THE BATTLES OF MAY
In Constantinople the naval attacks of February had created the
dismay natural to a crowded population threatened with destruction.
Preparations were hurriedly made for removing the Government to Eski
Chehir in Asia, or even to Konia. In spite of Enver’s dominance, the
Committee was charged with bringing ruin on the land, and the German
Ambassador, Baron von Wangenheim, feared a separate peace. Ahmed Riza,
the honourable visionary, aging survivor of the Parisian Young Turks
whose revolution seven years before inspired all Europeans but the
Governments with enthusiasm, now stole about the streets honoured but
shunned. In his palace on the Bosphorus, the Sultan, Mehmed V., for
some inscrutable reason called El Ghazi (the Hero), maundered with
imbecility. Removed in March from his palace-prison of Beyler-bey on
the Bosphorus to the ancient city of Magnesia, near Smyrna, the “Red
Sultan,” Abdul Hamid, surrounded by ministering daughters, beguiled
an abstemious and peaceful old age by watching the progress of
Christianity with sardonic appreciation.[105]
[Sidenote: CONSTANTINOPLE AND SUBMARINES]
The failure of the naval attempt to force the Narrows in March
restored the city’s confidence. People felt that, since the British
Navy failed, the Dardanelles indeed formed an impregnable pass. Enver
and Liman von Sanders regained power, if not popularity. The German
bureaucracy, organising every department with efficient despotism,
justified the satiric compliment which cried, “Deutschland, Deutschland
über Allah!” During the subsequent five weeks of our silence it was
believed that the British Government admitted failure and had abandoned
the campaign. The distant sound of Russian ships bombarding the Black
Sea forts at the entrance to the Bosphorus was listened to periodically
with the indifference of custom. When news of the landings began to
filter through, decisive Turkish victories over France and England were
proclaimed. In Asia and on the Peninsula the enemy, it was said, had
been repulsed with incredible loss. If any still clung to the shores of
Islam, in a day or two they would be driven into the water. The anxious
citizens had Enver’s word for that.
Enver himself was hurrying reinforcements to the front. Some went
by the Bulair road, though it was exposed to possible fire from
British warships in the Gulf of Xeros. The majority were transported
down the Sea of Marmora to Gallipoli or Maidos. But within a few
days of the landings, this route was rendered equally dangerous
by the skill and gallantry of our submarines, two of which--E14
under Lieutenant-Commander Edward Courtney Boyle and E11 under
Lieutenant-Commander Eric Naismith--explored their way under the
minefields of the strait, entered the Marmora and played havoc among
Turkish transports and gunboats. E14 sank two gunboats and one
transport with troops. E11 was even more successful, sinking two
transports, one gunboat, one communication ship, and three store ships,
and driving another store ship ashore. It created alarm in the city
by emerging close to the quays, and on its return down the strait it
stopped and backed to torpedo another transport.[106] After this,
most reinforcements were sent either through Muradhi (the nearest
station to Rodosto), risking the Bulair road, or by ships hugging the
Asiatic coast by night to the ferry at the Narrows, both routes long
and arduous. Some also went by rail to Smyrna and thence by rail to
Panderma on the Marmora before being embarked. In early May, Enver
admitted that the Turkish losses already amounted to 45,000, and all
Turkish towns, even to the distance of Kirk Kilisse, were crammed
with wounded. Liman, in command at the front, called for 50,000
reinforcements, and about 30,000, chiefly brought in from Adrianople
and Smyrna, were actually sent. Within a few weeks, divisions were also
withdrawn from Syria for the same destination. For Turkish troops, the
equipment was unusually good--arms, guns, and other stores passing
freely through Bulgaria, or coming from the Roumanian port of Constanza
down the Black Sea, where the Russian patrols remained torpid or
unfortunate. For Turkish troops, the commissariat was also sufficient,
the disaster of Lula Burgas having taught the authorities that even
Turks cannot fight beyond a certain degree of starvation.[107]
[Sidenote: SIR IAN’S REDUCED FORCES]
Before the Turkish reinforcements could consolidate a new position
across the southern slopes of Achi Baba, and convert it into an
impenetrable maze of trench and wire, it was essential for Sir Ian
to continue striking at their front. Only so could the pressure upon
the beaches be relieved, and the continuous danger from dropping
shells to some small extent be reduced; and only so could the Turks be
interrupted in their schemes for driving us into the sea. So heavy had
been the losses of the 29th Division that the new Lancashire Fusilier
Territorials and the 29th Indian Infantry Brigade were added to the
87th and 88th Brigades so as to make up the Division, the 86th being
now so much reduced in numbers that it was temporarily divided between
the other two brigades. Two brigades (the 2nd Australian (Victoria) and
the New Zealand Infantry) were withdrawn from Anzac and formed into a
composite division in reserve with the Drake and Plymouth Battalions,
R.N.D. Two battalions of the 2nd Naval Brigade, R.N.D. (Howe and Hood),
were sent to reinforce the French Division on the right.
