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Mons, Anzac and Kut
Excerpt:
On April 10th I went to Alexandria to
report aboard the German prize-ship Lutzow, and on the 12th we
sailed. We discovered that night at dinner that the puritanical New
Zealand Government had ordained that this boat should be a dry one,
but it made no difference to our mess, which was very pleasant. On
April 13th we made a new discovery, that the boat was even drier
than we expected, as there was not enough water, and the men had to
shave in salt water. On April 15th we came into Lemnos Harbour, with
a keen wind and a rustling deep blue sea, and white-crested waves,
with cheer on cheer from French and English warships, from German
prizes with British crews, from submarines, and even from anchored
balloons.
The next day I went ashore with a couple of other officers to but
donkeys, who were to carry our kits. Mudros was not too bad a town,
and was a very curious spectacle in those days. There were great
black Senegalese troops with filed teeth who chased the children in
play, though if the children had known what their home habits were
the games would probably have ceased abruptly.
There were Greeks dressed in fantastic costume and British troops of
all sorts. Many old friends from the East were there, among them
Colonel Doughty Wylie, who in a few days was to win his V.C. and
lose a life of great value to his country.
I met a friend, Bettelheim, nicknamed "Beetle," whose life had been
one long adventure. When last I had seen him he had been an official
in Turkey, and in a rising had been dragged from his carriage on
Galata Bridge in Constantinople by the mob, with his companion, the
Emir Arslan. Emir Arslan was torn to pieces, but "Beetle," with his
marvellous luck, escaped.
Many of us lunched together under a vine, drinking excellent wine at
a penny a glass. Everybody was extremely cheerful, and there was
great elation in the island air. The talk was, of course, about the
landing. A friend of mine said: "This is a terrible business; entire
Staffs will be wiped out." He seemed to think that the Staffs were
the most important thing.
After lunch I went to see the Mayor, to help me buy all that I
wanted. He was rather shaky with regard to his own position, as
Lemnos had not yet been recognized by us as Greek, and our
recognition was contingent on the behaviour of the Greek Government.
He was a very good linguist, talking French, a little English,
Italian, Greek, Turkish, and Arabic. I think it was he who quoted to
me the story of the Khoja Nasr-ed-Din. Nasr-ed-Din was lent a
saucepan by a friend; he returned it with another small saucepan,
saying it had produced a child. Next year the friend offered a huge
saucepan at the same date, which the friend considered the
breeding-time of saucepans. Later on, when his friend applied for
the return of the saucepan, Nasr-ed-Din said: "It is dead." His
friend expostulated: "How can a saucepan die?" "Well," said Nasr-ed-Din,
"if it can have a child, why can't it die?"
Lemnos itself, though then it was a pageant, is on the whole a
dreary island. The land was green, as all lands are in the spring,
but there was not the carpet of anemones that one finds in Crete,
Cyprus, and other islands, nor was there even asphodel.
On Friday, April 16th, we heard that the Manitou had been torpedoed,
and that a number of men had been drowned. This was not the case,
though she had had three torpedoes fired at her.
At this time we believed that we were to make three simultaneous
attacks, the New Zealanders taking the centre of the Peninsula. A
rather melancholy call to arms was issued by General Birdwood, the
pith of which was that for the first few days there would be no
transport of any kind. This made it all the more necessary to obtain
the donkeys, and with the help of the Mayor of Mudros I bought six,
and one little one for £1 as a mascot. It was a great deal of
trouble getting them on board. The Greek whose boat I had
commandeered was very unfriendly, and I had to requisition the
services of some Senegalese troops.
Diary. April 21st, 1915. Mudros. Inner Bay. Monday, the 19th, I
tried to dine on H.M.S. Bacchante, but failed to find her. Dined on
the Arcadia. Came back with Commodore Keyes . . . . Met---(a
journalist turned censor). He said that the Turks had thirty 15-inch
howitzers on Gallipolli, also wire entanglements everywhere.
The general impression is that we shall get a very bad knock, and
that it may set the war back a year, besides producing an indefinite
amount of trouble in the East.
Tuesday, April 20th. I went ashore to get porters, but the Mayor was
in a nervous state, and I failed. I tried to get back in a dinghy
with a couple of Greeks, and we nearly got swamped. A gale got up.
Finally made the Imogen, tied up by the Hussar, and at last reached
my destination. Great gale in the night. I hope we don't suffer the
fate of the Armada. It is said that our orders are to steam for the
outer harbour at once.
It was curious to see the Imogen, once the Ambassador's yacht at
Constantinople. In those days she was treated with reverent care.
