about 1 o’clock, I was called up by C. He said: “We are sending up
40,000 rounds of ammunition to Colonel Pope.” Greek donkey-boys, with
an Indian escort, were to go up with this ammunition. I asked if any
officer was going, and was answered “No”; that there was no officer to
go. I said that I would go if I could get a guide, but that I did not
talk Hindustani, and that the whole thing was risky, as we were just
as likely without a guide to wander into the Turks as to find our own
people; also that if we were attacked we should be without means of
communicating, and that the Greeks would certainly bolt. At the Corps
Headquarters I found an absolutely gaga officer. He had an A.D.C. who
was on the spot, however, and produced a note from Colonel Pope which
stated that he had all the ammunition he wanted. The officer, in spite
of this, told me to carry on. I said it was nonsense without a guide,
when Pope had his ammunition. He then told me to take the mules to one
place and the ammunition to another. I said that I had better take them
both back to my own Headquarters, from which I had come. He then tried
to come with me, after saying that he would put me under arrest, but
fell over two tent-ropes and was nearly kicked by a mule, and gave up
in mute despair.
* * * * *
I may add that this officer was sent away shortly afterwards. The next
night he was found with a revolver stalking one of the Staff officers,
who was sleeping with a night-cap that looked like a turban, to shelter
his head from the dew. My persecutor said that he thought he was a Turk.
* * * * *
_Diary._ Three of us slept crowded in one dugout on Monday night. The
cliff is becoming like a rookery, with ill-made nests. George Lloyd
and Ian Smith have a charming view, only no room to lie down in.
Everybody’s dugout is falling on his neighbour’s head. I went round
the corner of the cliff to find a clean place to wash in the sea, but
was sniped, and had to come back quick. The Gallipoli Division of
Turks, 18,000 strong, is supposed to be approaching, while we listened
to a great artillery duel not far off. An Armenian who was captured
yesterday reported the Gallipoli Division advancing on us. On Tuesday
night things were better. I think most men were then of the opinion
that we ought to be able to hold on, but we were clinging by our
eyelids on to the ridge. The confusion of units and the great losses in
officers increased the difficulty.
This was the third day of battle. My dugout was twice struck. A tug was
sunk just in front of us.... The interpreters have all got three days’
beards which are turning white from worry. The shells to-day did not do
so much damage; they whirled over us in coveys, sometimes hitting the
beach and flying off singing, sometimes splashing in the sea, but a lot
of dead and wounded were carried by.
* * * * *
About this time the spy mania started, which is one of the inevitable
concomitants of war. Spies were supposed to be everywhere. In the
popular belief, that is “on the beach,” there were enough spies to
have made an opera. The first convincing proof of treachery which we
had was the story of a Turkish girl who had painted her face green in
order to look like a tree, and had shot several people at Helles from
the boughs of an oak. Next came the story of the daily pigeon post from
Anzac to the Turkish line; but as a matter of fact, the pigeons were
about their own business of nesting.
We had with us, too, a remarkable body of men who were more than
suspect, and whose presence fed the wildest rumours. These were called
Zionists, Zionites, and many other names. They were the Jewish exiles
from Syria, who looked after the mules, and constituted the Mule Corps,
under Colonel Patterson, of lion-hunting fame. They performed very fine
service, and gave proof of the greatest courage. On several occasions
I saw the mules blown to bits, and the men of the Mule Corps perfectly
calm, among their charges. One night it did seem to me that at last we
had got the genuine article. A panting Australian came to say that they
had captured a German disguised as a member of the Mule Corps, but that
he had unfortunately killed one man before being taken. When I examined
this individual he gave his name as Fritz Sehmann, and the language
in which we conversed most easily was German. He was able to justify
himself in his explanation, which turned out to be true. He had been
walking along the cliff at night with his mule, when the mule had been
shot and had fallen over the cliff with Fritz Sehmann. Together they
had fallen upon an unfortunate soldier, who had been killed by the same
burst.
It was a work of some difficulty to explain to the Colonial troops
that many of the prisoners that we took--as, for instance, Greeks and
Armenians--were conscripts who hated their masters. On one occasion,
speaking of a prisoner, I said to a soldier: “This man says he is a
Greek, and that he hates the Turks.” “That’s a likely story, that is,”
said the soldier; “better put a bayonet in the brute.”
