Part 27

This morning we have intermittent shelling, in twos and threes and in fits and starts. Just before lunch, while standing at the door of our dugout on the top of the cliff, I see a destroyer come right in shore, and swinging round quickly, she anchors. I see a group of Naval and Military officers on deck, who climb down the companion into a pinnace, which takes them to No. 1 Pier. I turn my glasses on to them and see that the party consists of General Birdwood, the Army Commander, an Admiral, two Naval and two Army officers. They slowly walk along the pier, and I cannot help feeling anxious for them, for Asia has put one of her beauties close to No. 1 Pier a short while before. They turn to the left and walk along the road at the foot of the cliffs. Just as they are passing immediately beneath our “bivvy,” two howitzer shells burst with a deafening report on the beach. General Birdwood never turns his head, but I notice that the two other officers following behind look anxiously over their shoulders. They go up to VIII Corps H.Q., and after lunch a conference is held. Afterwards General Birdwood sends over to the Mule-cart Corps on the high ground between “W” and “V” Beach for an old Native officer whom he has known for many years in India. He is a fine old man, and a splendid type of the loyal Native soldier. Of course, he was overcome with delight at meeting the General once more, who told him to assure all the Native drivers and their N.C.O.’s with the Mule Corps that our evacuation was a strategical move, made for the best, and not in any way to be interpreted as a disaster. The Native mind is so different from our own, and though they are as loyal as any of our troops, one feels anxious to prevent them from losing their confidence.

As a result of the conference, the progress of the stages of the evacuation must be speeded up. Personnel and animals must at all costs be dealt with first, and as the sands are running low, it will now be necessary to begin evacuating animals by day and risk the shelling. This morning the sea has been dead calm and perfect for our purpose, but the Navy say that they expect a southerly gale. We, of course, dread a southerly gale. It is a very trying and anxious time, and the shelling is now almost continuous. Certainly only a few guns are turned on to the beaches, but sufficient to upset and impede our work. Six shells may come over from the howitzers on Achi at ten, three from Asia at eleven, four from Achi at 11.30, then from twelve to one probably twenty from Achi and Asia, all on to the camps and depots in the confined space of “W” Beach. All the while casualties occur. As a contrast, the evacuations of Suvla and Anzac were child’s play to that of Helles. The Monitors are busily replying, and I think cause their guns to stop now and again. All the afternoon the beach gets shelled. Asia now and again puts some very nasty ones near our bivouac, and once we all had to take cover in two tunnels in the side of the cliff to our left, where they have been quarrying for stone. At 8 p.m. a gale springs up and the embarkation is greatly hampered. They found it impossible to embark the mules on the transport when the lighters arrived alongside. One lighter, loaded with mules, carts, and drivers, breaks away and quickly goes drifting out to sea towards Asia, becoming lost in the darkness of the night. All night we get shelled every quarter of an hour.

_January 5th._

It is very windy and the sea rough, yet the evacuation of animals proceeds by day as well as by night, regardless of whether we are seen or not. But a large number of animals will, I am afraid, have to be left, and in consequence be killed on the last day. I do not know which day “Z” day is, but I hear that it has been postponed in consequence of the rough sea. The shelling is as bad as ever on the beaches. Now, in addition to guns on Achi and on the Asiatic side opposite Morto Bay, a four-gun Turkish battery comes into position by Kum Kale and manages to reach the water’s edge of “W” Beach and “V” Beach with shrapnel, but a Monitor, quickly getting on to it, very soon silences it. No enemy gun can ever be in position on this point for long.

Asia gives us a bad time in the afternoon and puts some nasty ones near our bivouac, and again we have to take refuge in the tunnel. Monitors are busy bombarding Achi, and a cruiser with an aeroplane up spotting for her is hard at work trying to find the Asiatic gun. Enemy aeroplanes as usual make persevering endeavours to come over “W” Beach, but each time are driven off by our airmen. Our anti-aircraft guns never hit anything. The enemy aircraft now try to fly over “W” Beach by approaching it from the sea, and many an exciting chase and duel is daily witnessed between our planes and theirs, ours always holding mastery of the air.

The sea is getting calmer, and at night an odd shell comes over at intervals of half an hour or so. The lighter loaded with the mules and their drivers which broke adrift yesterday owing to the rough sea drifted fortunately on to Rabbit Islands, and her freight was picked up by a Monitor.

