Part 10

A perfect day. I ride up with Foley to my Brigade in the morning, and there meet Captain Wood, the Adjutant of the Essex, and dear old Ruby Revel, of the same regiment. The messroom at Brigade H.Q., though dug in the side of a small hill, is like a country summer-house, and this morning it is very hard to realize that we are at war. Crickets are chirping in the bushes, and pretty little chaffinches with bright-coloured feathers hop about amongst the trees.

I look through a powerful telescope at the Turkish trenches, and it seems almost as though I could throw a stone at them. The precipitous slopes of Achi Baba appear in vivid detail. As for the Turkish first line, I feel that if I put my foot out I shall tread on its parapet. Yet I see not a sign of life. And all is perfectly quiet. I think that a big attack is coming off in a few days now, and great preparations appear to be going on. Many reinforcements have arrived, and we are almost up to full strength again. In fact, several of those who were slightly wounded on the first day have actually returned fit and sound to the firing-line.

Riding back, Foley and I call at his Brigade H.Q. and see Major Lucas, the Brigade Major, and later Brigadier-General Marshall comes in. Their H.Q., situated some three hundred yards behind Pink Farm, but to the right, looking towards Achi, is built in an even more beautiful spot than the H.Q. of the 88th. In fact, it can only be described as a most beautiful natural garden, and the quarters are composed simply of summer-houses nestling under trees, with flowers and meadow grass growing in beautiful confusion all around. Bullets just fall short of this spot, and shells do not drop near, for it is away from any target.

I call at the R.N.D. armoured car camp afterwards, just half-way back between Pink Farm and the beach, off the West Krithia road, to look up a friend that I hear is with them, but learn that he has not yet landed. Four armoured cars are dug in to what look like deep horse stalls of earth—beautiful Rolls-Royce cars, and I hear that they are to go into action in the battle which is thought to be coming off in a few days.

_2 p.m._

This afternoon it is so hot that I strip to the waist and write on the cliff. A few transports are in. Mine-sweepers in pairs, with little sails aft, are on duty at the entrance, cruising slowly and methodically to and fro, joined to each other by a sunken torpedo-net; and woe unto a submarine that should run into that net! It will quickly meet with an untimely end; its base will hear no more news of it, and its destruction will be kept secret by the Navy. Destroyers are on patrol right out to sea. One battleship can just be seen far away towards Lemnos. Work on the beach goes on steadily. Engineers are hard at work constructing a new pier, which will serve as a breakwater as well. Stones for this purpose are being quarried from the side of the cliff. A light railway is in course of construction round the beach and along the road at the foot of this cliff and up to the depot.

JUNE

_June 1st, 11.30._

Rode to H.Q., leaving my mare at Pink Farm, where I met General Doran, our new Brigadier, with whom I walked to H.Q. Coming back along West Krithia road, met Mathias, Brigade Vet. Two shells whistle over us. Mathias says, “Here comes a shell,” to which I reply, “It’s come and gone, dear boy,” as they burst “plonk” in the middle of the road that we have to pass along. We make a detour and ride back over country.

Four officers, just come from England, arrive and have lunch with us.

_3 p.m._

Ride with Foley to Morto Bay for a bathe. Bay full of French and Senegalese bathing. As we sat undressing, one big, burly fellow came up to Foley and said, “Speak English, how do you do?” and held out his hands. Foley was so taken aback that he shook hands. He then turned to me, and showing his teeth, said, “Tobacco.” Being rather afraid that he was going to bite me, I quickly took out my pouch and gave him a handful. Then a sergeant, also a nigger, came running up, and ordered him off, using most fearful language apparently, and away he went, running like mad. They are fine-looking men. Morto Bay looking very beautiful. I can imagine this a fine watering-place, after the war, with promenade, gardens, hotels, golf-links, etc.

Achi Baba looked a beautiful bronze colour, with patches of green. The Dardanelles show a deep blue colour, gradually blending into the purple of the Asiatic side, with its background of mountains. At the entrance, little mine-sweepers are on duty. The beach is full of naked black and white figures bathing, and the country in the background is dotted with French camps. The firing-line in the distance, and our guns popping off at intervals, and enemy shells now and again whistling overhead—such is the environment in which we have our bathe.

