Part 5
A reliable guide was obtained and the party hurried forward. As the Australians continued their ride through the city they received the honours traditionally lavished on conquerors. The stalls were emptied of their incomparable grapes and pomegranates, which were handed up to the passing horsemen. Crowds hung to their stirrups and ran along with their hands on the bridle reins. They were smothered with perfumes. Every man who smoked enjoyed a gift cigar. Dark-eyed women and pretty girls appeared in every window, some of them the wives, doubtless, of Turkish soldiers, timidly, and showing no pleasure; others boldly waved their hands, smiled their welcome, and threw down scents and other favours.
VETERANS
It was a wonderful hour for our young Australian countrymen. But the long war had made them into reserved men of the world, and the streets of old Damascus were but a stage in the long path of the war. They rode, very dusty and unshaved, their big hats battered and drooping, through the tumultuous populace of the oldest city in the world, with the same easy, casual bearing, and the same quiet self-confidence that are their distinctive characteristic on their country tracks at home. They ate their grapes and smoked their cigars, and missed no pretty eyes at the windows; but they displayed no excitement or elation. They had become true soldiers of fortune. And their long-tailed horses, at home now, like their owners, on any road in any country, saw nothing in the shouting mob or banging rifles, or the narrow ways and many colours of the bazaars, to cause them once to start, shy, or even cock an ear. The 3rd Brigade rode out to a series of ugly, but highly successful, actions with stout rear-guards of German machine gunners. Few men, in any age, have passed through twenty-four more adventurous and gratifying hours than they during this first day around Damascus.
BEAUTIFUL DAMASCUS
The district of Damascus is an irrigation settlement on a vast scale, set in the midst of comparative desert. So rich and close are the orchards, and so tall the plantations of poplars and other decorative trees, that, looking over the city from the neighbouring hills, all you see of the city of 250,000 people are the stately minarets of its many mosques and the roofs of the larger residences of the rich. Immediately to the west of the town rises the bare, glaring mountain side, and to the east and north and south of the green expanse of gardens you ride out upon the harsh and treeless plain. Damascus owes all its wealth, even its very existence, to the torrential Abana River, which, surging down from Anti-Lebanon, bursts from the mountain gorge on to the plain and, splitting up into several beautiful streams, has made a rural paradise on the edge of the Arabian wilderness.
In Palestine the troops looked in vain for the Promised Land “flowing with milk and honey.” The Plain of Philistia was fertile, but apart from the few Jewish and German colonies, and the orange groves about Jaffa, it was, with all its natural possibilities, a land bare and neglected, a reproachful ghost of a great life that is gone. But Damascus was a prize worth the winning. Here, after nearly three years of desert and exhausted, unfruitful regions, was an area good to look upon, and teeming with an active people. Few of us were sorry that we had at last outrun our supplies, or rather, that the huge capture of prisoners had somewhat strained the wonderful commissariat which had so gallantly kept at the heels of the galloping cavalry, and that a brief halt was necessary for the Australian Mounted Division. For a month some of the Regiments were in camps in the gardens around the city, and man and horse never accepted rest more gratefully. After thirteen days on bully and biscuit, it was good to know fresh meat and bread again; the mutton was of the best, and the bread, if dark and coarse and heavy, was still a long way ahead of biscuit. We were too late for the famous Damascus apricots, but there were grapes for the multitude, and pears and apples and pomegranates, and, also, raisins and other dried fruits and specialties in Eastern sweetmeats. Best of all, every camp was within sight and sound of many running waters.
Noisy little streams crossed our path a hundred times a day. Follow one along, and it suddenly disappeared into an underground passage, to burst forth like a spring a hundred yards away. In the streets, many of the gutters are river-fed waterways, and, to reduce the dust, the tired civic authorities block the drains and cause an effective little flood, which is extended by boys splashing with their hands. You buy grapes at the stalls, and carry them a few yards to dip into the waters of a mountain stream. But Damascus is dirty and insanitary. Without the purge of the Abana waters, flushing through it and under it, the city would die of its filth in a single summer. And even with its beautiful streams it proved a false friend to great numbers of Australians. The Australian Mounted division suffered more sickness in the Damascus area than anywhere else in the campaign.
THE ANZACS’ PART
In most of the operations which cleared Sinai and Palestine of the Turk, the lead was entrusted to the veterans of the Anzac Mounted Division. In this last and greatest campaign of all, the Division found itself away from the spectacular side of the enterprise. A trusty mounted Division was needed for the subsidiary, but highly important, work on Moab and Gilead, east of Jordan, and the choice fell upon the Anzacs.
