Part 14

During the morning he was pretty bad, and crying and groaning, but became quite quiet, cheerful, and confident when the doctor arrived. However, gangrene had set in, as he had been four days lying on the battlefield before he was found, and he died suddenly at twelve o’clock. A Tommy breaks the silence by saying, “Poor Alf ’as snuffed it.” We were all very quiet for a bit, after they came in and neatly rolled the body in a sheet, and, placing it on a stretcher, carried it away. But after a bit a cheerful atmosphere comes over us, and we four officers “ragged” round, the Tommies enjoying the fun. Why be morbid about death? We’ve all got to go through it. I am allowed to get up at two o’clock, and went and had tea on board the _Aragon_. This was the ship that my original Brigade Staff came out on, with the Worcesters and Hants.

The old associations that I had with the _Aragon_, through so many officers that I had become friendly with and who have now gone West, depressed me somewhat, and I was glad to leave. At every turn I am reminded of those days in April, and while walking along the upper deck I could almost see the ghosts of those cheery men who marched round and round of a morning to the music of popular airs played on a piano by a gifted Tommy.

I hear that “W” Beach was bombarded this morning. About five hundred shells came over, the heaviest bombardment the beach had ever had. The harbour and island have changed completely since I was here last; great camps, French and English, have sprung up on shore, and the harbour is full of French and English warships and transports and their attendant small craft.

_July 6th._

It is funny hearing the bugles again, and looking round the camps, one might be on one’s fourteen days’ annual training. I am very rheumaticky, but getting fit fast, but am going to be sent to Alexandria for a few days’ change. I hope to get back to the Peninsula before the 29th Division go, for I hear they are going to be relieved shortly, and I want to be with them at the end.

The 38th Brigade of the 13th Division has arrived here, and the rest of the Division is following. I think that is the Division which is going to relieve us. It is curious, because I was in that Division as Second-Lieutenant.

At five o’clock the motor ambulance comes for us, and we go down to the British Pier. They have made two piers, one for the French and one for the British, and they are the centre and hum of life all day and all night. Troops arriving, troops leaving for the Peninsula, wounded arriving back from the Peninsula and wounded being sent off, after a brief stay in the Mudros hospitals, back to the bases, either Cairo, Alexandria, Malta, or England.

And then, of course, stores and ammunition are continually being unloaded and reloaded, and all nations seem to be engaged in the work—black, brown, and white. It looks utter confusion, and yet I suppose it is not. The French seem to be much better at system than the British.

I think the Australian Hospitals are better than the British. They have first-class surgeons, and the orderlies are splendid.

The Australians are a wonderful race, and the physique of the men is splendid. Everything they do is done thoroughly. They lack discipline as we know it, yet have a discipline that is not so common with us, namely, a rotter and waster is not allowed to comfortably exist. They are an exceptionally formidable weapon, for when they fight they go on like wild men, never showing fear or attempting to go back. They perform the most extraordinary and hair-raising deeds that history can record, all the time to a flow of very sanguinary and strong language. What a superb Army! Admirable spirit; pride in their race and country and Mother Country. Cheery and merry all the time, having a very keen sense of humour.

As we came off in a pinnace, with lighters lashed on either side conveying wounded, the 38th Brigade of the 13th Division, part of the first of Kitchener’s New Army, were embarking on pinnaces and boats towed behind to go on board destroyers to be taken to the Peninsula. They were dressed in light drill khaki, with short knickers, putties, and helmets, and their packs, blankets, and ground sheet strapped to their backs, looking exceptionally smart and business-like. They are very fine men, above the average of the British Regular Tommy, and brigaded together appear to be troops of the high standard of our first line. One of course could only judge by personal appearance and the ordinary parade drill, which is as perfect as could be, but the near future will prove whether they have the fighting power of troops like the 29th Division. If so, then Britain has become the leading Military Power in the world, as well as the leading Naval Power.