_January 6th._

A lovely calm morning. The shelling has quietened down considerably. I think the Monitors have been frightening the Turkish gunners somewhat. Also Asia is not worrying us, thank God! and yesterday’s bombardment from the cruiser has probably done a lot of good. The sea is like glass, and the conditions are perfect for evacuation. The same policy is being followed in getting the last troops off on “Z” night as was followed at Suvla, but quantities of material, ordnance, and R.E. stores will have to be left. The reserve ammunition in the keeps on the beaches on the last night will be blown up just before we leave.

Enemy aeroplanes are over in the morning, showing great daring and keeping our airmen very busy. The beaches are crowded with mules, wagons, and fatigue parties hard at work at loading the lighters. There is no attempt at concealing what we are doing. But the Turk does not know which night is our last, and if we can manage to keep him in ignorance, then we can get off the last night without a rearguard action being fought, for John Turk does not like leaping over the top. Our Monitors, destroyers, and two cruisers keep the Turkish artillery much quieter than they were a few days ago, though at intervals they give us a very bad time on the beaches. A large number of personnel go off, including the 29th Division Train with all their animals. Only myself, the Adjutant, and one or two other officers and a handful of men are left to stand by in case the last day is delayed and troops require food.

At present, all on shore are rationed up to next Tuesday night. All the Greeks have left.

_January 7th._

It is another beautiful morning, and the wind is in the north-east. We had some rain in the night, and in consequence the ground is rather muddy. All transport is now under the control of the VIII Corps Transport Depot. The shooting of those animals which it will not be possible to get off to-night will be begun and finished off to-morrow, and all vehicles left will be destroyed. This morning I walk up with Hyslop to D.H.Q. As we pass the Stationary Hospital we see a cluster of mules wandering about, grazing on the scanty grass that is still growing in odd patches on the plateau. We hear the whistle of a shell, which proves a very small one and a dud, and which falls in the middle of them with a “fut.” They jump about a bit, and then calmly go on smelling for grass. Soon after another follows, also a dud. Evidently the Turkish gunner who has fired is a sportsman, and has made a bet with another that he will get a bull’s-eye first shot. Soon after we hear the whine overhead of the howitzer shells, travelling seemingly to “W” Beach, fired in grim earnest and not as a sporting shot, like the two duds at the mules.

Looking at the gunnery from the Turkish gunners’ point of view, it must have been all through this campaign a sort of series of field days for them, with their guns in position on commanding heights, and with the targets nearly always open sights and on the low lands. It is fortunate for us that only lately they have been receiving regular supplies of good ammunition. If they had had the artillery that the Germans had before Ypres, twenty-four hours on any single day throughout the eight months that we have been here would have turned the campaign in favour of Turkey, and meant utter defeat and unconditional surrender for us. As we are therefore at the end of it all, and shall soon once more hand back to Turkey the remaining insignificant few acres of ground that we had captured and held after so much gallantry, endurance, and bloodshed, we must be thankful and congratulate ourselves that we are disentangled from the quagmire with our Army intact. I may have spoken too soon, but if we are as fortunate as we were at Suvla, we can disappear in a night, although the enemy knows we are going. We expect him to attack shortly to test our strength. If we hold him and inflict losses on him, that will keep him quiet for a day or so; during these days we have our great chance to evacuate without loss, and with our Army intact.

We get very heavily shelled in the afternoon, several from Asia bursting within a few yards of our office and one actually at the mouth of the tunnel, which was crowded with men taking cover. While this is going on the enemy make a concentrated bombardment on a part of our front line held by the 13th Division and a part of the 87th Brigade. It lasted continuously from 3.30 p.m. to 5.30 p.m., and caused about a hundred and fifty casualties. At the end they made half-hearted attempts to leave their trenches to attack ours, but the few small parties that had the bravery to get out into No-man’s-land were stopped dead by our machine-gun fire, and the show petered out. Now, therefore, is our chance, either to-night or to-morrow. This afternoon’s attack was probably made to test our strength, and as they suffered as much as we did, if not more, they will pause awhile before attacking again.

After this attack finished, the shelling on the beaches almost entirely ceased, and when night fell I was able in peace to start a job which proved very tedious, namely of putting up rations, ammunition, and water in petrol-cans into a dugout on “W” Beach, where it would be useful in case of a rearguard action. The filling of the petrol-cans is the tedious part of the job, the cans having to be let down by a rope into the reservoir, which lies twenty yards from our dugout on the top of the cliff. While I am in the middle of this job, an order from VIII Corps H.Q. comes that I am to leave with all the A.S.C. details to-night. As I have already received an order from D.H.Q. to go off to-morrow night, I reply that I am sending the men with the remaining officers and am going with D.H.Q. to-morrow. I get two gallons of water, some bully, biscuits, and cheese put in my dugout. I send all my kit off with my servant, who places some hay on the floor for my bed for this, my last night, and go back to finish the job I am on. To-morrow will be monotonous, waiting for the evening with nothing to do; but I have a good book to read and plenty of tobacco, and the day will soon pass. I am to go off at 6 p.m.