On May 6, when the attempt to push forward began, Sir Ian could count
only on about 33,000 rifles, of which only 5000 were British and Irish
Regulars. This total included about 8000 French troops; but of these at
least 5000 were Africans. The remainder of his army consisted, as we
have seen, of Lancashire Territorials, Anzacs (both excellent), and the
Royal Naval Division, that finely tempered, though partially trained,
body, made up partly of public-school men, but chiefly of northern and
west of England miners, R.F.R. stokers and marines, whose heavy losses
were due rather to devotion and courage than to lack of skill. Against
them were arrayed at least 40,000 regular Turkish troops (Nizam),
skilfully disposed in a system of trenches and redoubts designed by
German officers and held with Turkish tenacity. As to guns, the French
at this time had twenty-four of their “75’s,” together with five or
six howitzers, and they never ran short of ammunition. The British had
something over fifty 18-pounders, a few old and inaccurate howitzers,
very few H.E. shells, and other ammunition always so short that a
bombardment in preparation for attack had to be rigorously limited for
fear of drawing on the small reserve. The Turkish guns in concealed
positions on Achi Baba and its slopes, or behind its shelter, were
estimated at about a hundred. In addition, the Turks had large guns and
howitzers on the Asiatic side, the most dangerous being hidden between
the Trojan plain and Erenkeui village. From time to time they exploded
“Black Marias,” as the soldiers called the 9·2 and 11-inch shells,
among the French depôts on V Beach and among the British signalling
stations and stores on Lancashire Landing. Except beneath the cliffs on
the Xeros coast, no point upon the southern Peninsula was secure from
fire.
[Sidenote: MAY 6 AT HELLES]
The battle lasted three days (May 6 to 8 inclusive). The reorganised
29th Division began the attack on the left, the French being on the
right, the Plymouth and Drake Battalions keeping the two sections
in touch from the centre. At 11 a.m. the advance was prepared by a
brief bombardment, the French batteries as usual expending far the
greater number of shells, and firing with their customary method and
precision. The 87th Brigade and Lancashire Fusiliers (Territorials) on
the British left then moved along the flat and open ground between the
Gully Ravine (Saghir Dere) and the sea. Part also penetrated up the
gully itself, which swarmed with Turkish snipers, and at the farther
end was commanded by machine-guns. On their right, the 88th Brigade
with the Indians attempted to conform to the advance, fighting for
every yard over ground affording cover to the enemy in unsuspected
pits and dry ravines, but especially in a scattered wood of firs,
which grew along the edge of a downward slope near the centre. Against
this wood, company after company of the 88th Brigade was led in vain.
Hidden machine-guns also checked the progress of the R.N.D. battalions.
On the right the French threw forward a swarm of Senegalese in open
order. They struggled almost to the crest overlooking Kereves Dere, but
were there encountered by a strong redoubt. The French troops advanced
through the Senegalese as they came back, but made no further progress.
All the R.N.D. battalions suffered heavy loss.[108] The fighting
developed into a struggle of scattered groups to push forward. The
naval guns continued a heavy bombardment, but so deep and narrow were
the Turkish trenches that naval shells had little but moral effect, and
moral effect rapidly diminishes. By middle afternoon (4.30) it became
evident that the wearied and harassed men could go no farther, and the
order was given to dig in, keeping a fairly connected line. By sheer
hard “hammering,” between 200 and 300 yards had been gained, but no
more, and the main Turkish defences were still far ahead.