The Australians and New Zealanders complained about their luck. But their task made one strong appeal to them. Twice before they had been across the Jordan, and twice they had returned leaving not a few of their men in enemy graves. The two great raids over the river, early in the year, were brilliantly successful, as raids. Each time our purpose was achieved. But each time our men broke off the fight strongly against their inclination, and prayed for the day when they would get orders to go over and see the job through, and stay. Old Amman, the ancient Philadelphia, was especially coveted by our men. There, in March, 1918, we had fought for days over sodden ground in extreme winter weather and come away, the railway having been well broken, just after the New Zealanders had won into the town. This time, Australians and New Zealanders competed, in a sporting way, for first entry, and the 5th Light Horse Regiment, from Queensland, narrowly gained the honour.
At the outset, the Anzacs, and the small infantry force operating with them, made up chiefly of the Jewish Battalion, the British West Indians and troops from India proper, had no chance of breaking out of our bridgeheads east of the river. Their orders were to keep in very close and firm touch with the enemy, and to demolish him as soon as he began to withdraw in consequence of his defeat on Samaria. Also, this Jordan Valley force was to push northwards up the Valley, and complete the cordon round the two Turkish armies on Samaria. Both missions were admirably accomplished. While the New Zealanders and infantry were advancing up the Valley, the Australians were probing the strongly entrenched and wired positions along the Moab and Gilead foothills, across the river. As soon as the Turk moved the two Australian Brigades pounced upon his rear-guard, and fought him as he climbed the narrow wady tracks up on to the tableland. Meanwhile, the New Zealanders, crossing away to the north at Jisr el Darnie, ascended the goat-track which leads from there to Es Salt, and, for the third time in the campaign, that old stone-built town was in Australasian hands.
All the way our men had evidence of the success of the British bluff. The Turks’ defences on the foothills, and higher up, were particularly strong. Had our main attack gone that way, the fight would have been very bitter, with the enemy in a strong natural position. But now the Turks were compelled to abandon their stronghold because of their disaster in the west, and, also, because the Arabs had broken their communications to the north, and were joining hands with a British and Indian cavalry Division right across those communications. As the Australians passed Shunet Nimrin, they discovered a long-range navy gun lying on its side, a piece known to them as “Nimrin Nellie” and “Jericho Jane,” with which the Turk had often made our camps near Jericho dusty and unpleasant.
AMMAN CAPTURED
It was not until our men were far across the tableland, and close to Amman, that the enemy showed fight. There our advance guard came under machine gun fire; but the Division’s rapid advance on the town was not stayed. As the scene of the severe March fighting came into view the Australians appreciated the disaster which had so suddenly fallen upon the Turkish arms. In March, the only possible approaches to Amman led through hurricanes of machine gun fire, together with shells from several field batteries. But now, the broken foe, although he fought gamely at this particular spot, was quickly out-witted and out-classed by Light Horse manoeuvre, and soon the Australians, after trifling casualties, were riding in the streets of the squalid modern village, and marvelling at the glory of the ancient Roman amphitheatre. Contact with the Roman in this hour of our triumph did us good. It subdued our vanity. In these far outposts of the old Roman Empire, on the very edge of the barbarian desert, the massiveness of the stone-work and the fine quality of the decorative carving proclaimed to the least imaginative mind the culture and mighty physical achievements of our great rivals in the task of Empire building. “The splendour that was Rome” is told far more convincingly in distant Amman and Baalbek than in the ruins of Rome itself.
The Australians took 350 prisoners in Amman, and the New Zealanders another good bag as the Turks attempted to escape to the north. But the chief, and by far the most amusing, exploit of the Anzacs’ campaign, fell to the 2nd Light Horse Brigade under General Ryrie, at Ziza, about twenty miles to the south. News came through that a large Turkish force, which had been far to the south on the Hedjaz railway at Maan, was in an entrenched position at Ziza, and a regiment of Queenslanders rode down to spy out the land and, if possible, to smash them. The C.O. reported that he was in touch with 5000 Turks, who wished to capitulate, but they would not lay down their arms until they were sure that a great force of hostile Arabs, by whom they were surrounded, would be kept away from them. So the Colonel of the Queenslanders suggested that the whole Brigade should hurry down to assure the Turks of their safety. General Ryrie at once decided to go, and the twenty miles were covered in less than three hours.
ARABS AND TURKS
The Brigade arrived shortly before dark, and an extraordinary situation was discovered. The Turks were in a strongly defended position around the village. They were made up, in the main, of Anatolians, regulars and the cream of the Ottoman army. Moreover, they were well armed and capable of a good fight. Our Brigade was not complete and was outnumbered by about ten to one. The Turkish commander rode out to meet the Australian Brigadier. “I will surrender,” he said, “if you will protect us against the Arabs.” “Certainly,” said the Brigadier. “The Arabs are our allies; if you surrender, you have nothing to fear.” But the Turkish leader would not be convinced, and he demanded that the Australian force should be greatly increased before his men gave up their arms. Otherwise, he would be pleased to fight. General Ryrie was anxious to complete the surrender and save casualties, and the Australians and Turks spent the night together in arms around the same camp fires!
