Part 16

Ammunition ship with an evidently damned fool of a captain comes in at two o’clock in broad daylight, and of course gets shelled. Pretty good shooting on part of Mr. Turk, and ship gets several narrow shaves. The vessel then backs out towards two hospital ships, and these of course get nearly hit, one shell going right over one of them. The ship finally gets away after being clumsily handled; but it is bad form to back near a hospital ship. The hospital ships lie off here night and day, well within range of the Turkish batteries, which never fire on them unless a supply or ammunition ship goes near.

_2 o’clock._

A heavy bombardment on our part has started. We have again begun to hammer at the doors of the Dardanelles. The sound is not unlike thousands of men beating big drums, with thousands of trains running through tunnels. The bombardment is heavier than anything previous, and is concentrated on our left centre in front of Krithia. A few French batteries are joining in, and all the British and two Monitors, the _Raglan_ and the _Abercrombie_, and a light cruiser, with several destroyers, open fire as well.

The 14-inch guns of the Monitors make an ear-splitting row when they fire, and the bursting shell throws up a column of smoke and dust quite 300 feet into the air. One was plumping them in and about Krithia, and the other on the west ridge of Achi Baba.

A field battery of the Turks opens fire on one of the Monitors just off where we are sitting, and we are rather amused at their efforts; yet imagine our surprise when one of their shells actually hits the Monitor, the _Raglan_, without doing any more damage than denting her a little, at least as far as we can see. We hear the sound of the shell hitting her armour.

An accident which might have proved serious occurs shortly after. The Monitor fired one of her guns, and almost simultaneously the other gun, which is depressed, fires, and the shell strikes the water, then ricochets off on to Gully Beach, exploding, killing one man and wounding six.

The bombardment died down somewhat at four, and increased its range, and then there burst out the undertone of rifle fire, sounding like hundreds of carts rolling over cobbled stones, with the spasmodic pop-pops of the machine guns. Later we catch glimpses of little khaki figures charging towards Turkish trenches in front of Krithia. All this time Krithia is getting fair hell from our guns. At six, firing dies down to spasmodic gun and rifle fire.

At the time of writing I hear that my Brigade, the 88th, have distinguished themselves, especially the Essex, and that two lines of trenches have been captured.

At dusk the destroyers, Monitors and the cruisers have gone home, and the aeroplanes to roost.

During the fight I notice lots of shrapnel shells bursting behind Anzac, so no doubt the Australians and New Zealanders are fighting as well. And in the distance, though it is difficult to see, I saw several white puffs of shrapnel bursting.

It is now a cool evening, with a bit of a wind, and spasmodic firing is going on inland.

Saw Finlay in evening and then turned in.

_August 7th._

Up at six a.m. and ride out towards Brigade H.Q., but the Turks have started to heavily bombard our lines, and we are replying, so I postpone my visit, for Pink Farm and the Krithia road are getting it badly.

At 9 a.m., Monitors, destroyers, and cruisers come and join in the bombardment, which continues all the morning.

At 2 p.m. I ride up with Phillips to Pink Farm, and leaving our horses, we walk up the communication trench to Brigade H.Q. Bullets very free overhead, and we keep our heads low. R.M.L.I. going up to the trenches. Some of them look quite young boys, and all look hot and tired and serious.

I find the Brigade have gone back to Gully Beach. We were badly cut up in yesterday’s battle. Day and Black have gone, good pals of mine, both killed. This is the most horrible side of war. They were so merry and bright along the beach a few days ago. It seems that all the best go.

Come back to Pink Farm, passing Jennings going up. Turkish attack starts, and our artillery gets on to them, but they still come on determinedly, and seem very cocksure of themselves.

Ride over to Gully Beach and see remnants of the Brigade along cliffs again. What a change to two days ago! Tommies cooking their meals, talking over yesterday’s battle and pals that have been killed. I look for Day and Black instinctively, but of course in vain. The beach looks blank and depressing. Algy Wood is still there, however; wonderful man, been through everything and not been hit, and thank God for it. Poor old 88th!

Come back to “W” Beach and find them shelling us, just to show us they are still very much alive.