We came alongside the hospital ship, the S.S. _Neuralia_, a fine boat of the British India Line. Arriving on board, we were welcomed by a nurse, and Wetherall, a Royal Scots officer, and myself were given a cabin, and after a wash we go down to dinner. Imagine our feelings when we were shown to a fine table daintily laid for dinner, waited on by Singalese dressed in white, long-skirted coats, white trousers, and curious wide-brimmed hats decorated with blue. Go to bed very early, but cannot sleep much.

_July 7th._

Got up just before 6 a.m. and found that the ship had weighed anchor. It is a beautiful morning, and the sea and green hills of Lemnos look very fresh. We pass slowly through the Fleet, which looks very formidable, yet which at present is unable to help us on our way. So out of the harbour to sea.

The past seems now like a horrid dream, as one lives idly on board in every luxury that one could have.

At times I feel a shirker, yet when a medical officer sends one off the Peninsula his orders take precedence of an order of one’s superior officer on the Active List, and once you have left you are passed on from doctor to doctor and clearing station to hospital, and one’s future remains in the Medical Authorities’ hands.

Personally I am feeling much better, the fainting feeling having left, and the rheumatism nearly so. But war is so horrible that I wish it was all over. I’ve seen more of the horrible side than some of those in the fire-trenches, who sit comparatively safely there until the attack (this only applies to the unique situation in Gallipoli), and then with one objective in mind, namely to get another trench in front, they leap out and charge.

Most of them say the feeling is exhilarating and glorious, and those of the slightly wounded say they felt, when wounded while running on cheering, as if some one suddenly hit them with a hot stick. However, the risk I have run is not nearly so great as infantry run; but in future give me gunnery every time, they having the most thrilling and interesting work to do of any branch of the Service. However, let us hope our future will not hold war and its horrors in store for us.

_July 8th._

This is an ideal ship for a hospital ship, luxuriously fitted with cabins and saloons. The ship is painted white, with a red band running all round and a large red cross in the centre on either side. At night a large red cross of electric globes is illuminated, and the great ship, lit up, makes a pretty sight. We had a burial yesterday, stopping, and a great hush falling over the vessel as the body was shot over the side and fell with a big thump and splash into the sea, resting on the surface a few seconds and then slowly sinking. I thought of the words of Prince Henry in “Henry IV,” Part I: “Food for worms, brave Percy,” but the word “fishes” should be substituted for “worms.”

A great number of wounded men sleep on deck, and, by Jove! they do look glad that they are out of it for a bit, although they want to get back after a change—some of them.

All the nurses are dears, dead keen on their job. I am not wounded, so I don’t like talking to them.

The badly wounded officers are in beds in a large saloon, and one can look over a balustrade and see them. They are patient, and they stick the monotony admirably.

One fine chap, a Captain, has a lump of flesh torn from his back by a bomb, and has to lie in one position. As I pass along the gallery overlooking the ward at all hours of the day I can see him, either calmly looking at the roof, reading or dozing, and always in the same position, in which he will have to lie for weeks. Bombs make terrible wounds. My friend Cox, of the Essex, is on board. He was the officer that I saw limping back after the battle on the Wednesday after we had landed, and we have some chats together about those thrilling days. He and his officers were on the _Dongola_, from which boat we landed, and I have mentioned how they played “The Priest of the Parish.” I never want to play that game again. A good percentage of those chaps have gone now. There are only two officers in the Essex who have not been hit.

Cox has been back to the Peninsula once, but is now going to Alexandria, sick. I am nearly fit, but bored stiff, and want to get back to my job. The sea is calm and it is a lovely day, and awfully peaceful and quiet on the ship.

The stewards are very attentive; they are natives, as are also most of the crew. I always think that the nigger makes a better servant than the white man. Colonel Bruce, of the Gurkhas, is on board wounded, and has his servant with him. A ravine up the gully that he captured is now called Bruce’s Ravine. This servant at the hospital in Lemnos was allowed to sleep on the floor beside his master’s bed, and if his master stirred in his sleep, he sat up watching him intently.

We all had to go before the Medical Board this morning, a R.A.M.C. General at the head.

We had another burial to-day.