Next morning, the Turks laid down their arms and marched as prisoners to Amman. The incident was an interesting sidelight on the feeling of the Turk towards the Arabs, whom he has so long governed. But it is a highly significant fact that, in the long campaign, the Arabs took 17,000 Turkish prisoners, and the Turks not a single Arab. To the Arab, the Turk has been an enemy in arms. To the Turk, the Arab has been a rebel, and deserving of a rebel’s fate.
Ziza practically finished the Anzacs’ brilliant little campaign. In all, some 11,000 prisoners were taken. The total battle casualties for the Division did not exceed a few score.
THE TECHNICAL SERVICES
The writer of this sketch has been obliged to keep severely to the work of the Force as a whole, and has recorded little or nothing of the great achievements of the many technical services, lacking which the victorious progress of the Light Horsemen would have been impossible. The performances of the Australian No. 1 Flying Corps Squadron, the first Commonwealth Flying Squadron engaged in the war, deserve a volume to themselves. Recruited chiefly from the Light Horse Regiments, both pilots and observers excelled in resource and daring, and in their golden chivalry to their foes, and in their many fine rescues of fallen comrades far behind the enemy lines, shone the spirit of Saladin and King Richard. They were the modern Knights of Palestine.
Then there were the Engineers (no attempt is made to place these services in order of merit—a hopeless task), who found us water at will, as with a magician’s wand, beneath the blistering sands of Sinai; who bridged the Jordan under heavy fire for the crossing to Moab, and who, so often, blew enemy railroads, bridges and viaducts heavenward. Working over every kind of country from the desert to the mountains, they won through because of their indomitable spirit, and their boundless gift for improvization.
THE M.O.
In the whole war there has not been a campaign which depended so much for its success upon the native wit of the individual. Conditions changed with dramatic suddenness from battle to battle. What served to-day, was useless to-morrow. As an example of this, take the superb work of our Medical Services. The Medical Officer was, all the way, a man of many inventions. In the desert the wounded were habitually carried on sledges made of sheets of galvanized iron, and, later, upon an improvement of this device; as the campaign progressed, they were borne on camels; and once, at least, in the mountains east of Jordan, they were carried lying flat on rough beds made of greatcoats on the backs of horses; and as the road improved, they were carried in two-wheeled sand-carts, in ordinary G.S. wagons and every kind of motor. The Light Horse galloped, and those who would serve them must gallop too. The almost miraculous rapidity and efficiency with which the Medical Units would establish their various stations and communications, at the very heels of a fight, distant perhaps a hundred swiftly-covered miles from railhead, made them worthy peers of the sparkling horsemen. And, thanks to the establishment of the mobile operating theatre—a veritable galloping machine, like the rest of the force—under a gifted surgeon, it was possible for the most intricate skull and abdominal operations to be carried out at the edge of the zone of fire. All honour to our doctors and their devoted staffs! And especially dear in the memory of Light Horsemen will always be the mounted stretcher-bearers. No wounded man was beyond their gallant reach.
Of the Light Horseman’s debt to the Nursing Sisters this narrative will not dare an estimate. As long as memory lasts, every officer and man will think with deep gratitude of the sustained, self-sacrificing devotion of these noble Australian women. Fighting in this alien and uncivilized land, thousands of young Australians for years never spoke to a British woman, except when in hospital. What the ever-ready sympathy and helpful friendship of the Sisters meant to them only these lonely soldiers could tell.
THE A.S.C.
The supreme masters of improvization were the officers and men who handled the supplies. Not only the Australians, but the whole of the Imperial Cavalry—the greatest mounted force in the war under a single command—led by General Chauvel, depended for their rations upon the distinguished ability of the Queensland Colonel who was responsible for the direction of the supply and transport for mounted corps in the Desert. A cavalry force requires about four times the quantity of supplies which suffices for infantry, and, on occasions, it travels four times as fast. During the ride to Damascus, the horsemen, more than once, covered sixty miles in twenty-four hours; and on the whole advance, no man or horse went short of a mobile ration. British railways, captured Turkish railways and rolling-stock, motor-lorries, four-wheeled G.S. wagons, two-wheeled limbers (their off-side horses carrying pack-saddles, so that, if the vehicle failed, the load could be transferred), camels in tens of thousands, countless mules and donkeys—the interminable, sleepless procession on the roads during General Chauvel’s final triumph was a fitting culmination to the great transport record from the Canal onward.
