CHAPTER VI

THE 10TH IRISH DIVISION IN GALLIPOLI

LANDING AT SUVLA BAY, AND CAPTURE OF CHOCOLATE HILL

At the dawn of Saturday morning, August 7th, 1915, the AEgean Sea and the Gulf of Saros, to the north-west of Gallipoli, were swarming with the most variegated collection of shipping, of all sorts and conditions--transports, cruisers, torpedo-boat destroyers, trawlers, barges, ocean liners, steam pinnaces, rowing boats, and tramp steamers. A fresh landing, at Suvla Bay, had been in progress all through the night. The first great landing, on April 25th, at Sedd-el-Bahr, at the toe of the Peninsula--in which the first battalions of the Dublin and Munster Fusiliers won imperishable renown--had secured a foothold in Gallipoli, but the hills and forts which guarded the passage up the Dardanelles to Constantinople, on the east, were still held by the Turks. Now a new and stupendous effort was about to be made to break the enemy's grip on the Peninsula.

The date, August 7th, 1915, should be ever memorable in the history of Ireland, and also in that of the whole United Kingdom. On that day a Division of the New Armies raised for the war--"Kitchener's Armies," as they are popularly called--was brought under fire for the first time, and collectively engaged in battle. These citizen soldiers were Irish. Irish professional soldiers have always fought most gallantly for England in all her wars. But on that day, for the first time in the long and embittered relations between England and Ireland, a distinctively Irish Division (the 10th), voluntarily raised in Ireland and composed of 20,000 young men of fine character and high purpose, representative particularly of the Nationalist and Catholic sections of the community, were found on the side of England.

The 10th Irish Division was formed in the autumn and winter months of 1914. They left Ireland at the end of April, 1915, to complete their training in the great camp of Aldershot. At the end of June they embarked from England as part of the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force. On Friday evening, August 6th, they parted from the olive groves and vineyards of beautiful islands in the AEgean, off the coast of Asia Minor, where they had been stationed a couple of weeks, and were brought up to Gallipoli. Here, then, were clerks from offices and counting houses, assistants from drapery and grocery shops, civil servants, public school boys, artisans, labourers, farm hands--a heterogeneous collection of youths from all walks in life--and officered chiefly by barristers, solicitors, engineers, and University students, who had only been a few months in training, and who before this call to arms suddenly rang through the Empire, seemed destined for peaceful and secure careers in civil life. Now, within a few hours of hearing, for the first time in their lives, a shot fired in anger, they were to be plunged right into the fiery and bloody whirlpool of war.

Gallipoli, as it looked from the decks of the troopships, even in the wonderful dawn of that August Saturday morning, had a mysterious and sinister appearance. The men saw yellow clayey cliffs, rising almost sheer from intensely blue water, and beyond these a huddle of pointed and desolate hills, to which no access seemed visible. To their right they could see Achi Baba--a head and shoulders, with two arms extending on each side to the sea--dominating the end of the Peninsula, like a Chinese idol, inscrutable, and disdainful of the shells from the battleships which raised clouds of smoke and dust about its face. The general objective of all the troops engaged in this new enterprise--English, Scotch, and Welsh Territorials, as well as the Irish Division of the new Armies--was the capture of the Anafarta Hills, a network of ravines and jungles to the north of the high mountain of Sari Bair, the key of the situation in this upper part of the Peninsula. The Australians, New Zealanders, and Maoris had been attacking Sari Bair since dark on Friday night, from their position at Anzac, lower down the Peninsula.