At 10 p.m. a written order comes down from VIII Corps that I am to go off to-night with the others, for to-morrow is “Z” night, and the beaches must be cleared as far as possible of non-combatant details. I go to VIII Corps Signals and telephone D.H.Q., who say I can go. I finish the job of putting the water in cans in the keep at twelve midnight and go back to my dugout. All have left except five men. Two of them landed with me on “W” Beach on the first day.

_January 8th._

It is now the beginning of “Z” day, and we three stand on “W” Beach waiting orders to go on No. 1 Pier. As we stand in the heavy sand, my thoughts immediately go back to the night of April 25th, where in the same place as I am now standing we were labouring carrying boxes of supplies up the beach. I feel as if I have gone round in a complete circle. That is what has happened with the Gallipoli Campaign: it has indeed gone round in a complete circle.

The beach is alive with troops, and animals are being feverishly embarked. About two hundred have been shot to-night, though, and some men actually cried as they performed that horrid task. Fortunately there is little shelling. One now and again bursts on the high ground of the beach.

An M.L.O. comes along the pier and instructs us to file along on board. We pass up the pier, up a gangway, over one of the sunken ships, and on to a small ship moored on the further side. The five N.C.O.’s go to their quarters and I go to the wardroom, where my name and particulars of my command (strength numbering five) are taken. And then I have a whisky and soda and a cigar.

Phew! the relief. “W” Beach the last few weeks!... Let’s forget about it!

_2.30 a.m._

The ship is now nearly full up with troops, and an officer comes in to say we are off. I go up on deck and find that they are just weighing anchor. It is tricky work getting a ship away from improvised piers. The captain is the same Naval officer who used to command the _Whitby Abbey_, which took me to Lemnos and back in July last. To-morrow night will be his last trip to Gallipoli.

At last, after a lot of manœuvring, he shouts from the bridge “All clear aft?” and a voice answers, “Aye, aye, sir,” then “Full steam ahead,” and we swing round and head out to sea. I watch the lights on shore gradually disappear. One I notice by VIII Corps H.Q., being at the top of a post, flickers out and on as regularly as the ticking of a clock. What it meant I don’t know. I have noticed it before during the past few days. Asia fires to “V” Beach, and Achi sends a couple which burst on the high ground at the back of “W” Beach. The lights and the outskirts of the shore disappear. I still see the starlights sailing in the darkness of the night. These soon disappear. For me the adventures of Gallipoli are no longer realities, but bad memories, and I turn into the wardroom to sleep.

_8 a.m._

We enter Mudros Harbour, chockfull of warships and transports, those on board leaning over the side and watching us with interest.

Eight and a half months have passed since those days in April before the landing, and the scenes are almost the same to-day. It seems eight and a half years ago.

I go ashore and meet a friend at one of the Supply depots, who makes me a guest of the mess. We have a cheery evening.

_January 9th._

We hear the good news that the evacuation went off splendidly. It was a perfect day. The beaches were shelled as usual at intervals by day, but our Monitors, destroyers and two cruisers kept their fire under. The Turks apparently appeared to have expended their energies on the 7th, and kept quiet. The programme followed at Suvla was followed at Helles. At 6 p.m. the final stage of getting the men off was started, and they were rapidly shipped immediately as they arrived at the forming-up posts. The beaches were shelled fitfully, and casualties in consequence occurred, but they can only be put down as normal casualties which have been daily occurring through the enemy artillery activity.

The last parties in the line were got away by the same procedure as was followed at Suvla, passing down the roads, their passage being telephoned to the beaches by the officers on duty at the gates. So well managed was it that it was found possible to get many troops off in advance of the scheduled time of departure.

D.H.Q. embarked by motor-launch on to H.M.S. _Prince George_. An enemy submarine was about and discharged a torpedo at the _Prince George_, but by wonderful luck it failed to explode, but shook the ship from bow to stern.

At 2.30 a.m. all men had gone; only animals were left and vehicles, and I think some animals were left to fall into the Turks’ hands alive.