Hear that another landing has taken place, and was successful, at Suvla Bay.

Artillery duels and rifle fire still continue. Destroyers make a dash up Straits as far as just above De Tott’s Battery, and have a bit of a duel with land batteries. Shrapnel playing all over them.

I think fighting will go on steadily here now with no more delay, for it is vital to the Allies that the Dardanelles be forced, and when they are forced, good-bye to Turk, and Germany look out! We have got to get all our own back—and more.

_8 p.m._

Very heavy rifle fire opens, and Turkish attack takes place. Just what we want; they might just as well run their heads against a brick wall, but no doubt they think that they will eventually break through our line and round us up, or drive us into the sea.

_August 8th._

Rather a stormy day. Not much shelling on “W” Beach.

One can see plainly through glasses where the new landing has taken place; hospital ships, transports, destroyers, and three battleships are off there. Rumour hath it that the landing was successful, and that they are advancing across the Peninsula. Heavy firing goes on all day from batteries on shore and warships on sea, answered but feebly by Turkish batteries, which, however, do not fail to pay their usual unwelcome attention to “W” Beach.

A Turkish battleship, on the way down here to support land forces, was sunk to-day by one of our submarines, which is a great event.

Heavy artillery fire goes on to-night on our left.

_August 9th._

Usual shelling, and some nasty ones amongst them.

Ride up the gully and have a good gallop on a new little horse with Williams.

_Afternoon._

Can see new landing through glasses. Gorse there seems on fire. Transports very busy going to and fro on horizon.

Ride up the gully along the top road at night with Cooke, and have a chat with a few Irish R.A.M.C. pals.

Artillery duels on our front all day. Hear that in addition to Turkish battleship being sunk, also Turkish gunboat and empty transport. Submarine also opened fire on Turkish battalions marching on shore. Our submarine commanders are “some” lads.

Heavy firing from battleships goes on all night up north. Good rumours come in from time to time that the new landing forces have captured the hills in front of them and Anafarta, and are overlooking the Straits the other side. If this is so, then this show will be over in a few weeks.

_August 10th._

Very quiet on this front, but a little shelling as usual on to “W” Beach. Went up the gully in the afternoon. Brigade still in rest there. Shells come over to Gully Beach.

Cruiser firing up coast again. Turks attack at 8 p.m., and again at 11.30 p.m.

_August 11th._

Slight intermittent shelling on beaches and roads from Turks all day.

_Afternoon._

French battleship _Saint-Louis_ takes up position off our part of the coast, but before she fires, Turkish batteries open fire on her and one shell hits her, and through glasses I see something catching fire and men running. Fire extinguished. Battleship manœuvres for fresh position, and having taken it up, fires with all her 6-inch guns on west of Achi Baba. All the while heavy fighting is going on, on our right, by French.

New landing has now linked hands with Anzac, and is three and a half miles inland.

Our troops at the new landing are not moving as fast as was at first expected, but reports are that Kitchener’s Army are fighting magnificently.

The Indian Brigade unfortunately had to give ground last night, but not of much consequence.

I semaphore a message from the beach to McArthur on a submarine, and submarine smartly picks it up and acknowledges. It is from a lady friend, from whom I have just received a letter, to a friend of McArthur’s.

On the way back a shell comes near; goes right through the roof of D.A.Q.M.G.’s office as I was passing, and penetrates the earth wall on far side while D.A.Q.M.G. is writing at his desk. It did not explode, and he was most fortunately unhurt. Afterwards, he said that he dropped his pencil with surprise.

_August 12th._

A fairly quiet day. Rode with Hyslop to the gully. Hardly any shelling on “W” Beach, and what shells did come over were only “poop-squeaks,” the majority not bursting. I suppose the Turks are taking the artillery away from here to positions against our men at Suvla. Aeroplanes buzzing about as usual this end, and one of the “E” type submarines comes down from the Straits. But the Navy keeps things dark, and since the last submarine stunt we have heard nothing.

Destroyers off “W” coast find a target on west ridge of the hill. Findlay-Smith comes to dinner.