The trouble that we had with the native interpreters is even now a
painful memory. If they were arrested once a day, they were arrested
ten times. Those who had anything to do with them, if they were not
suspected of being themselves infected by treachery, were believed to
be in some way unpatriotic. It was almost as difficult to persuade the
officers as the men that the fact that a man knew Turkish did not make
him a Turk. There was one moment when the interpreters were flying over
the hills like hares.
* * * * *
_Diary._ _Wednesday, April 28th._ I got up at 4 a.m. this morning,
after a fine, quiet night, and examined a Greek deserter from the
Turkish Army. He said many would desert if they did not fear for their
lives. The New Zealanders spare their prisoners.
Last night, while he was talking to me, Colonel C. was hit by a bit of
shell on his hat. He stood quite still while a man might count three,
wondering if he was hurt. He then stooped down and picked it up. At
8 p.m last night there was furious shelling in the gully. Many men
and mules hit. General Godley was in the Signalling Office, on the
telephone, fairly under cover. I was outside with Pinwell, and got
grazed, just avoiding the last burst. Their range is better. Before
this they have been bursting the shrapnel too high. It was after 4
p.m. their range improved so much. My dugout was shot through five
minutes before I went there. So was Shaw’s....
Colonel Chaytor was knocked down by shrapnel, but not hurt. The same
happened to Colonel Manders. We heard that the Indian troops were to
come to-night. Twenty-three out of twenty-seven Auckland officers
killed and wounded.
_11 a.m._ All firing except from Helles has ceased. Things look better.
The most the men can do is to hang on. General Godley has been very
fine. The men know it.
_4.30 p.m._ Turks suddenly reported to have mounted huge howitzer on
our left flank, two or three miles away. We rushed all the ammunition
off the beach, men working like ants, complete silence and furious
work. We were absolutely enfiladed, and they could have pounded us,
mules and machinery, to pulp, or driven us into the gully and up the
hill, cutting us off from our water and at the same time attacking us
with shrapnel. The ships came up and fired on the new gun, and proved
either that it was a dummy or had moved, or had been knocked out. It
was a cold, wet night.
* * * * *
The material which General Birdwood and General Godley had to work
upon was very fine. The Australians and the New Zealanders were born
fighters and natural soldiers, and learnt quickly on Active Service
what it would have taken months of training to have taught them. But
like many another side-show, Anzac was casual in many ways, as the
following excerpt from this diary will show:--
_Diary._ _Thursday, April 29th._ _Kaba Tepé._ I was woken at 2.30 a.m.,
when the New Zealanders stood to arms. It was wet and cold, and a wind
blew which felt as if it came through snowy gorges. The alarm had been
given, and the Turks were supposed to be about to rush the beach from
the left flank in force. Colonel Chaytor was sent to hold the point.
He told me to collect stragglers and form them up. It was very dark,
and the stragglers were very straggly. I found an Australian, Quinn,
and told him to fetch his men along to the gun emplacement, beyond the
graves, on the point where Chaytor was. Every one lost every one.
I found Colonel Chaytor with an Australian officer. He said to him: “Go
out along the flank and find out where the Canterbury Battalion is, and
how strong. On the extreme left there is a field ambulance. They must
be told to lie down, so that the Turks will not shoot them.” I said I
would look after them. We started. I heard the Australian, after we
had gone some hundreds of yards, ordering the Canterburys in support
to retire. I said: “But are your orders to that effect? A support is
there to support. The Canterburys will be routed or destroyed if you
take this support away.” He said: “Well, that’s a bright idea.” He went
back, and I heard him say, in the darkness: “This officer thinks you
had better stay where you are.” I don’t know if he was a Colonel, or
what he was, and he did not know what I was.
I found the field ambulance, a long way off, and went on to the
outposts. The field ambulance were touchingly grateful for nothing, and
I had some tea and yarned with them till morning, walking back after
dawn along the beach by the graves. No one fired at me.
When I got back I heard the news of Doughty’s[2] death, which grieved
me a great deal.... He seems to have saved the situation. The
description of Helles is ghastly, of the men looking down into the red
sea, and the dying drowned in a foot of water. That is what might have,
and really ought to have happened to us.