_January 10th._

Go on board the _Scotian_ with D.H.Q. 29th Division and part of the 29th Division.

_January 11th._

Leave Mudros Harbour at eight. Day fine, and comfortable boat. Troops in good spirits. Boat drill at 10.30 a.m. Submarine lookout all round ship. Boat drill at 4 p.m. Three spy prisoners on board—two Greeks and one other. One Greek sitting in corner of deck telling his beads all the time. The others walk up and down looking very serious. Serious cases, and things look very black for them.

_January 12th._

Beautiful day. Zigzagging a lot to avoid submarines. Doing fifteen knots. Steer east in morning towards Palestine. Afternoon, head for Alexandria with a zigzagging course.

_January 13th._

Arrive Alexandria Harbour at six o’clock in the morning. Arabs come on board and sell papers. Have a curiously delightful feeling of homecoming. Alexandria seems just like home now, after all those months in Gallipoli. Harbour full of troopships. Go into the town in the afternoon. Delightful walking about the shops and civilization again. Send cable home. Back on ship again for dinner.

_8.30 p.m._

Embark on troop train. Cattle trucks mostly. I sleep with Grant and Firth, Divisional Signal Officer, in luggage van. Damned uncomfortable journey.

_January 14th._

We arrive at a junction at 9 a.m., and hear that an engine is off the line at the next station. Broken-down, dirty Arab village just opposite, and an oasis. Nothing else but sandy desert. Wait all day and have to wire for rations. New Zealand A.S.C. comes to our rescue with supplies. Issue same to troops on our train and also to another troop train behind us, with troops on board from Ypres. Troops amuse themselves with football in the afternoon, much to the natives’ interest. Arab boys now and again join in, causing amusement. Eight o’clock in the evening we get up a smoking concert on the side of the line. I have been to some curious smoking concerts during the war, but this one (now on) will live in my memory. Desert, moonlight, troop trains lit up, a bit of a fire, and around, Tommies fresh from Gallipoli enjoying the fun to the full. What a nation! We never had a chance at Gallipoli. Let’s forget about it.

_10 p.m._

“God save the King” sung, and then off to bed!

_January 15th._

Woke up at twelve midnight; ration train arrives with rations for to-morrow, in case we cannot get on.

_2 a.m._

Train ordered to move. Get up and load rations on to the train. Arrive Suez 10 a.m., and go on to New Camp. For last hour I did a bit of stoking on engine. Rather unique, stoking an engine in an Egyptian desert. Arrive at a large camp, the largest that I have ever been into. Tents everywhere, laid out in perfect order. Coolies, Arabs, and Hindus unloading stores from trains, which arrive at frequent intervals on the single line running through the camp.

EPILOGUE

_January 20th._

Finds me in camp with a tent to myself and things working smoothly; everything, as far as humanly possible, is ready for any eventuality, and the Turk, if he tries any tricks, will get his knuckles badly rapped. The K.O.S.B.’s go by to the wild, inspiring strains of the pipes. Everything is bustle—trains shunting, stores coming up, horsemen and guns moving into position, and there is an air of expectancy over everything. And so these random notes come to an end. I am back in camp with the horrors of the Peninsula left behind me for ever. Of those who sailed from England so lightheartedly in March, few are left, but those that remain are attached to each other by invisible fetters. Those strange months—dull and exciting, tragic and humorous, spent under the eye of the enemy on an alien shore—form a common bond between us. All of us now know the full meaning of Life, and all of us have walked, not once, but many times, with Death on the grim Peninsula. We have been beaten—not so much by the enemy as by climatic and geographical conditions; but beaten we are, and nothing remains but to accept defeat like sportsmen.

INDEX

“A” Battery, 256

“A” Beach, 205

A.S.C., difficulties of, 107, 130, 200, 311

_Abercrombie_, H.M.S., 146, 186

Achi Baba, 45, 58, 68, 72, 73, 77; aeroplanes over, 79, 81, 83, 97; shells on, 120, 158; bombardment from, 179

Addison, killed, 48

Aeroplane, French, falls in sea, 130; English, falls in sea, 177; down on Salt Lake, 246

_Agamemnon_, H.M.S., attacked, 101

_Alaunia_, S.S., 169

_Albion_, H.M.S., 119

Alexandria, arrival at, 24; German liners at, 25; description of, 25; in hospital at, 165; return to, 323