Foley suggests riding back through Sed-el-Bahr, which we do, and we were fortunate in doing so, as eight shells, beautifully placed, exploded just over the road that we otherwise should have taken, and at about the time that we should have been passing along it.

_10.30 p.m._

Bit of the Turkish attack going on. Heavy rifle fire. “75’s” very angry, and beating all known records of rapid fire. Their song sings me to sleep. I am not afraid of shells when I am sleeping.

_June 2nd._

After issue, go down on beach to our Train office, which is now dug in the side of the cliff. It has twice been moved, each time farther and farther round the cliff on the right of the beach looking seawards. When shelling is on, our Train office soon becomes full of passing officers, reminding me of a crowded pavilion at a cricket match when rain stops the play. Just as the pavilion empties as the rain stops, so does our Train office when the shelling stops. Then all the morning there calls a continual stream of officers—R.E., Ordnance, Supply, Artillery, and regimental—presenting their respective indents for transport, which the Adjutant has difficulty with, in mathematically fitting in the detailing of transport to satisfy their demands with available wagons. It is a job that requires tact and organization. Officers also call who come just to pass the time of day and exchange rumours, or beach gossip as we call it. The circulation of rumours is the best entertainment that we have, and though 95 per cent. of them are estranged from truth by a large margin, yet life would be doubly as dull as it is without them. They are always listened to with great interest, though, before they are heard, listeners know they are going to be miles off the target of truth. And if a man who has achieved a reputation for carrying with him the latest and most interesting “beach gossip” fails any morning in producing any, he causes really keen disappointment.

This morning we hear that the Turks are starved, have no clothes, are almost at the last gasp for ammunition, and only require one more hard knock before they retreat precipitously to lines which they have prepared well beyond the slopes on the other side of Achi Baba. The Navy then tell us that once Achi is in our hands we command the Narrows; Chanak Fort will be shelled to a pile of bricks and stones, the Fleet will make a dash up the Straits into the Marmora, and will arrive before Constantinople in three days. After a heavy bombardment of this city, the goal of our ambitions, we will attack the Turkish Army, now starved and demoralized beyond recovery. They will be beaten and will make unconditional surrender; the Peninsula will be ours, the Dardanelles will be open, Russia and the Allies will link hands, and the war will end six months after in glorious victory for our cause and confusion to our enemies.

We drink in minor rumours day by day that are given as irrefutable evidence in support of these prophecies; we are buoyed up in hope and spirits thereby, and ourselves spread the rumours to those of our friends who still remain pessimistic.

I go up to the Main Supply depot, and there, having by now been given a reputation for carrying good and juicy rumours, I cheer them up by the news that Achi will be ours by June 30th. Smart, one of the officers there, who was in the retreat from Mons, makes me a bet, and the stake is a nice ruler that he has on his desk. I promptly book the bet. I go up to Brigade and have tea, and supply them with the latest rumours.

_June 3rd._

It is very windy to-day, and is blowing nearly a gale, and wind on the tip of this peninsula is an unpleasant element to be up against. In consequence, the beach is smothered with dust, and clouds of it fly in all directions, covering everybody and everything.

While issuing, shells burst on the crest of the high ground at the back of the beach steadily all the time, and nearer inland puffs of shrapnel are visible. They cannot reach us here with shrapnel, thank goodness! Shrapnel is so comprehensive. A lucky shell comes to within ten yards of our depot, kills a man, a passer-by, outright, wounds a sailor, and slightly wounds my butcher in the knee.

I ride up to Brigade with Phillips. General Doran shows us map of our objective, and carefully marks thereon where rations are to be dumped to-morrow night, for to-morrow is to be the day of an attack upon our part to take Achi. If successful, then the beginning of the end of the show will be in sight. No news from outside world, and a great scarcity of papers. Reading a paper about a month old is now a great luxury.