_August 13th._

Very hot, and a calm sea. Not much shelling, but a few “poop-squeaks” fall in Supply depot; one man wounded. Shelling seems to be dying away.

Rode to the gully to Cregan. On duty at depot in the afternoon.

Fighting last night in centre and again this morning. Noticed very big explosions in Turkish trenches on their right, throwing earth and smoke quite 300 feet. On inquiry found that they were our trench mortars at work, throwing 100 lb. shells. That will shake things up a bit.

Very quiet night.

_August 14th._

On duty at depot at 6 a.m. Very quiet, no shelling. Wonderfully quiet altogether now: hardly a rifleshot.

Rode up to the Gully Beach, and then rode out with Mathias to Pink Farm and walked up the trench to Brigade H.Q. Hardly a shell, and only a few bullets. What is happening? Anyway, it is nice for us, and it is a relief to be able to ride about in safety.

Found Way at H.Q., and also saw Thomson once more. Was very glad to see him. Rode with Way back to the gully, passing old Butler asleep under a tree. Told him that a shell would soon pitch on his “tummy”; to which he replied, “It is all right: the Turks think I’m a mule.”

Call on Munster Fusiliers beyond Gully Beach in dugouts on cliff, half way to Shrapnel Point, and have tea with Geddes and Nightingale. We passed General de Lisle superintending the building of a new pier off Gully Beach.

Have a nice canter home. After dinner a Turkish four-gun battery on Asiatic side fires over a salvo of high explosives, followed by another and another in quick succession. It was a surprise to us, but did not last long, as our friends the Monitors got on to them, on which I suppose they limbered up and bolted. I hope they will not do it in the middle of the night. The shells burst in the Arabs’ camp beyond the aerodrome, causing them to clear, making a row like a panic-stricken poultry yard.

No news from the north.

_10.30 p.m._

Turkish battery at Yen-i-Shehr again starts firing salvos, very rapidly, and shells, four at a time, come over in succession. Shells almost reach “W” Beach, and, anticipating their arrival near us, Phillips and I curse, and have to get up and leave our tent and go to dugout. Suddenly a great flash over the sky behind Rabbit Island is noticed, and shortly afterwards a great bursting flame behind Yen-i-Shehr. A very awe-inspiring sight. After quite a pause, there follows a great peal of thunder—rumbling on—which ends with a great crash. This happens once or twice, when the Turkish battery shuts up.

It is the Monitor behind Rabbit Island firing its great gun. The whole incident was like a few naughty boys throwing stones at a house, the owner of which telephones to the police (the Monitor behind Rabbit Island), who without delay take effective measures to stop the nuisance. It was really nothing more than a nuisance, and gained no military advantage for the Turk.

_August 15th._

A very windy day, almost a Gallipoli gale blowing down land, and in consequence dust-storms start as usual.

Two guns on Achi start firing towards our tents. Why? Lord knows, for there is nothing here to fire at but our tents, and those can’t be seen by them. They do no harm, but are a beastly nuisance, as we keep on having to duck. The wind is so strong that we do not hear them coming till they are right on to us.

After lunch I ride along the top road with Carver, and dipping down on to Gully Beach, ride up the gully a little way, and turn off to the left into a ravine, where we leave our horses. Climbing up the cliffs, we call at the mess of Major Gibbon’s battery, where tea is awaiting in a delightful summer-house surrounded with rocks and shrubbery. Duff is there, and Monro too. The battery is in position a few yards away in an artfully hidden spot, never as yet having been discovered by the enemy. Out to sea a small cruiser is in action, firing on a target on the left of Achi Baba. A Turkish battery on the extreme right is in action against her, recording a few hits, without causing much damage, but making it necessary for the cruiser to manœuvre constantly for a fresh position.

Heavy firing occurs in the night, and the enemy strongly attack the Anzacs, with no success.