[Sidenote: MAY 7 AT HELLES]
In the night, the Turks rushed upon the French lines with the bayonet,
but the French lines held. Next morning at ten o’clock our attack
was resumed. After a short but violent bombardment, the Lancashire
Fusiliers attempted to push forward again upon the extreme left so as
to clear the Gully Ravine, about half-way between Gully Beach and Y
Beach, but were stopped by a redoubt and machine-guns upon the ridge
overlooking the sea. On their right, in the difficult ground of scrub
and donga between the Gully Ravine and the Krithia Nullah, the 88th
Brigade struggled to advance the line, and for a time the 5th Royal
Scots obtained a footing in the savagely disputed fir wood. Here they
discovered snipers perched on wooden platforms among the branches;
and here, as in other places during the campaign, Turks had cleverly
“camouflaged” themselves with green paint and boughs of trees till they
looked like moving or stationary bushes, though hitherto the process
of “camouflage” had not been generally practised. The Inniskilling
Fusiliers of the 87th Brigade came up to the support of the Scots,
but soon after 1 p.m. a violent Turkish counter-attack recaptured
the firs. The French and Naval Brigade had made little progress, and
in the early afternoon the battle paused. But it was impossible to
lose the advantage of attack and leave the initiative to an enemy only
eager to rush forward and chase the Allies back to slaughter upon
the beaches. Accordingly, just before five o’clock, after another
violent bombardment, especially from the French guns, Sir Ian ordered
a general advance of the whole line. French, British, and Irish (the
Dublins and Munsters having been united into the “Dubsters”) all rose
visibly together, and charged forward with the bayonet. The firs were
again taken and held. The line swept over the first Turkish trenches;
considerable ground was gained, in places as much as 400 yards. The
success was general, except on the extreme left. Here the original
failure to hold Y Beach at the first landing was now bitterly felt,
for in that direction the Lancashire Fusiliers found it impossible to
advance. Indeed, their advance appears to have been counter-ordered
at the last moment, perhaps in the belief that the position was too
difficult to storm. For a time, on the right also, the situation was
serious. Such a storm of shrapnel met the French advance that African
fugitives in great numbers came sweeping down through the Naval
Brigade, and spread a confusion only checked by the advance of the
French reserves.[109]
The battle had now lasted without intermission for two days, and the
nights brought little rest. The Regular troops had been fighting close
upon a fortnight without relief. More than half their comrades were
killed, wounded, or prisoners; more than half their officers gone.
The relics of battalions were merged together; one whole brigade had
disappeared. The surface of the hollow plain was strewn with dead, whom
there was hardly time to bury; and before the lines, dead and wounded
lay together in places which no one could reach and live. The bare
sand, the flowering heaths, the groves of olive and fir were splashed
with patches of sticky blood. The sinister smell of death pervaded
all. On windless days the heat was severe, and a slight breeze from
the north stirred up dust storms which increased with the increasing
traffic, blinding the eyes, choking the throat, and streaming far out
to sea in yellow clouds. Perpetually exposed to fire, no matter where
they were placed, the men longed for sleep, shade, an interval of
security, and drink of any kind. Short as is the time allowed for a
soldier’s grief, yet grief for the loss of friends was there, and in
the heart of each lurked the knowledge that in another day or another
minute he might be as they.[110]
[Sidenote: MAY 8 AT HELLES]
Though well aware of loss and exhaustion, Sir Ian resolved to make
another call upon his troops for the following day. A new French
Division had been long but indecisively promised, and it was gradually
arriving during these three days.[111] General Bailloud was in
command, a bald-headed veteran of seventy, very small, active, and
alert, endowed with an irrepressible sense of comedy, which he gaily
diffused among men and officers alike. One of his brigades was at
once sent forward to strengthen the French position. On the British
section, the Lancashire Fusiliers and the Indian Brigade were withdrawn
into reserve; the 87th Brigade was left to struggle on the terribly
exposed and narrow height between the Gully Ravine and the sea; the
New Zealanders were ordered to pass through the 88th Brigade and
advance directly upon Krithia; the Australians remained temporarily on
their right in reserve, and, as before, R.N.D. battalions formed the
connecting link with the French on both sides of the main Krithia road.
Sir Ian and the Headquarter Staff had pitched camp in a depression of
the ground above Cape Tekke, too close to the Divisional Headquarters,
but the limited space allowed no choice. Before the neighbouring high
ground above W Beach, beside the cemetery, the scene of battle lay
openly extended, and the movements of each section could be watched
from hour to hour, except when advancing lines disappeared for a while
into dongas, or when the smoke and upheaval of bursting shells obscured
the view with black or yellow clouds. Otherwise, all was visible except
the enemy, and, from the vacant appearance of the ground before them,
it would have seemed possible for the army to advance in uninterrupted
lines across the gently rising slopes to Krithia or the truncated
pyramid of Achi Baba itself.
At 10.15 on May 8, the customary bombardment from sea and land began,
and was received with the customary silence. At 10.30 the infantry
moved, and at once the roar of rifles and machine-guns arose from
the Turkish trenches, while overhead the Turkish shrapnel burst
incessantly. The 87th Brigade attempted to push forward, but could
hardly advance a hundred yards, the South Wales Borderers losing
heavily. Among the scattered trees and rugged ravines on the right
of the gully, the New Zealanders, under Brigadier-General F. E.