The 10th Division was wholly Irish, save for one English battalion, the 10th Hampshire Regiment. The 29th Brigade, composed of the 5th Connaught Rangers, 6th Leinsters, 6th Irish Rifles, and the 10th Hampshires, was detached from the Division, and landed at Anzac, to co-operate with the Dominion Forces. But the other two Brigades were entirely Irish. These were the 30th, consisting of the 6th and 7th Dublin Fusiliers, 6th and 7th Munster Fusiliers; and the 31st, consisting of the 5th and 6th Inniskilling Fusiliers, and the 5th and 6th Irish Fusiliers. In addition, there was the Pioneer Regiment, the 5th Royal Irish Regiment (Colonel, the Earl of Granard, K.P.), the purpose of which was to facilitate the progress of the troops by removing obstructions, but which also took part in the fighting. These two Brigades had orders to clear the Turks out of the heights of Karakol Dagh, a long ridge fronting the Gulf of Saros, to the north; and to take a particular hill a few miles to the south, about three or four miles inland from Suvla Bay. This hill is known to the Turks as Yilghin Burnu. It was called Chocolate Hill by the invading army as part of its surface had been burnt a dull brown by shell fire. The Division was under the command of General Sir Bryan Mahon, a Galway man, who saw much service in Egypt and the Soudan, and in the South African War led the column which relieved Mafeking.

In a way, it is a pity that things were not so arranged as to have brought these unseasoned and unhardened Irish troops gradually to the great and searching test of war, that they were not afforded the opportunity of feeling the land of the foe under their feet, and becoming somewhat familiar with its extraordinary geographical conditions and climate, before they had to rush into battle. In warfare all that depends, usually, upon unforeseen circumstances, and the chance disposition of the forces. But it may have happened by special direction in this case; and, if so, it was a compliment to the 10th Division. "It is true they are new and untried, but they are Irish," it was probably said at Headquarters, "and being Irish, they may be relied upon, however hard and tough their job." In any case, both Brigades were successful in the enterprises to which they were set.

The disembarkation was carried out under fire from the Turkish batteries on the hills. The men were taken from the transports in steam-driven barges, and though the barges had sheltering sides of steel, several men were killed and wounded by exploding shells even before they reached the shore. Half of the 30th Brigade, consisting of the two battalions of the Munsters, to whom was allotted the task of capturing Karakol Dagh, were landed to the north of Suvla Bay, just under the ridge. "How I wish that their fathers and mothers could know more of how these brave fellows fought and died!" writes the Commanding Officer of one of the Munster battalions in a letter to his relatives. "They, alas! for the most part just see the names of their dear ones in a casualty list, and can learn nothing further. The beach on which we landed was sown with contact mines, and as we crossed it to form up under cover of a small hill, many a poor chap was blown to bits--not very encouraging for those approaching in other boats. But they never wavered, but landed, and formed up as quietly and steadily as they used to do on the parade ground at the Curragh. I asked one poor chap who was slightly injured how he had got through, and he said, 'All I could think of, sir, was how anxious you must be to see how we would behave.' That is the spirit that one likes to see in a battalion."

The landing place of the other half of the 30th Brigade, the 6th and 7th Dublins, with the Inniskillings and the Irish Fusiliers, was to the south of Suvla Bay, at Niebruniessi Point, under the hill, Lala Baba. The men climbed the cliffs to the sand dunes. Leaving their packs behind them, they carried nothing but what was absolutely necessary--a rifle and 200 rounds of ammunition per man, a water bottle, and rations for two days in a bag, consisting of two tins of bully beef, tea, sugar, biscuits, and tablets of compressed meat. Thus equipped, with loosened girths and wearing their big brown sun-helmets, the troops advanced in eight or ten long lines, with two paces between each man. The 7th Dublins, the famous "Pals," flower of the youth of Dublin, were in the van. Colonel Geoffrey Downing, in command of the 7th Dublins, as the senior colonel of the battalions in the attacking line, got a message from Headquarters that it was imperative that Chocolate Hill should be taken before sunset. His reply was: "It shall be done."