One hears the praise of politicians in all men’s mouths....
A beautiful night, last night, and a fair amount of shrapnel. Every
evening now they send over a limited number of howitzers from the great
guns in the Dardanelles, aimed at our ships. That happens also in the
early morning, as this morning. To-night an aeroplane is to locate
these guns, and when they let fly to-morrow we are to give them an
immense broadside from all our ships.
* * * * *
At this time the weather had improved, but we were living in a good
deal of discomfort. We were not yet properly supplied with stores, the
water was brackish, occasionally one had to shave in salt water, and
all one’s ablutions had to be done on the beach, with the permission of
the Turkish artillery.
The beach produced a profound impression on almost all of us, and
has in some cases made the seaside distasteful for the rest of our
lives. It was, when we first landed, I suppose, about 30 yards broad,
and covered with shingle. Upon this narrow strip depended all our
communications: landing and putting off, food and water, all came and
went upon the beach--and the Turkish guns had got the exact range.
Later, shelters were put up, but life was still precarious, and the
openness of the beach gave men a greater feeling of insecurity than
they had in the trenches.
* * * * *
_Diary._ Our hair and eyes and mouths are full of dust and sand, and
our nostrils of the smell of dead mules.
* * * * *
There were also colonies of ants that kept in close touch with us, and
our cigarettes gave out. Besides these trials, we had no news of the
war or of the outer world.
* * * * *
_Diary._ Tahu and I repacked the provisions this morning. While we did
so one man was shot on the right and another on the left. We have been
expecting howitzers all the time, and speculating as to whether there
would be any panic if they really get on to us. The Turks have got
their indirect, or rather enfilading, fire on us, and hit our mules.
One just hit a few yards away.... Imbros and Samothrace are clear and
delicate between the blue sea and the hot sky. The riband of beach is
crowded with transport, and Jews, Greeks, Armenians, New Zealanders,
Australians, scallywag officers, and officers that still manage to keep
a shadow of dandyism between their disreputable selves and immaculate
past. And there’s the perpetual ripple of the waves that is sometimes
loud enough to be mistaken for the swish of shrapnel, which is also
perpetual, splashing in the sea or rattling on the beach. There is
very little noise on the beach in the way of talk and laughter. The
men never expected to be up against this. When we left Lemnos we
saw one boat with an arrow and in front of it “TO CONSTANTINOPLE
AND THE HAREM.” Precious few of those poor fellows will ever see
Constantinople, let alone the Harem.
_May 1st._ A beautiful dawn, but defiled by a real hymn of hate from
the Turks. Last night the _Torgut Reiss_ sent us some shells. This
morning it was supposed to be the _Goeben_ that was firing. I woke to
hear the howitzers that everybody had been talking of here droning
over us, and watched them lifting great columns of water where they
hit the sea. Then there came the sigh and the snarl of shrapnel, but
that to the other is like the rustle of a lady’s fan to the rumble of
a brewer’s dray. This hymn of hate went on for an unusually long time
this morning from the big stuff. A lot of men were hit all round, and
it has been difficult to wash in the sea. All the loading, unloading,
etc., is done at night. The picket-boats are fairly well protected. The
middies are the most splendid boys. We are all very cramped and the
mules add to the congestion. We shall have a plague of flies before we
are done, if we don’t have a worse plague than that. The New Zealanders
are all right....
Colonel White, Rickes and Murphy, all hit at breakfast this morning,
but not hurt. One of the Greek donkey-boys says he is a barber. This
would be a great advantage if he wasn’t so nervous and did not start so
much whenever there is a burst.
There is a fleet of boats in front of us, and even more at Helles; the
Turks must feel uncomfortable, but another landing, between us, would
be pretty risky. They are fighting splendidly. Opinions are divided as
to what would happen if we fought our way to Maidos. Many think we
could be shelled out again by the _Goeben_. This expedition needed at
least three times the number of men. The Indians have not come, and the
Territorials cannot come for a long time.
General Godley wants to change Headquarters for us. Colonel Artillery
Johnston’s battery is on our right, facing the Turks, and only a few
yards away. The Turks spend a lot of time shooting at it, missing it,
and hitting us. Another man killed just now. Shrapnel, heaps of it, is
coming both ways on us. Nobody speaks on the beach. We have two tables
on the top of the dugout. One is safe, and the other can be hit. The
punctual people get the safe table.