Johnston, advanced by short rushes for nearly 300 yards, but, exposed
to machine-guns on both flanks, were forced to dig in soon after
midday.[112] Shortly before, General Paris, R.N.D., commanding the
composite division, ordered the Australians to advance into the
centre of the attacking line upon the New Zealanders’ right.[113]
They were under command of Brigadier-General J. W. M‘Cay, who, with
his Brigade-Major, Major Cass, went up into the firing line with his
battalions, recklessly exposing himself to the heaviest fire until
evening, when he was wounded, as Major Cass had twice been at an
earlier stage.
[Sidenote: THE AUSTRALIAN CHARGE]
The Australians advanced to a slight hollow in the ground, giving some
amount of cover. Here it seemed likely they would bivouac, for during
the early afternoon an ominous pause ensued. But Sir Ian had determined
upon one more effort to secure victory by movement. At 5.15 all the
battleships and cruisers, all the French “75’s,” and such heavy guns
as we possessed, opened a tremendous bombardment. The bursting shells
concealed the slopes of Achi Baba on both sides. Sudden volcanoes
spouted rock and earth in dark cones. The orange of the lyddite curled
over the enemy’s trenches. It seemed impossible for human beings to
survive that quarter of an hour. At 5.30 all guns ceased like one,
and with bayonets fixed and rifles at the slope, the whole line again
moved forward. The brunt of the fighting now fell to the Australians.
Two battalions in front and two in support, they walked or ran in
“rushes” of 50 or 60 yards on about 1000 yards of front to the left
of the Krithia road. The ground was open, and their appearance was at
once greeted by the roar of rifles, machine-guns and field-guns, which
the bombardment had again utterly failed to silence. The Australians,
though heavily laden with packs, shovels, picks, and entrenching
tools, and exposed to intense fire, pressed on, rush after rush, their
Brigadier directing and encouraging by waving a stick in front. Without
a sight of their deadly enemy, they advanced over 800 yards, the
support battalions joining up into the bayonet line. They swept across
a long Turkish trench. They shot those who ran, and bayoneted those
who stayed. They came within half a mile of the eastern approaches to
Krithia itself. Seldom in this war has so reckless and irresistible an
advance been recorded. None the less, after an addition of a quarter
of a mile beyond our original lines, it was checked. Suddenly upon the
right Major Cass, wounded in both shoulders, had discovered a yawning
gap of 300 yards, into which groups of Turks were pouring down a gully
to harass the Australian line on flank and rear.[114]
The French, though late, had advanced gallantly to the attack, drums
beating, bugles blowing, as in a Napoleonic battle. The French white
troops in good order fought their way about 300 yards farther along the
Kereves Ridge, capturing the much-disputed redoubt. But the gap was
left. The Naval Brigade were delayed in filling it, and in the falling
darkness the whole line, exhausted and reduced, had barely life left in
them to dig trenches for the night. An average advance of 500 yards had
been accomplished.
Next day (May 9) Sir Ian issued the following special order to the
Australians and to the British troops, which had now become the VIIIth
Army Corps:
“Sir Ian Hamilton wishes the troops of the Mediterranean
Expeditionary Force to be informed that in all his past experiences,
which include the hard struggle of the Russo-Japanese campaign, he
has never seen more devoted gallantry displayed than that which
has characterised their efforts during the past three days. He
has informed Lord Kitchener by cable of the bravery and endurance
displayed by all ranks here, and has asked that the necessary
reinforcements be forthwith dispatched. Meanwhile, the remainder of
the East Lancashire Division is disembarking, and will henceforth be
available to help us to make good and improve upon the positions we
have so hardly won.”
[Sidenote: THE 29th DIVISION PRAISED]
In spite of a heavy counter-attack against the French position on the
night of the 9th-10th, comparative quiet prevailed during the next two
or three days. But at Helles, even on the quietest days, shell-fire
never ceased, and, to say nothing of the V and W Beaches, the troops
withdrawn from the firing line to rest were continually exposed to
danger. For such rest, it was time to withdraw the 29th Division, now
that the East Lancashires (42nd) could take its place. The Division had
lost about 11,000 men and 400 officers. The relics of those unyielding
battalions began to come back on the 11th. That night and next day it
rained heavily for the first time, but the over-wearied men sank down
into mud or pools of water, indifferent to everything but sleep. In
their honour, so well deserved, Sir Ian issued a second special order,
dated May 12:
“For the first time for eighteen days and nights it has been found
possible to withdraw the 29th Division from the fire fight. During
the whole of that long period of unprecedented strain the Division
has held ground or gained it, against the bullets and bayonets of the
constantly renewed forces of the foe.