_August 16th._

Having been invited to breakfast with the Hampshires, who are up the line, I ride up to the nullah in front of Pink Farm and leave my horse there, where he is given his breakfast. On arrival at the Brigade H.Q. at the end of the long trench—or the mule-track, as we now call it—I am given a guide of the Royal Scots, who, however, has difficulty in finding the battalion H.Q. We wander about awhile before we reach our destination, reminding me of an endeavour to thread a way through Hampton Court maze. Up one long winding trench my guide puzzles me somewhat by the remark, “‘B’ trench, sir, but not a bee-line.” At first I am puzzled as to what he is driving at, but gradually it dawns on me that he is cracking with difficulty an obtuse Scottish joke, occasioned by the long winding walk up the trench, which I notice is called “B” Communication Trench.

Battalion H.Q. found at last. I have an excellent breakfast of hot cocoa, sardines, bread and jam, and at the end of the meal I am taken up to do a tour of the line. First we make a visit to the battalion H.Q. of the Essex, where I see Algy Wood and Colonel Rice; then I am shown the cookhouse of the Hampshires. Owing to a curiously small and deep ravine, it has not been found necessary to dig trenches here. Instead, communication trenches lead off from the small nullah, only a hundred and fifty yards away from our front line, in five different directions, like streets leading off from a circus. We pass up that part of the communication trench leading to the line which the Hampshires are holding. On arrival here I am greeted with a wave of sickening odour, a blend of decaying bodies and chloride of lime. The scene in the first-line trench is alive with interest; there officers and men are on the alert. Every four yards men are standing on the fire-steps looking out through periscopes, held in their hands or fixed to rifles. Others are cleaning up the floors or sides of the trench, as the parlour-maid would the room of a house. Others are improving parapets, levelling the sides and floors of the trench. A few are still at breakfast—one I noticed consisting of two fried eggs, a piece of steak, bread and honey, and hot tea.

I am taken up a sap by one of the officers on duty in the front line, a cheery young man named Moore, who has recently won the V.C. At the sap-head, looking through a periscope, I see not fifty yards away in front a sap-head jutting out from a Turkish trench. Turning the periscope round from left to right, I see a sight which fills me with sorrow. I see lying in all postures—some alone, some in groups of three to six—the dead bodies of brave British Tommies, who a fortnight ago were alive and well, merry and bright, enjoying the bathing off Gully Beach. They had lost their lives in the battle of August 6th, and had never even had the satisfaction of reaching Turkish territory. After the battle our positions in the “H” trenches (as this part of the line is termed) remained unchanged from what they were before; but hundreds of brave men had gone forth from there never to return, and I am afraid few became prisoners.

The end of the sap in which I am standing is protected from enemy bombs by a roof of wire-netting. A drain pipe penetrates the earth at the end of the sap, with its mouth filled by a rolled up empty sand-bag. For my benefit this is taken out, and looking through, I see quite close to me the corpse of one of our brave fellows, blackened by exposure. Efforts will be made to recover some of these bodies as soon as opportunity allows. Looking further ahead through the pipe, I have a good view of the Turkish front line. A sentry is sitting beside the pipe, and at intervals he removes the sand-bag from the mouth, carefully looking out for any activity on the part of the Turk. I prefer to look through a periscope, and take it up once more. Not being used to them, I raise it too high, my arms appearing above the parapet. A thoughtful Tommy alongside of me gently pulls my arms down behind the cover of the sand-bags. The Turkish sniper is always on the lookout for the careless, who expose themselves even a few inches, and is often clever in getting a bull’s-eye at the first shot. However, one through the arm would be luck. What could be better than the pleasure of lunching at Ciro’s with an arm in a sling from a wound? I take a careful survey of the Turkish line, running along a gentle rise in front of me, and after a while, I notice a shovel lifted over the parapet and a spray of earth thrown over, and this happens several times. A Turk at work, probably improving his fire-step.

As I go back into the front line, I notice that at intervals we have fixed into the sand-bagged parapet iron plates, with little holes punctured in them, protected by a small shield hanging on a hinge like the shield to a keyhole. Through these holes, when necessary, our men place their rifles, firing with good protection to themselves. I am shown our catapults for throwing bombs, almost the same as the ancient weapons of Rome. Also trench mortars, funny squat cannons with short, wide, gaping mouths. Occasionally during the tour bullets come over. They “zip” over up here, and “ping” with a long ring further back over the roads behind our line. Now and again they strike our parapet, sounding like the blow of a great brick thrown with a great force. The trenches are full of flies, hot and stuffy, with ever that sickly smell of the dead and chloride of lime, but fortunately quite dry and very clean. And the men are merry and keen, and delighted to show round one who seldom enters a trench and is ignorant of the life spent there.