The Mediterranean had to be calmed by the finest weather before she
travelled. Now she had to sink or swim with the rest. Her adventures
did not end at Lemnos. Travellers may see her name written proudly
on the harsh cliffs of Muscat in the Persian Gulf, and to-day she is
probably at Kurna, the site of the Garden of Eden.
On Thursday, April 22nd, I was able to get two Greek porters, Kristo
Keresteji (which being interpreted means Kristo the Timber-merchant)
and Yanni, of the little island of Ayo Strati. Kristo was with me
until I was invalided in the middle of October. He showed the
greatest fidelity and courage after the first few days. The other
man was a natural coward, and had to be sent away when an
opportunity offered, after the landing.
Diary. Friday April 23rd. I have just seen the most wonderful
procession of ships I shall ever see. In the afternoon we left for
the outer harbour. The wind was blowing; there was foam upon the sea
and the air of the island was sparkling. With the band playing and
flags flying, we steamed past the rest of the fleet. Cheers went
from one end of the harbour to the other. Spring and summer met.
Everybody felt it more than anything that had gone before.
After we had passed the fleet, the pageant of the fleet passed us.
First the Queen Elizabeth, immense, beautiful lines, long, like a
snake, straight as an arrow. This time there was silence. It was
grim and very beautiful. We would rather have had the music and the
cheers . . . .This morning instructions were given to the officers
and landing arrangements made. We leave at 1.30 to-night. The
Australians are to land first. This they should do to-night. Then we
land. . . .Naval guns will have to cover our advance, and the men
are to warned that the naval fire is very accurate. They will need
some reassuring if the fire is just over their heads. The 29th land
at Helles, the French in Asia near Troy. This is curious, as they
can't support us or we them. the Naval Division goes north and makes
a demonstration . . . .The general opinion is that very many boats
must be sunk from the shore. Having got ashore, we go on to a
rendezvous. We have no native guides. . . .The politicians are very
unpopular.
The sea was very quiet between Lemnos and Anzac on April 24th. There
were one or two alterations in plans, but nothing very material. We
expected to have to land in the afternoon, but this was changed, and
we were ordered to land after the Australians, who were to attack at
4.30 a.m. Some proposed to get up to see the first attack at dawn. I
thought that we should see plenty of the attack before we had done
with it, and preferred to sleep.
Diary. Sunday, April 25th. I got up at 6.30. Thoms, who shared my
cabin, had been up earlier. There was a continuous roll of thunder
from the south. Opposite to us the land rose steeply in cliffs and
hills covered with the usual Mediterranean vegetation. The crackle
of rifles sounded and ceased in turns. . . .Orders were given to us
to start at 8.30 a.m. . . .The tows were punctual. . . .We were
ordered to take practically nothing but rations. I gave my
sleeping-bag to Kyriakidis, the old Greek interpreter whom I had
snatched from the Arcadia, and took my British warm and my Burberry.
. . .The tow was unpleasantly open to look at; there was naturally
no shelter of any kind. We all packed in, and were towed across the
shining sea towards the land fight. . . . We could see some still
figures lying on the beach to our left, one or two in front. Some
bullets splashed round.
As we were all jumping into the sea to flounder ashore, I heard
cries from the sergeant at the back of the tow. He said to me:
"These two men refuse to go ashore." I turned and saw Kristo
Keresteji and Yanni of Ayo Strati with mesmerized eyes looking at
plops tha the bullets made in the water, and with their minds
evidently fixed on the Greek equivalent of "Home, Sweet Home." They
were, however, pushed in, and we all scrambled on to that unholy
land. The word was then, I thought rather unnecessarily, passed that
we were under fire.
It was difficult to understand why the Turkish fire developed so
late. If they had started shelling us during our landing as they
shelled us later, our losses would have been very heavy. We
frequently owed our salvation in the Peninsula to a Turkish weakness
and a Turkish mistake. They were constantly slow to appreciate a
position and take full advantage of it, and their shrapnel was
generally fused too high. Hardly any man who landed escaped being
thumped and bumped on different occasions by shrapnel, which would,
of course, have killed or seriously wounded him if the burst had not
been so high. I remember on the afternoon of the first landing a
sailor was knocked down beside me, and I and another man carried him
to what shelter there was. We found that, while the bullet had
pierced his clothes, it had not even broken his skin. Said the
sailor: "This is the third time that that's 'appened to me to-day.
I'm beginning to think of my little grey 'ome in the West." So were
others.