B. has lunched. He says that Rupert Brooke died at Lemnos. I am very
sorry; he was a good fellow, and a poet with a great future. B. was
blown up by a shell yesterday. He has to go back to-night. While we
lunched a man had his head blown off 20 yards away....
Orders have come that we are to entrench impregnably. We are
practically besieged, for we can’t re-embark without sacrificing our
rear-guard, and if the howitzers come up we shall be cut off from the
beach and our water. A lot more men have been killed on the beach....
_Sunday, May 2nd. 6 a.m._ Shrapnel all round as I washed. Beach opinion
is if this siege lasts they must be able to get up their heavy guns.
The Indians have gone to Helles, and the Naval Division is being taken
away from us. New Turkish Divisions are coming against us. There are no
chaplains here for burial or for anything else.
Waite took a dozen prisoners this morning--gendarmes, nice fellows.
They hadn’t much to tell us. One of them complained that he had been
shot through a mistake after he had surrendered. There ought to be an
interpreter on these occasions....
It is a fiery hot day, without a ripple on the clear sea, and all still
but for the thunder coming from Helles. I bathed and got clean. The
beach looks like a mule fair of mutes, for it is very silent. We are to
attack to-night at seven. We have now been here a week, and advanced a
hundred yards farther than the first rush carried us. There is a great
bombardment going on, a roaring ring of fire, and the Turks are being
shelled and shelled.
At night the battleships throw out two lines of searchlights, and
behind them there gleam the fires of Samothrace and Imbros. Up and down
the cliffs here, outside the dugouts, small fires burn. The rifle fire
comes over the hill, echoing in the valleys and back from the ships.
Sometimes it is difficult to tell whether it is the sound of ripples on
the beach or firing.
_Monday, May 3rd._ I was called up at 3 a.m. to examine three
prisoners. Our attack has failed, and we have many casualties, probably
not less than 1,000. The wounded have been crying on the beach
horribly. A wounded Arab reported that our naval gun fire did much
damage.
The complaint is old and bitter now. We insist that the Turks are
Hottentots. We give them notice before we attack them. We tell them
what we are going to do with their Capital. We attack them with an
inadequate force of irregular troops, without adequate ammunition (we
had one gun in our landing) in the most impregnable part of their
Empire. We ask for trouble all over the East by risking disaster here.
The _Goeben_ is shelling the fleet, and (11.30) has just struck a
transport. The sea is gay, and a fresh wind is blowing, and the beach
is crowded, but there is not a voice upon it, except for an occasional
order....
The Turks are now expected to attack us. We suppose people realize what
is happening here in London, though it isn’t easy to see how troops and
reinforcements can be sent us in time--that is, before the Turks have
turned all this into a fortification. A good many men hit on the beach
to-day. The mules cry like lost souls.
_Tuesday, May 4th._ The sea like a looking-glass, not a cloud in the
sky, and Samothrace looking very clear and close. The moon is like a
faint shadow of light in the clear sky over the smoke of the guns.
Heavy fighting between us and Helles. A landing is being attempted.
Pessimists say it is our men being taken off because their position is
impossible. The boats coming back seem full of wounded. It may have
been an attempt at a landing and entrenching, or simply a repetition of
what we did the other day at Falcon Hill or Nebronesi, or whatever the
place is.
The attack has failed this morning. Perfect peace here, except for
rifles crackling on the hill. Ian Smith and I wandered off up a valley
through smilax, thyme, heath and myrtle, to a high ridge. We went
through the Indians and found a couple of very jolly officers, one of
them since killed. There are a good many bodies unburied. Not many men
hit. We helped to carry one wounded man back. The stretcher-bearers
are splendid fellows, good to friend and enemy. At one place we saw
a beastly muddy little pond with a man standing in it in trousers,
shovelling out mud. But the water in a tin was clear and cool and very
good....
General Godley and Tahu Rhodes got up to the Turkish trenches, quite
close to them. The Turks attacked, threw hand-grenades, and our
supports broke. The General rallied the men, but a good many were
killed, amongst them the General’s orderly, a gentleman ranker and a
first-rate fellow.