“During the whole of that long period they have been illuminating
the pages of military history with their blood. The losses have been
terrible, but mingling with the deep sorrow for fallen comrades
arises a feeling of pride in the invincible spirit which has enabled
the survivors to triumph where ordinary troops must inevitably have
failed.
“I tender to Major-General Hunter-Weston and to his Division at the
same time my profoundest sympathy with their losses and my warmest
congratulations on their achievement.”[115]
Only five days’ rest could be allowed. Immediately before the
withdrawal began, the 29th Indian Brigade, as though to prove
themselves worthy of the Division to which they were now attached,
carried through a dashing adventure, suitable to the character of the
men. The design was due to Sir Herbert Cox, commanding the brigade, and
the object was to capture the high cliff or “bluff” overlooking the
ravine of Y Beach on the farther side. It has been seen how greatly
the failure to hold this position at the first landing had impeded the
advance of our left wing. Upon the bluff, the Turks had constructed a
formidable redoubt, whence machine-guns and rifles rendered movement
along the west side of the Gully Ravine impossible. On the night of the
10th-11th, the scouts of the 6th Gurkhas (Lieut.-Colonel the Honourable
C. G. Bruce) scrambled along the shore to the foot of the cliff, and
climbed right up the precipitous face. On the summit they were met by
heavy fire, and as a surprise the attempt failed. But on the evening of
the next day but one (the 12th), the Manchester Brigade (one of those
Territorial Corps fit to rank with veteran Regulars) made a feint upon
the position from our right, assisted by the 29th Division’s artillery
and the guns of the _Dublin_ and _Talbot_ from the sea. While the
attention of the Turks was thus occupied, a double-company of Gurkhas
again crawled up the cliff, and rushed the redoubt with a sudden
charge. During the night and at early morning, they were supported by
three Gurkha reinforcements of double-companies, the entrenchment was
rapidly completed, and the position permanently held. It was afterwards
always known as “Gurkha Bluff,” and its value for the protection of our
extreme left was incalculable.
[Sidenote: TRENCH WARFARE BEGUN]
It had now become evident that victory by open movement upon the
surface could scarcely be hoped for. As in France and Flanders, the two
modern instruments of barbed wire and machine-guns had so strengthened
the power of defence that open assault would always cost many lives,
and was rendered impossible without a “barrage” of shells such as the
Dardanelles force was incapable of affording. Indeed, the very word
“barrage” was then hardly known to British troops. The opposing lines
were brought almost to a standstill, and advance became possible only
by trench and sap, as in an old-fashioned siege, varied by almost
continuous attacks and separate exploits, designed partly to save
our own men from the rot of inactivity, but chiefly to prevent the
enemy from concentrating his efforts to drive us off the land. The
line was, accordingly, organised into four permanent sections from
left to right--the 29th Division (with the Indian Brigade), the 42nd
Division (one brigade of which, the East Lancashire, was split up to
gain experience with the 29th Division),[116] the Royal Naval Division,
and the French Expeditionary Corps, now counting two divisions. In
the middle of May (the 14th) the French Commandant, General d’Amade,
a soldier with unusual knowledge of foreign affairs, who knew the Far
East well, was French Attaché in the South African War, and served
with distinction in Morocco, retired from the Peninsula, having found
the prolonged strain too great for nerves impoverished by illness. He
was sent on a special mission to Russia, and was succeeded by General
Gouraud, a cool, solid, and imperturbable soldier of the best French
type, who had won high reputation in the Argonne.
At Anzac, although deprived for a few days (till May 15) of the two
brigades withdrawn to Helles, the Australasians continued to strengthen
their hold upon the perilous edges of their rough triangle. But in
the middle of the month (May 15), just as the two brigades were
returning, General Bridges, commanding the 1st Australian Division, was
mortally wounded. In crossing the mouth of Shrapnel Valley, where the
protecting parapets had not yet been completed, he was struck in the
thigh by a sniper hidden somewhere in the bushes beyond Pope’s Hill.
His last words on leaving Anzac in a hospital ship were, “Anyhow, I
have commanded an Australian Division for nine months.”[117] Before
Alexandria was reached, he died: a stern, outwardly cold, and lonely
man, pitiless to apathy, capable of organisation, and inspiring the
confidence always felt in unyielding and unselfish capacity. The
command of the 1st Division was at once taken over by Major-General
H. B. Walker, a resolute and gallant leader, who had served in the
British Army in the Soudan campaigns, the N.-W. Frontier, and South
Africa. He was among the most determined opponents of evacuation on the
night after the Anzac landing. His headquarters were fixed at the top
of the “White Valley,” close to the region afterwards famous as Lone
Pine.