We had landed on a spit of land which in those days we called
Shrapnel Point, to the left of what afterwards became Corps
Headquarters, though later the other spit on the right usurped that
name. I took cover under a bush with a New Zealand officer, Major
Browne. This officer had risen from the ranks. He fought through the
whole of the Gallipoli campaign, and in the end, to the sorrow of
all who knew him, was killed as a Brigadier in France.
The shrapnel fire became too warm to be pleasant, and I said:
"Major, a soldier's first duty is to save his life for his country."
He said: "I quite agree, but I don't see how it's to be done." We
were driven from Shrapnel Point to the north, round the cliff, but
were almost immediately driven back again by the furious fire that
met us.
Diary. We were being shot at from three sides. All that morning we
kept moving. There were lines of men clinging like cockroaches under
the cliffs or moving silently as the guns on the right or left
enfiladed us. They only thing to be done was to dig in as soon as
position, but a good many men were shot while they were doing this.
General Godley landed about twelve, and went up Monash Gully with
General Birdwood. We remained on the beach . . . .We had no
artillery to keep the enemy's fire down.
We spent a chilly night, sometimes lying down, sometimes walking, as
the rain began to fall after dark, and we had not too much food. My
servant, Jack, who was a very old friend, and I made ourselves as
comfortable as we could.
There was a great deal of inevitable confusion. We were very hard
pressed; as every draft landed it was hurried off to that spot in
the line where reinforcements were most needed. This naturally
produced chaos amongst the units, and order was not re-established
for some time. It was a terrible night for those in authority. I
believe that, had it been possible, we should have re-embarked that
night, but the sacrifices involved would have been too great.
Preparations for the expedition had been totally inadequate. The
chief R.A.M.C. officer had told me the ridiculously small number of
casualties he had been ordered to make preparations for, and asked
my opinion, which I gave him with some freedom. As it was, we had to
put 600 men on the ship from which we had disembarked in the
morning, to go back to hospital in Egypt, a four days' journey,
under the charge of one officer, who was a veterinary surgeon.
Diary. Monday, April 26th. At 5 o'clock yesterday our artillery
began to land. It's a very rough country; the Mediterranean macchia
everywhere, and steep, winding valleys. We slept on a ledge a few
feet above the beech . . . .Firing went on all night. In the morning
it was very cold, and we were all soaked. The Navy, it appeared, had
landed us in the wrong place. This made the Army extremely angry,
though as things turned out it was the one bright spot. Had we
landed anywhere else, we should have been wiped out.
I believe the actual place decided on for our landing was a mile
further south, which was an open plain, and an ideal place for a
hostile landing from the Turkish point of view.
Next morning I walked with General Godley and Tahu Rhodes, his A.D.C.,
up the height to the plateau which was afterwards called Plugges
Plateau. The gullies and ravines were very steep, and covered with
undergrowth. We found General Walker, General Birdwood's Chief of
Staff, on the ridge that bears his name. Bullets were whining about,
through the undergrowth, but were not doing much harm, though the
shelling on the beach was serious.
Diary. We believed that the Turks were using 16-inch shells from the
Dardanelles, and we were now able to reply. The noise was deafening,
and our firing knocked down our own dugouts. The Generals all
behaved as if the whole thing was a tea-party. Their different
Staffs looked worried for their chiefs and themselves. Generals
Godley and Walker were the most reckless, but General Birdwood also
went out of his way to take risks. The sun was very hot, and our
clothes dried while the shrapnel whistled over us into the sea.
At noon we heard the rumour that the 29th were fighting their way up
from Helles, and everybody grew happy. We also heard that two
Brigadiers had been wounded and one killed.
The Australians had brought with them two ideas, which were only
eliminated by time, fighting , and their own good sense. The "eight
hours' day" was almost a holy principle, and when they had violated
it by holding on for two or three days heroically, they thought that
they deserved a "spell." Their second principle was not to leave
their pals. When a man was wounded his friends would insist upon
bringing him down, instead of leaving him to the stretcher-bearers.
When they had learned the practical side of war, both these dogmas
were jettisoned. In Egypt the Australians had human weaknesses, and
had shown them; in Gallipoli they were the best of companions.
Naturally, with the New Zealand Division, I saw more of the New
Zealanders, who had the virtues of the Australians and the British
troops. They had all the dash and élan of the Australians and the
discipline of the Englishmen.