_July 9th._

We arrive at Alexandria at 6 a.m. and berth alongside about twelve. It is strange seeing the old familiar scenes again. At one o’clock a hospital train comes alongside, with all the carriages painted white with a Red Crescent on, not the Red Cross. Curious that our R.A.M.C. should use both the Red Cross and the Red Crescent! The Australian sick and wounded are taken off and sent on board this train, which leaves at three o’clock for Cairo.

At eight o’clock we go off in ambulance motor-wagons and are taken off to the German Hospital. It is a very fine hospital, now of course British, and we are put to bed and given cocoa.

One of the officers of our party is suffering from a nervous breakdown, and a brother-officer of his, an awfully decent chap, who had been wounded in the arm, takes charge of him just as one would a frightened child. In the motor-ambulance the nervous broken officer put out his hand quickly and made as if to rise, and the wounded officer with his unwounded arm linked the other arm in his with a reassuring look. I think little touches like that are very fine. In the hospital one officer is completely off his head, and has to have an orderly in attendance all day and all night. Last night he shouted out in great fear once or twice, imagining shells and Turks.

_July 10th._

It is now 9.30, and I have bathed and shaved and had breakfast, and am in bed awaiting the doctor.

They are wheeling bad cases to the dressing-rooms. A hospital is most depressing.

Went out in the afternoon and did some shopping.

_July 11th._

Very nice day. An Arab procession passes outside our hospital, headed by a band making a most infernal din. All blowing brass instruments as loudly as they can and beating drums, and all marching anyhow. Difficult at first to make out what the tune is, as it is such a discord, but on listening intently we made it out to be Sousa’s “Stars and Stripes.”

Procession consists of a whole convoy of wagons loaded with what looks like “Manchester goods.” What it is all about no one but the Arabs appears to know.

Found out afterwards they were going to a fair and they were taking goods along to sell. Went out in afternoon and called at Club. Saw Chief Padre of the Forces, Horden, and had a long chat with him.

Later saw Shuter, Captain of the H.A.C. “A” Battery. Curious running across him.

Called on Mrs. Carver at Ramleh for tea, and found several convalescent officers there and a few other people.

Lovely house and garden and hard tennis court. But give me an English garden every time.

Ramleh is very pretty, and is a very big suburb of Alexandria, stretching along by the sea. Very fine white mansions standing in lovely grounds. Also several lovely public gardens, beautifully laid out. Much more picturesque than the English public gardens. They have no railings or walls around, and consequently no entrance by gates; they simply join on and run into the neighbouring suburbs.

Passed a very fine Arab cemetery, full of magnificent mausoleums of marble which must have cost thousands.

_July 12th._

Went out in afternoon into town. Plenty of troops about. Feel fit, and so applied to go back to Peninsula, as the atmosphere in Alexandria is not unlike the feeling of being in khaki in London with all your pals at the front.

_July 14th._

Went before Registrar at twelve, and sent into convalescence. To report to-morrow morning.

_July 15th._

Left hospital.

Go down to the docks. Alexandria is a wonderful place now. Always one of the most cosmopolitan cities of the East, she has now added the responsibilities of a military base. Here, from her teeming docks, are fed the troops in Gallipoli and Mesopotamia—and here may be seen at all hours of the day and night great ships being loaded by chattering and chanting natives with food and munitions. Troopships also, swallowing up men or moving slowly out into the harbour; tugs, lighters, colliers, and the like, throng her watergates, and the quays present a vivid picture of bright colours, as the gaily dressed natives go about their work. Fussy trains puff alongside the ships and disgorge men, mules, and horses, in never-ending streams. Mountains of hay, bully beef, and biscuits are stacked along the quays, and the rattle of gear and the groaning of the great cranes fill the air with strange sounds. And above it all, the fierce sun glares down on the hot stones, and the pitiless, steely-blue Egyptian sky, inscrutable and cloudless, spreads overhead like a vast dome.

Leaving this hive of industry, I turn my steps to the Regina Palace Hotel, where I am introduced to an Italian family by Cox. Awfully jolly girls. Have some dancing. Meet Neville, of South Wales Borderers, a friend of mine in Birmingham.