As the crow flies Chocolate Hill is no more than four miles from the sea line. But to reach it the Irish troops had to make a wide enveloping movement, so that the ground actually covered in the advance was from ten to twelve miles. To the north of the point where the landing took place is a long and broad but shallow lagoon, called Salt Lake. The intense summer heat had dried it up and turned its bottom into a flat stretch of sand and dust, covered with a slight crust of salt which glistened in the sun. The Irish troops first proceeded a considerable distance ahead between the sea and Salt Lake, moving thereby parallel to Chocolate Hill, which lies east of the lake. At one point they had to pass over a long spit of sand, not twenty yards wide, that divided the sea and Salt Lake. The enemy had its exact range. Many a man was brought down as he attempted to cross it at a run. Then Colonel Downing, of the 7th Dublins, came upon the scene. He paused, lit a cigarette, and walked over the narrow ridge as coolly as if he were doing Grafton Street, Dublin. After this experience the troops wheeled to the right, and marching south-east across Salt Lake faced the rear flank of their objective.

Crossing Salt Lake in the open, they presented a clear target to the enemy, and were raked with machine-gun fire, shrapnel and high-explosive shells. It is an ordeal that strains to the uttermost all the physical and mental qualities. One of the most common experiences of men who go through it for the first time is a distracting indecision whether to advance, halt, or retreat. But the successive lines went steadily on in short rushes, the men falling on their stomachs between each rush. There was no shelter. The expanse was unbroken even by a rock. The men sank almost to their knees in the soft sand. Very heavy, slow and tiring was the going. All the time Turkish explosives were bursting on every side, and comrades were dropping out of the ranks killed or disabled. One instance will show the steadiness and resolution of the troops. A shell burst in the middle of a platoon that was marching in rather close formation. Five men were blown to pieces. The platoon opened out and continued their advance. High over their heads the shells from the British cruisers and monitors out at sea went shrieking on their way to find the Turks. The land seemed to tremble with the din and vibration caused by this long-range artillery duel. The men were bodily shaken. But they were also greatly heartened to see, now and then, clouds of earth thrown into the air, telling how the explosive shells from the ships were rending the entrenchments behind which the enemy lay concealed.

After this ordeal in the open sandy plain, the Irish reached a totally different kind of country--an inextricable jumble of hills and gullies, strewn with boulders, overgrown with a thick prickly scrub, and wholly trackless. Here some shelter was afforded from the high explosives of the Turks, but not from their machine-guns and rifles, and the progress was still more slow and difficult. The nature of the country gave a tremendous superiority to the enemy, on the defensive behind their entrenchments. What a hopeless, heart-breaking task it seemed to get free of this entanglement of rocks and scrub, which tore the clothes and lacerated the flesh, and force a way up these steep hills, on hands and feet to the Turkish positions. Men were falling on all sides. How soon would the end of the fiery furnace be reached? Would anyone get safely through? Such were the thoughts that occupied the mind of many a man, expecting that the next bullet or shell would strike him down. The battalions were broken up into unrelated sections, or else were mixed together. The nature of the ground, the gullies and ravines, the scrub and the rocks, split them up into fragments, each with its independent command. This kind of fighting was quite to the liking of the Irish troops. It gave play to individual personal courage and qualities of leadership.

What they all desired was to get into close grips with the Turks. How they hungered for the wild exultation of the bayonet charge, the shock of man to man in deadly encounter, the pursuit of a vanquished foe! The evening was well advanced before the end came in sight. Major Harrison gallantly led the 7th Dublins and men of other units in the final attack. "Fix bayonets, Dublins, and let's make a name for ourselves," was his cry. The hill had not only natural advantages for defence in rocks, scrub, and trees. It was also a network of trenches. From behind this double cover the Turks threw hand grenades at the Irish, now approaching with a rush and yelling fiercely. Soon they got a taste of bayonet and clubbed rifle administered by Irish hands. The Turks are brave fighters, but they quailed before the Irish onslaught and sought safety from it in precipitate flight. At half-past 7 o'clock, just as it was growing dark, Chocolate Hill was taken.

