was so even, and my ears so used to
it, that scarcely I heard it. I climbed along the hillside as far as the
cutting which joins Shrapnel Valley with the beach. The cutting took me
to the valley foot. Where the two valleys join, I sat down for a first
rest. There was a cross at the back of me, marking a grave much grown
over with scrub. It was the grave of a B Battery corporal I had known
well. I found myself wishing we might change places. It seemed impossible
to climb the rest of the way up the hill. I wondered what was becoming of
me.
The valley was very empty, which may have accounted in part for its
stillness. The majority of the Englishmen had been taken for the attack
on Suvla Bay, and those of our own infantry not in the trenches lay
low in the hills on either side, mistrustful no doubt of a second
bombardment. I saw the gleam of a few fires, and even heard voices of
men. Presently I got again to my feet.
I went along the empty valley, meeting only a mule waggon on the way.
As I arrived at the waterbutts, two star-shells burst in the sky, and a
volley of rapid fire broke from the trenches. But at the end of a little
while the fire died again to an even roll. I rested a second time at the
foot of the hill where Headquarters was dug in, and then began the last
bitter pinch. I thought I should never reach the top; but I scrambled
there at last. Before reporting to the sergeant-major, I sat down to get
breath.
The night was dark, but I was used to it. Round about me the men sat
at the mouths of their funk-holes, talking together and smoking and
dreaming. The colonel, with a couple of other men, was in the officers’
dug-out: he spoke down the ’phone, relating the day’s events so far as
I heard. I looked for the sergeant-major, and found him in his dug-out,
lying on the blankets. He looked tired and ill. A candle in a cigarette
tin lit the place. I put down my head, for the roof was low, and peered
inside.
“I’ve come to report myself, sergeant-major.” He looked at me over the
candle and blinked his eyes: I was in shadow and he took a moment to
recognise me.
“Oh, it’s you, Lake. You’ll be wanted in the morning for observing. You
brought your kit, I suppose?”
I said “Yes,” and then “Good-night,” and went across to the telephone
office.
There I found Wilkinson. He read _The Bulletin_ by the light of a
lantern. The receiver was strapped over his ears. He seemed pleased to
see me, and said all of a sudden, “You look crook.”
“I feel pretty crook,” I answered. And then I sat down and asked for the
news. Wilkinson had plenty to give.
“They’ve got Lonesome Pine,” he exclaimed.
“By Jove!” I said. “What about the Jolly?”
“They’ve not got that yet. They found tons of ammunition in the Lonesome
Pine trenches; and there’s a report through that our fellows and the
Gurkas have taken ‘971.’ It sounds dinkum.” His speech was excited. He
told me a lot more, all as hopeful.
“I feel pretty crook,” I said in the end. “I think I’ll turn in.” He gave
me a long look and nodded good-night, and I went outside to look for a
funk-hole. I ran into Woods, who suggested I should sleep with him. I
spread out my blankets by him and lay down, hoping I might not wake again.
* * * * *
“Take this stretcher case,” said the man on the jetty to the man on the
barge. I was lifted up again. There was a pause while they manœuvred
me from jetty to barge, and then I was laid down among the others. My
eyes opened with effort. I lay between two Indians. He on the right was
without motion, with a pallor about his face warning of Death’s coming;
the other sat cross-legged and bent over me when my eyes opened. He said
many words in a high cooing voice; but I understood only Australian. He
meant to be of comfort, he pulled about the blanket beneath my head that
I might rest the easier. Over all the wide deck lay bodies of broken men.
Drawn faces with shut eyes were turned up to the sky. The deck was dirty
with loose straws and other rubbish, for the barge had been claimed in a
hurry for this new use.
They carried me on among the last; the deck was filled; there came the
bustle of casting off; the pinnace that would tow us tugged at her
cables; we moved from shore. Again my eyes closed. The afternoon sun beat
on my face; but a breeze from the ocean spoiled its fury. The cries from
shore died; but plainly yet I heard the musketry tattoo. It had come over
the waters to meet me four months before; it came over the waters after
me as I floated away. The barge moved on the calm seas with easy lulling
motion, and fain I would have slept. But I must open my eyes to see the
last of Anzac. As we drew away it was discovered from end to end—tall
bare hills pocked over with dug-outs: a wonderful, unforgettable scene
painted in browns and smoky greys. What brave hopes tumbled there, what
high courage spent, what rich blood spilt, what old hearts broken! Amen.
Amen. And as I shut my eyes, Beachy Bill fired at us a salute.
My eyes opened yet again. The barge was at a standstill, and there were
sounds of raised voices. We were under the shadow of a hospital ship.
There came a rattling of chains, and followed it the work of lifting us
aboard. Presently I mounted through the air. Arms came out to steady me
and draw me in. And then I found myself looking into a woman’s face.
And now—after the manner of signallers when their message ends—I write
VIK E.
PRINTED BY
HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.,
LONDON AND AYLESBURY,
ENGLAND.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Straits Impregnable, by Sydney De Loghe