Of our Australian machine gunners and signallers, and of the model Veterinary Service, which cared for our sick and wounded walers as promptly and faithfully as the Medical people cared for the men, and of the British batteries of Horse Artillery, which unfailingly advanced to extreme limits with their guns and shot so unerringly (never was man so welcome as a galloping gunner in a sticky dismounted fight)—of all these, it is enough to say that without them Palestine could not be ours to-day.
The fighting ceased for the Australians early in October, with the capture of Damascus and Amman, though No. 1 Australian Light Car Patrol (Captain James), accompanying the 5th Cavalry Division, took a prominent part in the capture of Aleppo, and in the pursuit of the Turko-German forces north of that city. The final campaign yielded prodigious results at a trifling cost in battle casualties. Of the 75,000 prisoners made by General Allenby’s Army, more than 40,000 were taken by the Australian and Anzac Mounted Divisions. The losses in killed and wounded, in the two Divisions, were nominal. Unfortunately, however, the Force then suffered the worst spell of sickness it had known since leaving Australia. The terrible ordeal of Jordan Valley during the summer took its suspended toll. Malaria ran like wildfire through the regiments, and there was also much acute influenza with pneumonia following, sandfly fever, and other more or less serious diseases peculiar to the Holy Land. Many brave men, who had survived four years of hard fighting and extremely rough living, lost their lives by sickness in the moment of victory.
The Australian Mounted Division was pushing on from Damascus towards the country north of Aleppo, and the armistice was signed as they reached Homs, which marked the northern limit attained by the Light Horsemen.
To-day, the force asks only one question: “Who goes Home—and when?”
_Palestine, December, 1918._
Anthem Bells
Heard ye the bells, the chapel bells, Pealing in Bethlehem? The vibrant swells, the solemn knells, On the eve of a requiem? Saw ye the trees When the gentle breeze Caressed the leaves of them?
Heard ye the guns, the distant guns, That thundered down the vale, When comrades strode the mountain road To brave the battle gale?... O, see the worn, returning men whose march no fire could stem, And hear their song as they surge along The road to Bethlehem!
O, hear the hoofs, the iron hoofs, Falling in Bethlehem, While sunlight flames on the ruddy roofs In the hills of Jerusalem! And if you’ve crossed the wilderness by well and palmy hod, Pray heed the bells, the heavenly bells, That call the folk to God.
“GERARDY.”
Palestine Poppies
From the hills to the sea, a scarlet trail of flowers in the spring, when the little grey larks are singing and all the low country is green with barley. Wild flowers everywhere, yellow and purple and butterfly-blue—but the poppy is our choice. It glows on Australian graves in the plains and down by the sea where the surf croons all day long; it makes beautiful old battle-grounds, and flakes the wady’s brown banks with scarlet. The blood-red poppy is Palestine’s flower. At the wind’s touch petals fall from the slender stems to lie softly in the grass, as if some rare and lovely bird had shed its plumage there. The red poppy is our flower of War, and in the tranquil days of Peace will be our flower of Memory.
Among the sea-dunes white lilies grow, and they, too, will have power to win us memories of Palestine, unclouded by sorrow; memories of the blue Mediterranean, serene as a summer sky, or flinging ramparts of foam alongshore. When we camped at Malala or Marakeb beach, heeding all day the call of the surf, the land wind bore to us faintly the scent of blossoms unseen. A colour, then, and a fragrance of flowers are the gifts we shall take overseas. One will bring memories tinged with sadness; the other of golden hours.
Palestine is a wild garden in spring. Many plants blossom on through the summer, fading at last in the season of mists, when dawn comes veiled like a bride and the earth is pearled with dew. In spring, when the wattles shower gold on our streams, Palestine poppies are blooming. From the white sea-dunes to the long blue hills the land is alight with flowers. And all the larks of the world and all the butterflies seem to be gathered there. Over every blossom some bird is singing or a butterfly floating on sunlit wings. A murmur of bees in convolvulus bells; grasshoppers leaping over the tall grass; wagtails gleaning in sheltered places; white vultures high in the blue; and kestrels hovering over the barley, keen-eyed for prey.
Those long rides across the plains, before the Turks were driven back to the hill country, were wonderful. Our horses breasted a green sea of barley, and it was hard to urge them on. Often we drew rein to look at leisure on the earth’s green mantle inwrought with flowers. The plains and the valleys were beautiful. We rode inland along the blue ways of Dawn, rode on till noon, then, after rest, took the sunset trail, when cloud shadows were skimming over the earth. We gazed at the purple ranges and wondered what lay beyond. Under the stars we slept well.