_Evening._

It has been very quiet during the day, but a few shells came over to “W” Beach; most of them did not explode.

_August 17th._

It is a wonderfully clear day and we can see the Asiatic side and the plains of Troy in vivid detail. Some 6-inch shells come over from Asia to “W” Beach this morning, and after lunch we receive a few more, one, very close to our bivouac, falling into the sea and throwing up a large waterspout.

_August 18th._

So far it has been a very quiet morning, not a single shell on the beach. The other day one of our machines dropped bombs on a Turkish transport in the Sea of Marmora, sinking her. One of our transports on the way to Suvla has been sunk, and nearly a thousand lives lost. Rumour now whispers that the Suvla Bay landing has not been as successful as was at first thought. But we learn that many more troops are being landed. We are still hoping for victory, which so far we have not tasted. Dismal news reaches us from Suvla. A Naval officer just returning from there informs us that we are digging in hard a line at the foot of the hills, and that the Turks are also doing likewise. Also, we must now face a winter campaign. No comment is necessary as to our feelings. We are shelled a little at night, but are too tired and bored to bother, and so go to sleep. I am still sleeping in a tent with Phillips, and if a shell does hit us clean while we are asleep it is of no consequence, for then we shan’t wake up the next morning with another awful day before us to live.

_August 19th._

Before breakfast this morning I ride up the West Coast road, my mount being fresh and lively, enjoying to the full the canter I give him up to Artillery Road. The ride along that road beats so far any ride I have ever had for enjoyment. The soft going, though it may be rather dusty; the view—the sea on the left, Imbros shrouded at her feet by blue-grey mist, the sound of the waves gently lapping the shore on the road below; the view in front, of stately and formidable Achi Baba and of the mountains of Asia, with now and again a glimpse of the blue waters of the Dardanelles on the right. All is quiet; I might be miles from war, and yet I am in the centre of war on a large scale, concentrated in an area that would be lost on Salisbury Plain. To obtain an idea of on how large a scale the war on this little tip of land is, as far as fighting is concerned, one has only to compare our casualties here up to now with those of the South African War. And now we have Suvla Bay, where six Divisions are on shore.

Passing the road leading down to Gully Beach, my horse shies badly as two 60-pounders in action on the cliff overlooking the beach fire over our heads. These 60-pounders have moved forward from their original position on the cliff by the beach, much to our satisfaction, for they were too near our bivouac, and a 60-pounder is a noisy toy.

I ride down from Artillery Road, and turning to the right, ride up the foot of the beautiful gully, now more honeycombed than ever with dugouts and terraces and flights of steps. Leaving my horse at a small camp near Bruce’s Ravine—named after the gallant Colonel of the Gurkhas, who sailed on the same hospital ship in which I went to Alexandria in July, because of the gallant and victorious fight the Gurkhas made for the capture of Gurkha Bluff, in the early days—I walk up this ravine, used as a mule-track, to the trenches up on the high ground on the left of the gully, forming the extreme left of our line. And after a short walk through a series of trenches forming our support line, I turn down a communication trench, which after a while brings me out on to a long and wide terrace overlooking “Y” Beach. “Y” Beach was the scene of a terrible fight between the K.O.S.B.’s and the enemy on April 25th, in which the K.O.S.B.’s were successful in effecting a landing, only to evacuate a day after. But how they landed there at all is a feat to be marvelled at, for the beach can hardly be called a beach. It is a narrow ravine, widening slightly at the water’s edge to a width of not more than a hundred yards, and flanked by steep, almost precipitous gorse-covered slopes to a height of 150 feet. Troops attempting to land on such a beach from small open boats could not be expected to even reach the shore; yet by the night these Scotsmen had conquered the heights and penetrated inshore. But their position was too precarious, and it was a wise move to order them to evacuate.