[Sidenote: MAY 19 AT ANZAC]
On May 19, three days after the loss of their own General, the
Australians, together with the rest of Anzac, were called upon to
resist the most violent attempt that the Turks ever made to drive them
off the cliffs. The enemy had now largely increased their artillery,
which included at least one 11-inch gun, some 8-inch, and several
4·7-inch, all well posted and concealed. Liman von Sanders had also
brought up forces amounting to 30,000 men, believed to include five
fresh regiments, and he took command in person. Directly the moon set
on the night of the 18th-19th, a tremendous fire of guns and rifles
burst from the surrounding Turkish lines. This often happened at
Anzac, and now, as usual, the noise died down after about an hour.
But at 3.30, crowds of silent figures were detected in the darkness
creeping close up to the centre of the Australian trenches. Directly
the sentries fired, masses of the enemy in thick lines came rushing
forward, yelling their battle-cry to the Prophet’s God. Though most
severe along the ridge between Quinn’s and Courtney’s Posts, the
assault extended over the whole front, with great violence at the
dangerously exposed apex of the triangle. The assailants came on so
thick, the ground to be covered was so narrow--in places only a few
yards across between the confronting trenches--that the Anzacs had but
to fire point-blank into the half-visible darkness before them, and at
every shot an enemy fell. Many Australians mounted the parapet, and,
sitting astride upon it, fired continuously, as in an enormous drive
of game. Morning broke, the sun rose behind the teaming assailants,
machine-guns and rifles mowed them down in rows, and piled them up
into barriers and parapets of the dead and scarcely living. Still the
peasants of Islam, summoned from quiet villages of Thrace and Asia,
unconscious of the cause for which they died, except that it was the
cause of Islam--still they came on, shouting their battle-cry. Emptying
their rifles into trenches manned with equal constancy, rushing wildly
up to the sandbag lines, they scrambled over them, only to die of
rifles which scorched their skin, or of bayonets dripping blood.
From 3.30 till nearly 11 the conflict raged; but before the sun was
at its height the noise and shouting gradually died away. The great
assault was finished, and had failed. In heaps and lines, more than
3000 Turks lay dying or already dead. The defence lost only 100 killed,
and about 500 wounded. Not a yard of Anzac had been yielded up. The
enemy never again attempted an attack upon that scale.
[Sidenote: ARMISTICE AT ANZAC]
So appalling had the thin strip of neutral ground now become owing
to the ghastly heaps of swollen or shrinking bodies piled upon it,
so overpowering was the stink of rotting men, that the Turks, waving
white flags and red crescents, requested an armistice for burial. After
some naturally suspicious hesitation (for the enemy mustered in thick
lines, and fighting was frequently renewed) a Turkish officer was
brought blindfold into Anzac Cove, four Australian officers carrying
him through the sea round the end of the entanglement beyond Hell
Spit. Major-General Braithwaite, Chief of Sir Ian’s Staff, met him at
General Birdwood’s headquarters, close beside the beach opposite the
chief landing-place, called “Watson’s Pier,” because built by Anzac
signallers under Captain Watson. An armistice for May 24 was arranged,
and duly carried out. It lasted from early morning till late afternoon,
and was attended with the usual ironic circumstances. Within certain
limits marked by white flags, Australians freely conversed with Turkish
officers who spoke faultless English, and were lavish in politeness
and cigarettes. It is said that General Liman von Sanders himself,
disguised as a Red Crescent sergeant, mixed undetected with the crowd
upon that wet and misty morning.[118]
It may have been so, nor was there cause for disguise. It was by his
authority as Commandant of the 5th Ottoman Army that Lieutenant-Colonel
Fahreddin concluded the armistice, as narrated. The note in which Sir
Ian was informed of this authorisation concluded with the words: “J’ai
l’honneur d’être avec l’assurance de ma plus haute considération, Liman
von Sanders.” So the courteous amenities of slaughter were maintained,
and the Turks buried 3000 corpses, all killed since May 18.