_Wednesday, May 5th._ _Kaba Tepé._ The other day, when our attack below
failed, the Turks allowed us to bring off our wounded. This was after
that unfortunate landing.
Went on board the _Lutzow_ to-day, and got some of my things off.
Coming back the tow rope parted, and we thought that we should drift
into captivity. It was rough and unpleasant.
_Thursday, May 6th._ Very cold night. The dead are unburied and the
wounded crying for water between the trenches. Talked to General
Birdwood about the possibility of an armistice for burying the dead and
bringing in the wounded. He thinks that the Germans would not allow the
Turks to accept.
Colonel Esson[3] landed this morning. He brought the rumour that 8,000
Turks had been killed lower down on the Peninsula. We attacked Achi
Baba at 10 a.m. There was an intermittent fire all night.
This morning I went up to the trenches with General Godley by Walker’s
Ridge. The view was magnificent. The plain was covered with friendly
olives.... General Birdwood and General Mercer, commanding the Naval
Brigade were also there. The trenches have become a perfect maze. As we
went along the snipers followed us, seeing Onslow’s helmet above the
parapet, and stinging us with dirt. Many dead. I saw no wounded between
the lines. On the beach the shrapnel has opened from a new direction.
The Turks were supposed to be making light railways to bring up their
howitzers and then rub us off this part of the Peninsula. This last
shell that has just struck the beach has killed and wounded several men
and a good many mules....
_Friday, May 7th._ A bitter night and morning.... This morning a shell
burst overhead, when I heard maniac peals of laughter and found the
cook flying up, hit in the boot and his kitchen upset; he was laughing
like a madman. It’s a nuisance one has to sit in the shade in our
dining place and not in the sun. They have got our exact range, and are
pounding in one shell after another. A shell has just burst over our
heads, and hit a lighter and set her on fire.
* * * * *
The mules, most admirable animals, had now begun to give a good deal
of trouble, alive and dead. There were hundreds of them on the beach
and in the gullies. Alive, they bit precisely and kicked accurately;
dead, they were towed out to sea, but returned to us faithfully on the
beach, making bathing unpleasant and cleanliness difficult. The dead
mule was not only offensive to the Army; he became a source of supreme
irritation to the Navy, as he floated on his back, with his legs
sticking stiffly up in the air. These legs were constantly mistaken
for periscopes of submarines, causing excitement, exhaustive naval
manœuvres and sometimes recriminations.
My special duties now began to take an unusual form. Every one was
naturally anxious for Turkish troops to surrender, in order to get
information, and also that we might have fewer men to fight. Those
Turks who had been captured had said that the general belief was
that we took no prisoners, but killed all who fell into our hands,
ruthlessly. I said that I believed that this impression, which did us
much harm, could be corrected. The problem was how to disabuse the
Turks of this belief. I was ordered to make speeches to them from those
of our trenches which were closest to theirs, to explain to them that
they would be well treated and that our quarrel lay with the Germans,
and not with them.
* * * * *
_Diary._ _Friday, May 7th._ At 1.30 I went up Monash Valley, which the
men now call the “Valley of Death,” passing a stream of haggard men,
wounded and unwounded, coming down in the brilliant sunlight. I saw
Colonel Monash[4] at his headquarters, and General Godley with him,
and received instructions. The shelling overhead was terrific, but did
no damage, as the shells threw forward, but the smoke made a shadow
between us and the sun. It was like the continuous crashing of a train
going over the sleepers of a railway bridge.
Monash, whom I had last seen at the review in the desert, said: “We
laugh at this shrapnel.” He tried to speak on the telephone to say I
was coming, but it was difficult, and the noise made it impossible.
Finally I went up the slope to Quinn’s Post, with an escort, running
and taking cover, and panting up the very steep hill. It felt as if
bullets rained, but the fact is that they came from three sides and
have each got about five echoes. There’s a _décolleté_ place in the
hill that they pass over. I got into the trench, and found Quinn, tall
and openfaced, swearing like a trooper, much respected by his men. The
trenches in Quinn’s Post were narrow and low, full of exhausted men
sleeping. I crawled over them and through tiny holes. There was the
smell of death everywhere. I spoke in three places.
* * * * *