In the evening, Williams and Phillips and myself borrow a boat from an M.L.O. and have a short row round. It makes splendid exercise, and the scenes on shore are very interesting. Why did not we think of it before? When they shell the beach, all we have to do is to get into a boat and row out to sea, and then watch the fun. Surely a submarine would not trouble to torpedo us, and it would be a shell with our name and address on that would hit us. We pass a submarine—British—marked B9, a very small one. An officer is in the conning tower and says “Good evening” to us. We chat, and he invites us on board. Two sailors hold our little boat while we clumsily climb on to the submarine’s slippery back. We climb down a perpendicular iron ladder through a hole not much larger than a coal-shoot to a cellar under a street. Inside we find only one chamber, awfully cramped and small. At one end of this sleep the men, and at the other two officers. The chamber provides quarters for men and officers alike, and engine-room, ward-room, and ante-room, all in one, like Dan Leno’s one-roomed house. In Dan Leno’s words, “If you want to go into the drawing-room—you stay where you are!” I am shown the working of the engines, and try to look wisely at the intricate host of levers and brass things, but really can understand nothing at all of what the officer is talking about. I am shown how a torpedo is fired. You pull a thing out and she shoots. Phillips appears to know all about it though, but he doesn’t really. I look through the periscope, turn the lens round, and suddenly before my eyes I see “V” Beach and Sed-el-Bahr in vivid detail. What joy it must be to spot a Hun battleship and see her effectively hit!

The officer then invites us to sit down and call for drinks. I gasp; we never heard of such things on shore. An attentive A.B., smiling benevolently, brings along about half a dozen bottles and glasses. The officer apologizes for not having much choice. Is he pulling our legs? What perfectly charming beings these Naval fellows are! I choose sherry. Williams gets chatty about the Middlesex Yeomanry. The Middlesex Yeomanry always comes into Williams’s conversation when he gets chatty, but I can’t connect this regiment with submarines at the moment. I have two glasses, and we rise to go. Our perfectly delightful host expresses regret that we must go, and invites us again in the near future. Up the perpendicular iron steps we climb. Phillips, leading, puts his heavy boot in my face. It seems a long way up those steps. Up in the cool air, with the breeze blowing in my face, the deck of the submarine seems much narrower than when we first came on board. I look at the little boat gently heaving in the water alongside, and take one cautious step on to one of its seats, and with one foot in the boat and one on the submarine I turn to thank my host again. The little boat falls with the swell of the sea, and I promptly sit down very hard into her. All aboard, we row back merrily. Hear that two shells have arrived on the beach during our absence. Shells! Pugh! that’s nothing. We don’t worry about shells, now!

I swear that I had only two sherries; but I am very empty inside, and the cool air, after a stuffy atmosphere—— Yes! even a Padre might feel like that.

_June 4th._

I awake and rise early. To-day is the battle, and to-night we shall be probably feeding our troops in or beyond Krithia. To-day will probably be a great day for our arms.

I get my issuing over early, and ride up to Brigade H.Q. and see Usher, asking him if he has any further instructions. All the arrangements are complete, and I hope that I shall have to take the rations up to or beyond Krithia, for then we shall have tasted complete victory. I see General Doran, who is hard at work. Two officers of the Egyptian Army arrive and talk awhile with me. I learn that they have landed only this morning. They are dressed very smartly; polished Sam Brown, revolver, smart tunic and breeches and boots, but I think they are making a mistake. They look like the pictures of a military tailor’s advertisement. Most officers of the infantry dress like the men, to lessen the chances of an enemy sniper getting them. I get back to “W” Beach at 10.30 a.m. and see the _Implacable_ and _Albion_ coming slowly in, with destroyers and submarines all around each ship, jealously guarding them from submarines’ attacks. A French battleship, I think the _Saint-Louis_, is off “V” Beach. Destroyers are on the patrol, as usual, searching for the dreaded submarine enemy. Three hospital ships are now in.