Go for motor drive into the desert with Gregory.

_July 20th._

Went out in the evening with Prince Adil in his yacht, Henderson and our French friend. The Prince provided food, consisting of cold dishes, cocktails in a Thermos flask, and whiskies and sodas.

It was delightful cruising about the harbour in moonlight and skimming along the water, heeling right over when we ran before the wind.

_July 21st._

Ordered to join _Seeang-Bee_, a filthy little tramp, packed with troops. Fortunately for us, they are full up, and so I am told to go on board the _Anglo-Egyptian_, a cleaner boat. Find a draft of Gurkhas on board and a draft of Sikhs. English officers; fine lot of men. About a dozen officers all told on board. Sikhs a weird lot; now and again a mysterious chant, sung by them, comes up from the lower decks.

In the morning had quite a touching farewell at the hotel with all the Italian girls, the French children, and my little friend the Russian Cossack, aged five years, and their pretty French governess. I am getting to speak French quite well now.

_July 22nd._

We were to start last night, but owing to submarine scare we have not yet sailed.

_5 p.m._

The hospital ship _Sudan_ has just come in, and the hospital train, ambulance-lorries, and motor-cars are drawn up waiting the wounded. I have been on board and have spoken to one of the wounded officers, who tells me that there have been two battles since I left, and that we have made further advance, in the centre of our line, therefore straightening it a little, but have lost very heavily. Also he told me that the 29th Division are leaving Gallipoli, and that one Brigade is at Lemnos or Tenedos.

_6.30 p.m._

We sail, the Gurkhas and Sikhs giving their respective war-cries, something like that of the Maoris which the New Zealanders sing.

Two other boats leave at the same time, the _Alaunia_ having 6,000 troops on board. We all steer different courses on account of submarines.

_9.30 p.m._

The last post sounds, played excellently by a Gurkha, and I turn in, sleeping on deck on account of the heat. They are neat little men, these Gurkhas, something like the Japanese, dressed in wide hats, shirts overhanging the short breech, putties and black bandoliers; bayonets in black cases, and their native weapon, the kukri, in a black case.

Curiously enough, they are not British subjects at all. They are natives of Nepal, governed by the Maharajah of Nepal, and he is quite independent, except for having to pay a salt tax to China. I believe, though, that this payment has now stopped, or is about to stop. The Maharajah lends his male subjects who enlist to the British Government, and they train them as soldiers, in return having them to fight our battles when necessary.

Altogether there are about twenty battalions of 20,000 men, and since the outbreak of war the Maharajah has practically forced every able-bodied man to enlist. They are good soldiers, but absolutely lost without their white officers, for they are just like children.

_July 23rd, 9.30 a.m._

Sea rough and ship rolling. Ugh! I do feel ill.

_10.30 a.m._

Four blasts on the hooter call us all to boat drill, with life-belts.

_July 24th, 8 a.m._

We are passing Rhodes on our starboard, and are, therefore, entering the danger zone for submarines. It is reported that there are two about. No destroyer to escort us, so I suppose we are safe.

Feel much better now.

Captain Koebel, of the Queen’s, on board; friend of Parnell. Since outbreak of war he has been with Egyptian Army, now going unattached to Gallipoli for his two months’ leave. Taking his holiday by going into battle.

_7.30 p.m._

Had boat drill to-day. Gurkhas thoroughly enjoying it. Gurkha guards posted all round the ship on lookout for submarines, with orders to fire when one comes in sight. They are watching intently, and I really believe would rather appreciate the fun if one came along, so that they could show off their marksmanship. We do not arrive at Lemnos till five to-morrow afternoon, so we have still plenty of time to be torpedoed. Passing plenty of islands, but not a sign of a ship anywhere. Beautiful moonlight evening. Skipper playing chess with Captain Simpson of the Gurkhas. Other officers sitting about reading. Only fifteen officers all told—white officers of the Gurkhas and Sikhs, and a few unattached.

_July 25th._

Three months ago to-day the landing, and Achi Baba is not taken yet.