Formidable as the Turkish onset had been, a still more serious peril
now threatened the expedition. For some days past, rumours of two
hostile submarines had reached the Staff. Since all communication
was by sea, since the guns were largely furnished by the fleet, and
even General Headquarters were afloat, no news more ominous could
have arrived. A foretaste of danger was given on May 13, when, in
the darkness, a Turkish destroyer slid silently down the strait and
torpedoed the battleship _Goliath_, lying at anchor off Morto Bay to
support the French flank. She was a fifteen-year-old ship (12,950
tons), and she sank at once, carrying down her captain, Thomas
Shelford, 19 officers, and over 500 men. As they drowned, they were
swept by the current past the _Cornwallis_, lying nearly a mile astern,
and their cries for help were pitiful. The _Cornwallis_ boats saved 56,
but only 183 were saved in all.[119]
[Sidenote: ARRIVAL OF HOSTILE SUBMARINES]
Nearly a fortnight later (May 25 and 27), a large German submarine,
U51, which had come round by Gibraltar (others perhaps hailed from the
Austrian naval base at Pola), struck two heavy blows in succession. Off
Anzac, the _Triumph_ (11,800 tons, completed 1904) lay at anchor, with
nets out. Suddenly she was struck by a torpedo, which cut through her
nets like thread. In ten minutes she sank, carrying down three officers
and sixty-eight men, within sight of the Anzac forces, which she had so
finely served. All of the Anzacs volunteered a month’s pay toward the
expense of salving her, but that was impossible. The next morning but
one, the _Majestic_ (Captain Talbot), 1895, 14,900 tons, Rear-Admiral
Stuart Nicholson’s flagship, lying at anchor close off Helles, her
nets out, and surrounded by small craft of all kinds, met the same
fate. The submarine picked her out as a good sportsman picks out the
king of a herd. Fortunately, she was prepared for the stroke, and only
forty-eight men were lost. She sank in six fathoms, listing heavily to
starboard, and then turning completely over, so that her keel remained
visible, like the back of a huge whale, above the surface till near the
end of the campaign, when she was blown up as an obstruction. On the
same day as the disaster to the _Triumph_, a submarine also aimed at
the _Vengeance_, the _Lord Nelson_ (Admiral de Robeck’s flagship), and
three of the French battleships. It was evident that the whole system
of naval action, anchorage, and supply must be changed.
Warships and transports were rapidly withdrawn, for the most part to
Mudros harbour. The _Queen Elizabeth_ had been sent home at the first
rumour of the peril, as being too valuable to risk upon a distant and
secondary purpose. For the rest, the neighbouring island of Imbros,
lying only from ten to twelve miles west and south-west from the
landing-places on the Peninsula, afforded an open bay as roadstead,
sandy, shallow, and fully exposed to the north wind. On the east side,
the bay or inlet is protected by a long promontory of sand dunes and
sandstone cliff, known as Cape Kephalos. On the west rise the mountains
of Imbros, perhaps the most beautiful even of Ægean islands. On this
part of the island only three small hamlets stand, squalid with
poverty. But a mountain track over a pass in the central range leads
to the chief village of Panaghía, and two other large villages, rich,
as Greek islands go, in maize, vines, fig trees, and olives. About
two miles beyond Panaghia lies the crumbling little port of Kastro,
dominated by an ancient ruined castle, Byzantine, Venetian, or Turkish,
into which slabs of white marble have been built, remnants of some
Greek temple. The island appears to have small place in Greek history
and literature, though an unknown staff officer, meeting me in one of
the valleys, unexpectedly quoted perhaps from Sappho a passage about it
or Lemnos. And, indeed, it is a haunt fit for rugged and pastoral gods
rather than for polite literature, civilisation, and war. From the top
of the pass the whole of the Peninsula is seen; the Straits and the
plain of Troy beyond; and far in the distance the grey heights of Ida,
and dim mountains of Mitylene. Looking west across a narrow water, one
sees near at hand the vast red peaks of Samothrace, a natural home of
savage mysteries.
[Sidenote: G.H.Q. AT IMBROS]
The arrival of hostile submarines caused the dispersal of the fleet
and transports, leaving the main supply of the army to indefatigable
trawlers, fleet-sweepers, and other small craft, and involving the
removal of General Headquarters from sea to land. For some days the
_Arcadian_ had a merchant ship lashed each side of her for protection,
but the navy refused further responsibility, and at the end of May
Sir Ian and his Staff put ashore on Imbros. There was no choice, for
Tenedos was largely occupied by the French; Mudros was too distant;
and on the Peninsula no place could be found for General Headquarters
without entanglement in the headquarters of divisions or the Anzac
Corps. Kephalos Bay was nearly equidistant from both landings (about
twelve miles from Anzac, and ten from Helles), with both of which it
was rapidly connected by telephone and telegraph. Accordingly, the
camp was pitched among the sand dunes at the base of the Kephalos
promontory, looking over the bay to jagged mountains beyond. A small
stone pier was built, for Headquarter use only, whence Sir Ian visited
the Peninsula on a torpedo boat three or four times every week. On
the opposite side of the bay the navy constructed a similar but
longer pier, and sank a collier and two smaller Italian vessels to
form a breakwater against the north. Thus a fairly sheltered port
was made for the trawlers running daily to the Peninsula with drafts
and supplies, and for those which returned to Mudros for more. Level
ground, stretching over a mile south-west, was used as a store-depôt, a
rest-camp, and a training-place for reinforcements. Up in the hills a
camp was laid out for Turkish prisoners, who worked at road-making. Two
or three miles away, above a salt marsh, and upon the south coast, were
stations for R.N.A.S. aeroplanes, which numbered about 60 in all, but
never counted more than 25 or 30 in action. In the later months of the
expedition, General Headquarters were removed to the entrance of the
deep valley leading up to the pass, because gales, dust storms, hostile
aeroplanes, and want of water and shade upon the sand dunes added, as
might have been foreseen, to the inevitable discomforts of war.