_11 a.m._

The French “75’s” start the music, bursting out into a roar of anger. Shortly after, all our shore batteries join in, and the 60-pounders make our ears feel as if they would burst until we get used to it. The bombardment increases; the battleships and destroyers now join in with all their guns. The noise is infernal, after the quiet that we have been used to. I go up to the high ground at the back of “W” Beach, lie down in a trench, and watch the show through strong glasses. Only a few are with me in the trench. Next to me is Beetleheimer, our _liaison_ officer. He speaks Turkish like a native, and is a very charming and decent old boy. Tremendous shelling now going on, and it seems to grow more and more intense—hundreds of shells bursting along the Turkish positions. Turkish artillery replies furiously, mostly with shrapnel, all along our trenches. No shells come on the beaches. Hundreds of white puffs of shrapnel burst all along the line, and fountain-like spurts of black and yellow smoke, followed by columns of earth, are thrown into the air, ending in a fog of drifting smoke and dust.

_12 noon._

The bombardment slackens and almost dies away suddenly, and I hear a faint cheer, but searching the line carefully with my glasses, can see no signs of life.

After a short pause the bombardment bursts again, even more intensely, and then slackens, and our guns increase the range. I can see three armoured cars on the right of our centre, which before I had not noticed, one behind the other, each one a short distance to the right of the one in front, moving slowly along the flat ground on either side of the Sed-el-Bahr road, and they actually pass over our front line and creep up to the Turkish front, driving backwards. They halt, and I see the spurts of flame coming from their armoured turrets as their machine-guns open fire. After about ten minutes I see the car furthest behind move back to our line, now driving forwards, and after a while the remaining two follow. Our shells burst thickly, smothering the Turkish first and second lines and all the way up the slopes of Achi Baba. I see our men in the centre leap from the trenches, and the sun glistens on their bayonets. I see them run on in wave after wave, some falling, and remaining lying on the grass like sacks of potatoes. I can see nothing on the left. Now I see the French on the hill on the right of our line, and the hill is covered with dark figures rushing forward. The din and roar continues, and I am called away to my dump.

_2 p.m._

Rumour hath it that we have taken the first two lines of trenches. The armoured cars return to their dugout garage, one with one man wounded inside.

_4.30 p.m._

Prisoners come marching down the beach under escort. Big, hardy chaps, in ill-fitting khaki clothes, and many with cloth helmets on their heads, looking rather like the paper hats I used to make when a kid.

_6 p.m._

I go up to see the Quartermasters, to pass on instructions that rations to-night will be dumped at the same place as last, namely at the ruined house in front of Pink Farm—and so we cannot have advanced much. I meet a wounded R.N.D. officer, and he tells me that the French have been forced to give way on the right, and that his Division, immediately on their left, having advanced, are in consequence rather hung between the Devil and the deep sea. I stop and look through Butler’s strong telescope, and see in front of Krithia, before a green patch, which we on the beach call the cricket pitch, little figures digging in hard at a new line.

_9 p.m._

Rifle fire still intense, and shore batteries going at it—all out. The battleships have gone home to bed.

Achi Baba looks more formidable than ever.

_11 p.m._

Steady rifle fire going on. We have advanced some five hundred yards in centre, and are holding the ground won. The French have not advanced.

I learn that when our bombardment suddenly stopped, shortly after noon, and when our infantry raised a cheer, the enemy stood right up on the fire-steps of their parapets, preparing to meet their charge. Our infantry did not leave their trenches. Instead, our machine-guns got on to the Turks, waiting exposed, and bagged many by their fire.

_June 5th, 6 a.m._

Steady rifle firing still continues, having gone on all night.

_Noon._

Row to French submarine with Phillips, Williamson and Foley, and after pulling round, looking interested, are invited on board.

Phillips has one foot on the slippery back of the submarine and one foot on the boat, rocking in the sea, when a dog comes rushing along the deck of the submarine barking furiously. Pained expression on Phillips’s face a study. Dog held back by a French sailor.

Most interesting on board the submarine. Engines and mechanical gear a marvellous piece of work. Very interesting looking through the periscope. Two charming officers, having lunch in a dear little cabin, talk to us. Submarine four times as big as the British one that we went aboard two days ago.