_2 p.m._

Entering Lemnos Harbour.

It is very hot now, and the water dead calm. The harbour is full of transports and warships, and on shore there are large camps in all directions.

_July 26th._

We are now moored alongside the _Seeang-Bee_, which arrived almost simultaneously with us. She has 950 troops on board, drafts, and others returning to duty. No news from Gallipoli, except that things there are much as usual. After August, I hear, the weather breaks up, so that if something is not done in August, we shall have great difficulty in landing supplies and ammunition. The outlook is far from bright. Up to date the points are with the Turk.

An officious M.L.O. comes on board, and tells each of us in as imperious a way as possible our respective destinations.

I get on to the _Seeang-Bee_, and hang about waiting. I find Morris on board, who was at the Regina Palace Hotel with me.

At six o’clock the M.L.O. comes on board again, and after arranging for our departure, casually mentions that he had heard that “W” Beach was heavily shelled last night. He almost licked his lips as he spoke. He had never even heard a gun fired himself. An R.N.D. officer tells me that he has a great desire to chuck the M.L.O. overboard. This officer is quite an interesting person; went to France in the early part of the war in the R.F.C., had a spill which laid him up for six months, and now is in charge of a Machine Gun Section in the R.N.D.

We get on board a small steamer, _Whitby Abbey_, and sail over to the _Aragon_, the L. of C. Headquarters boat. A very nice boat, the _Aragon_, fitted out with every luxury.

At eight we push off, loaded to the boat’s limit with troops, mailbags, watercarts, sand-bags, and ammunition.

We pass through the host of transports and warships that now crowd the harbour of Mudros. As we pass each warship the sailors come running to the sides and cheer and cheer. Shouts of “Are we downhearted?” etc., freely pass between us, and this inspiring demonstration is repeated enthusiastically as we pass each great ship of war. It is very nice of them. I think they feel it a bit, being bottled up at Mudros. But it is all right; we shall win, even if the war lasts ten years. Stick at your training, you British Boy Scouts!

We leave the hills of Lemnos, as we did on that memorable evening of April 24th, three months ago, just as it is getting dusk, the sun quickly setting in the sea. A full moon rises, and on a calm sea we steam north.

They provide some food for us on board, bully beef and bread, and later we lie about and try to sleep.

A very nice R.N.R. officer on board stands me a drink.

Curiously enough, I came away from the Peninsula on this boat on July 3rd, and the same man stood me a drink, though he had forgotten. I suppose he regularly stands a drink to all officers coming and going.

At twelve midnight he is called up on deck, and I go too and find that land is showing dimly in front. Dark, depressing, mysterious land of adventure, heroism, and death, and a chill feeling runs through me. It is the reaction after having a good time in Alexandria, playing soldiers with the little Italian boys and my little cropped-haired Russian Cossack and their pretty French governess. Oh, that little French governess!

The officers and men crowd to the upper deck and bows, and strain their eyes to the black outline in front. The starlights are sailing up and down in the dark background, from the Ægean to the Straits. A distant shriek is heard, followed immediately by another, and two quick flashes burst over the beach in front, followed by two sharp reports, “c-r-r-u-m-p,” and the young R.N.A.S. officers, who have been training for months, at last are within short measurement of the real game of modern warfare.

Then the land in front resumes its still mysterious outline, until, as we get close, quiet figures can be seen moving about on shore working at the unloading of lighters.

We drop anchor and are informed that we shall disembark in the early morning, and so lie down again and sleep soundly till morning.

_July 27th._

We wake at five and go on deck, and the old familiar sight of “W” Beach greets me, and I point out, to several officers who ask me, the various points of interest. At 6.20 the R.N.A.S. people are informed that they have to go back to Mudros, as they have come to the wrong place, and at seven o’clock, with Captains Nye and Koebel and Wilson, we go ashore in a wobbly lighter, which seems about to turn over in a rather rough sea, and we come alongside one of the piers.

“W” Beach had altered somewhat. Large cemented water reservoirs had been made by the Gypy Works Department on the high land near our “bivvy,” and it seems more congested and crowded than ever.