There is some dispute, I understand, between the Dublins and Inniskillings and Irish Fusiliers as to which battalion the men first in the Turkish trenches belonged. But does it really matter? Are they not all Irish? Probably men of all the battalions were in the last overwhelming rush. There is no doubt that the Dublins get most of the credit for the feat. The battalion was specially complimented by Headquarters for their heroism and endurance. And well they deserved it. What a baptism of fire it was for those inexperienced Irish lads! And what a confirmation of suffering. Over ten hours of continuous open fighting against machine-guns and artillery, and on a day of scorching heat! "We have gained a great name for the capture, and for the splendid regiment which I have the honour to command," says Colonel Downing. The General of the Division, Sir Bryan Mahon, speaking of all the battalions, said he had never seen better work by infantry. The fact that the hill was widely known afterwards among the troops in Gallipoli as "Dublin Hill" tells its own tale.

But there is another side to war, and tragic though it be, it must not be ignored, even now that the victory has been won. At the last phase of the fight the hills and ravines were flooded with crimson and purple and yellow, as the sun, in regal splendour, went down into the western sea. Those vivid colours were appropriate to the scene--the raging hearts of the opposing forces of men engaged in a death-grapple, the bitter humiliation of the defeated, and the glory of the victor's triumph. Then the night fell and the darkness was softly lit by a multitude of stars in a cloudless and almost blue sky. It seemed to speak most soothingly to the exhausted men of peace, silence, tranquillity, and the lapping coolness of running streams. Oh, to be able to get away from this terrific din, this intimate contact with throngs of fellow-men, these devilish instruments of death hurtling through the air--away into loneliness and quietude, only for a little while. But there was no respite. The enemy were still close at hand. It would be dangerous to succumb to the almost irresistible inclination to lie down and sleep. There might come at any moment a counter attack by the enemy. Most of the men, therefore, had to "stand to arms" through the night.

The wounded had also to be attended to. Some of them, totally disabled, had lain where they fell, out on the open sandy plain under the burning sun. They were tortured by thirst. As their comrades in the reserve lines passed them by they could be heard moaning in pain, calling for mother or wife, craving for a drink to moisten their parched mouths. It was forbidden the men to fall out of the lines for the purpose of succouring the wounded. That is the duty of the stretcher-bearers, following behind, and to them, the orders are, it must be left. But the 10th Division were new soldiers, and humanity had not been quite suppressed by discipline in the ranks. The cry of stricken comrade was irresistible. "Water; a drop of water for the Blessed Virgin's sake," they gasped, with mouths open and eyes starting from their heads, as if startled by the sight of something dreadful. So the men stopped for a minute to put a water-bottle to the lips of a mangled friend; and often the murmured thanks stiffened out into rigidity and silence.

Some of the wounded succeeded in crawling into the rocky gullies. Others lay in the thickets of scrub. They were sheltered from the fierce rays of the sun, but were in danger of the equally terrible fate of death by burning. On every side, throughout the day, fires were blazing. The dry scrub and bushes were set alight by petrol bombs. As a line of the Inniskilling Fusiliers were moving forward behind the Dublins, news was brought to them that there were some wounded men in an extensive patch of scrub that had just caught fire. Signaller John Wilkinson and another member of the battalion plunged into the thick smoke and brought out seven men. There was a burst of shrapnel, and Wilkinson, at the crowning point of his noble display of humanity, was killed.

When the wounded were brought down to the beach for conveyance in lighters and mine-sweepers to the hospital ships anchored about a mile and a half from the shore, the dead awaited reverent disposal. Of all the tasks that had to be performed that night in the starlight this was the pitifulest and most poignant. They were buried side by side, at the foot of Dublin Hill. With the death of these young lads in Gallipoli the light went out in many a home in far away Ireland. Mothers were weeping in sorrow and disconsolation. The country was torn by the conflicting emotions of pride in her sons and grief for their loss. It can be truly said that these young Irishmen gave their lives for civilisation and the freedom of Nationalities. But the immediate inspiration of their bravery was love of Ireland, and the resolve which sprang from it, that there should be no occasion for a word to be spoken in prejudice of the fighting qualities of the race, of the valour which Irish regiments have displayed on the battlefield at all times and in every clime.