Hear that Prosser and Wyman, friends of mine in the Hampshires, have been hit and are on hospital ships. Damned fine chaps! Hear later that Bush, of Worcesters, another friend and a splendid fellow, has gone, blown to bits by a shell while leading a charge yesterday. Fine man; he had been wounded, and had been awarded the Military Cross, at the landing.

Also the two Gypy officers, who reported at Brigade H.Q. when I was there yesterday, have gone, killed while leading their new companies.

This happens after every battle. One makes friends—such fine friends!—and one is always suddenly losing them, leaving such gaps as sometimes make one wish that one could follow them.

But it is against the tradition of the service to be morbid about it, and so we “carry on,” knowing that those who have gone West would, if they were still with us, be cheery, brave, cool, and efficient at their respective jobs.

_4 p.m._

Go up to Brigade H.Q. with O’Hara—leave the horses at Pink Farm and walk to H.Q. Find them all up at an observation post, just behind the firing-line, which has moved forward after yesterday’s battle.

The C.R.E. 29th Division joins us. A most unconcerned individual. He goes on up across country. O’Hara waits a bit to give some instructions and then goes on, and I follow. After a bit across the country, with a few “overs” flying about (“overs” are bullets which have missed their target, but which are still travelling at a high velocity), we dip down into a gully and follow its winding path for about ten minutes to the observation post, where C.R.E. and the rest of the Staff have already arrived. Bullets fairly whizzing overhead. Usher tells me to step closer to the side, which I promptly do, on account of a few bullets which are on the descent. Very interesting there. Telephone and signallers busy, and orderlies arriving and departing. A few shells scream overhead. We all have tea, and chat. Thompson looks rather ill and worried. All the time we are having tea there is a constant “ping” of bullets over the dugout. Look through observation hole and have a perfect view of yesterday’s battlefield. The Worcesters advanced and are holding their position. They are exposed to enfilading fire as well as frontal fire from the Turks, but are digging in to protect themselves. They are very near Krithia, digging on that green patch of land which we call the cricket pitch. Krithia looks very formidable the closer one gets to it. Turkish trenches are very deep, with good dugouts for sleeping and very deep, wide communication trenches. Hence we hardly ever see a Turk. Their firing-line and the sleeping dugouts are actually boarded.

_11.30 p.m._

As I turn into bed there is firing all along the line. Turkish counter-attack going on. Our casualties yesterday very heavy, but Turks’ colossal. The _Goeben_ fired over to us to-day with not much damage; shells did not reach the beach.

I hear that Colonel Williams, or General, as I have up to now been calling him on account of his having acted as Brigadier of the 88th, up to the arrival of General Doran, was wounded in yesterday’s battle. On General Doran’s arrival he went to the 2nd Hampshires, his regiment, and took command. When the moment for the infantry attack arrived, they leapt over, and in an incredibly short space of time had taken their first objective. Colonel Williams, with his Adjutant, then followed over to make his H.Q. in the newly won trench.

On inspecting it and making arrangements for the attack on the second objective, he came back to his old H.Q. to telephone the result, an orderly accompanying him. Half-way back a Turk leapt up from behind a bush, ten yards away from him, and fired his rifle, the bullet instantly killing Colonel Williams’s orderly. Colonel Williams drew his revolver, took deliberate aim, and the Turk, also taking deliberate aim, levelled his rifle at the same time. For a second an old-time duel might have been taking place, in the middle of an historic battleground, which was lately No-man’s-land. Both fire; the Turk falls dead, and Colonel Williams is wounded in the left arm. That Turk was a brave man, but I think Colonel Williams is a braver.

_June 6th, 7 a.m._

Shells come over on east side of the beach from a four-gun Turkish battery, and big stuff too, about 6-inch.

_7.30 a.m._

More arrive in middle of our camp on the west side of the battery. We take cover under a cliff. I, wanting to get down to Train office, go up a cliff and am just about to descend the steps when the shriek of one is heard, by which I could tell it is close to me. I fall flat into a hole on one side of the cliff, and it passes over the cliff and bursts on the beach, killing gunner sergeant-major. Ugh! how they shriek.