Anafarta, 189, 204

_Anglo-Egyptian_, S.S., 168

Anzac, 187, 202; strafe at, 241

_Aragon_, S.S., 26, 27, 161, 171, 298

_Arcadian_, S.S., 23, 27, 50, 60, 73

Armstrong, Captain, 264

Ashmead-Bartlett, 87

Asia, coast of, 70; shelled from, 129; heavy shelling from, 135

“Asiatic Annie,” 130, 131, 139

_Askold_, 28, 29, 31, 81, 126

_Aucania_, S.S., 29

Australians, 78, 79, 96, 156, 162, 204; Engineers, 213

B9, H.M.S., visited, 116

B10, H.M.S., visited, 127

“B” Beach, 204

Bailey, Major, 273, 294

Baker, Sir Randolph, wounded, 244

Bakery, 102

Balfour, invalided, 177

Barlow, Major, 69; wounded, 77

Baxter, Quartermaster, 224

Bayfield, Captain, 27

Beadon, Colonel, 55, 56, 59

Beckwith, Major, 132

Beetleheimer, 119

Birch, Lieutenant, 139

Birdwood, General, 315

Blackburn, Major, 199

Blizzard, the great, 272

Boomerang Fort, 146; captured, 148

Bray, 209

Brock, 157

Bruce, Colonel, 165

Bruce’s Ravine, 197

Burnt Hill, 204; taken and retaken, 211

Bush, Captain, 92; killed, 122

Butler, Lieutenant, 220

Byng, General, 282

“C” Beach, 203; badly shelled, 268

_Canopus_, H.M.S., 247, 261

Carrington-Smith, Colonel, 47, 48

Carver, 43, 54, 73, 75, 136, 212, 225

Castra, 220

Casualties, 156; on beach, 242, 245

Cayley, Colonel, 129, 134; Brigadier-General, 176; narrow escape of, 242, 263, 274, 282

Chanak searchlight, 64

Chocolate Hill, 202, 204, 206, 211

Christmas Day, 307

Church Farm, 89, 91

“Clapham Junction,” 90, 145, 312

Collier, Major, 177; leaves, 235

Cooke, joins, 235

Cooper, 38

Costaker, Major, killed, 47

Cox, 53, 165, 205

D’Amade, General, 26, 27, 50, 61, 80; goes home, 95

Dardanelles, climate of, 17

Davidson, Lieutenant, 47

Davy, 55, 136

de Lisle, General, 191; nearly hit, 264, 298

Dent, 125

Destroyers, Turkish, sunk, 96

De Tott’s Battery, 139

_Dongola_, S.S., 28, 35

Doran, General, 114, 117, 119; returns to England, 129

Drabis, 288

Dublin Fusiliers, 29, 45, 97, 257

Duff, 79, 192

Dugout, on fire, 269

Edey, 173

Eighth Corps Gully, new camp at, 266

Eighty-eighth Brigade, 27, 74, 77, 206

Eighty-seventh Brigade, 67, 206

Eighty-sixth Brigade, 29, 77

Ekin, Colonel, 243

Elphinstone, Louis, 261

Enver Pasha, 253

Essex Regiment, 28, 30

Evans, Sergeant, 73, 75

Farmer, Captain, 149; invalided, 177

Festin, Captain, 75

Findlay, 176

Flies, 102

Foley, Lieutenant, 38, 39, 43, 67, 136

Ford, Quartermaster, 55

Fraser, Major, 250

French battleship attacked, 106

Frew, R.A.M.C., 258

Fulford, 176

Fuller, Colonel, 243, 274

Furniture, 262

Gaba Tepe, Australians attacked at, 96, 202

Gale, heavy, 150, 249

Geddes, 191

Gee, Captain, 280

Geoffrey-Faussett, Colonel, killed, 68

Gibbon, Major, 43, 60, 192

Gibraltar Hill, 259

_Glory_, H.M.S., 242, 247

Gloucester Yeomanry, 203

_Goeben_, 123

Golden Horn, the, frozen, 20

_Goliath_, H.M.S., 81; torpedoed, 84

Gostling, 47

Grant, 286

Gregory, 83, 95

Grogan, 55

Gully Beach, 98

Gun Hill, visited, 250

Gurkha Beach, 98

Gurkha Bluff, 95

Gurkhas, 69, 82, 83, 89, 95, 169, 204

Gwendy, killed, 173

Hadow, Captain, 213, 226; Major, 237

Hamilton, Sir Ian, exhortation of, 29; reported leaving, 248

Hampshire Regiment, 26, 45, 193

Harding, Quartermaster, 143