On May 25 (one month after the landing) Sir Ian issued a special
order “to explain to officers, non-commissioned officers, and men the
real significance of the calls made upon them to risk their lives,
apparently for nothing better than to gain a few yards of uncultivated
land.” He pointed out that “a comparatively small body of the finest
troops in the world, French and British, had effected a lodgment
close to the heart of a great Continental Empire, still formidable
even in its decadence.” Owing to their attacks, the Government at
Constantinople was gradually wearing itself out. Understating the
estimates received from the agents of neutral Powers, he showed that,
at the beginning, the Peninsula had been defended by 34,000 Nizam
(first line) troops and 100 guns, with 41,000 half-Nizam, half-Redif
(second line) on the Asiatic side. By May 12 these had been reinforced
by 20,000 infantry and 21 batteries of field artillery. Since then at
least 24,000 had been added from Constantinople and Smyrna. Our small
expeditionary force, though so much reduced,[120] had during the month
held in check nearly 130,000 of the enemy, and, at a low estimate, had
inflicted on him the loss of 55,000, thus diminishing the fully trained
men at his disposal. The order concluded with the words:
“Daily we make progress, and whenever the reinforcements close at
hand begin to put in an appearance, the Mediterranean Expeditionary
Force will press forward with a fresh impulse to accomplish the
greatest Imperial task ever entrusted to an army.”
[Sidenote: HOPE OF RUSSIAN SUPPORT FADES]
The task was indeed great, if not the greatest; but in London and on
the fronts of war events combined to increase its difficulty. So far
as the expedition was concerned, the collapse of the Russian armies
under General von Hindenburg’s violent attacks in Courland, Poland, and
Galicia was the event of most vital importance. In this month of May
the enemy seized the port of Libau, approached Przemysl, threatened
Warsaw, and drove the Russians back from the Carpathians into the
basin of the Dniester. In consequence of these successive blows, it
became certain that the Russian Army Corps of 43,000 men under General
Istomine, which was to advance upon Constantinople from the eastern
side as soon as our fleet and army dominated the Dardanelles, would be
withdrawn, and the expectation of Russian assistance was abandoned.
No longer threatened from the Black Sea, Turkey could now divert an
equivalent force to the defence of the Peninsula, and did, in fact,
divert four or five Divisions. What was worse, Ferdinand of Bulgaria,
long hesitating on which side his interests lay, was encouraged by
the Russian defeats to put his calculating trust upon the German
alliance. Yet our diplomatists, apparently unpractised in deception
and ingratitude, had fondly supposed that Bulgaria would never take
arms against her Russian deliverer, and were even counting upon her
co-operation in the Near East. In spite of such errors, it is currently
believed that aristocratic diplomatists and Foreign Ministers are
endowed with an ancestral instinct for diplomacy beyond the possible
possession of people less nobly born, and for this reason, if for no
other, we must indeed be thankful that our aristocracy has survived to
protect us from blunders even more disastrous than their own.
In the middle of May the Salandra-Sonnino Ministry, urged on by the
poet D’Annunzio and the Futurist Marinetti, declared war upon Austria;
but Italy’s intervention had small influence on the position in the
Dardanelles. Mr. Asquith’s deliberate overthrow of his own Cabinet,
and his attempt to promote the national cause by a large Coalition
Ministry, in which he might well have anticipated a hostility fatal
to his leadership, had greater effect, and the effect was malign. Mr.
Winston Churchill, who could be counted upon to promote the interests
of the expedition as his own particular child, retired to the Duchy
of Lancaster, resigning the Admiralty to Mr. Balfour’s charge. Just
before his resignation his trusted adviser and opponent, Lord Fisher,
had himself resigned, and refused to return, though called upon by the
appeal of the whole nation, outside the industrious promoters of panic.
His place as First Sea Lord was taken by Sir Henry Jackson; but the
country deplored the loss to her service of a great personality. That
element of luck which forms part of a successful General’s endowment
was already turning against the expedition, and critics were beginning
to advise retreat, foretelling disasters which the prophecy of evil
often contributes to promote.[121]