Diary. Tuesday, April 27th. Last night, or rather this morning at
about 1 o'clock, I was called up by C. He said: "We are sending up
40,000 rounds of ammunition to Colonel Pope." Greek donkey-boys,
with an Indian escort, were to go up with this ammunition. I asked
if any officer was going, and was answered "No"; that there was no
officer to go. I said that I would go if I could get a guide, but
that I did not talk Hindustani, and that the whole thing was risky,
as we were just as likely without a guide to wander into the Turks
as to find our own people; also that if we were attacked we should
be without means of communicating, and that the Greeks would
certainly bolt. At the Corps Headquarters I found an absolutely gaga
officer. He had an A.D.C. Who was on the spot, however, and produced
a note from Colonel Pope which stated that he had all the ammunition
he wanted. The officer, in spite of this, told me to carry on. I
said it was nonsense without a guide, when Pope had his ammunition.
He then told me to take the mules to one place and the ammunition to
another. I said that I had better take them both back to my
Headquarters, from which I had come. He then tried to come with me,
after saying that he would put me under arrest, but fell over two
tent-ropes and was nearly kicked by a mule, and gave up in mute
despair.
I may add that this officer was sent away shortly afterwards. The
next night he was found with a revolver stalking one of the Staff
officers, who was sleeping with a nightcap that looked like a
turban, to shelter his head from the dew. My persecutor said that he
thought he was a Turk.
Diary. Three of us slept crowded in one dug-out on Monday night. The
cliff is becoming like a rookery, with ill-made nests. George Lloyd
and Ian Smith have a charming view, only no room to lie down in.
Everybody's dug-out is falling on his neighbour's head. I wnet round
the corner of the cliff to find a clean place to wash in the sea,
but was sniped, and had to come back quick. The Gallipoli Division
of Turks, 18,000 strong, is supposed to be approaching, while we
listened to a great artillery duel not far off. An Armenian who was
captured yesterday reported the Gallipoli Division advancing on us.
On Tuesday night things were better. I think most men were then of
the opinion that we ought to be able to hold on, but we were
clinging by our eyelids on to the ridge. The confusion of units and
the great losses in officers increased the difficulty.
This was the third day of battle. My dugout was twice struck. A tug
was sunk just in front of us . . . .The interpreters have all got
three days' beards which are turning white from worry. The shells
to-day did not do so much damage; they whirled over us in coveys,
sometimes hitting the beach and flying off singing, sometimes
splashing in the sea, but a lot of dead and wounded were carried by.
About this time the spy mania started, which is one of the
inevitable concomitants of war. Spies were supposed to be
everywhere. In the popular belief, that is "on the beach," there
were enough spies to have made an opera. The first convincing proof
of treachery which we had was the story of a Turkish girl who had
painted her face green in order to look like a tree, and had shot
several people at Helles from the boughs of an oak. Next came the
story of the daily pigeon post from Anzac to the Turkish lone; but
as a matter of fact, the pigeons were about their own business of
nesting.
We had with us, too, a remarkable body of men who were more than
suspect, and whose presence fed the wildest rumours. These were
called Zionists, Zionites, and many other names. They were the
Jewish exiles from Syria, who looked after the mules, and
constituted the Mule Corps, under Colonel Patterson, of lion-hunting
fame. They performed very fine service, and gave proof of the
greatest courage. On several occasions I saw the mules blown to
bits, and the men of the Mule Corps perfectly calm, among their
charges. One night it did seem to me that at last we had got the
genuine article. A panting Australian came to say that they had
captured a German disguised as a member of the Mule Corps, but that
he had unfortunately killed one man before being taken. When I
examined this individual he gave his name as Fritz Sehmann, and the
language in which we conversed most easily was German. He was able
to justify himself himself in his explanation, which turned out to
be true. He had been walking along the cliff at night with his mule,
when the mule had been shot and fallen over the cliff with Fritz
Sehmann. Together they had fallen upon an unfortunate soldier, who
had been killed by the same burst.
It was work of some difficulty to explain to the Colonial troops
that many of the prisoners that we took--as, for instance, Greeks
and Armenians--were conscripts who hated their masters. On one
occasion, speaking of a prisoner, I said to a soldier: "This man
says he is a Greek, and that he hates the Turks." "That's a likely
story, that is," said the soldier; "better put a bayonet in the
brute."
the trouble that we had with the native interpreters is even now a
painful memory. If they were arrested once a day, they were arrested
ten times. Those who had anything to do with them, if they were not
suspected of being themselves infected by treachery, were believed
to be in some way unpatriotic. It was almost as difficult to
persuade the officers as the men that the fact that a man knew
Turkish did not make him a Turk. There was one moment when the
interpreters were flying over the hills like hares.
Diary. Wednesday, April 28th. I got up at 4 a.m. This morning, after
a fine, quiet night, and examined a Greek deserter form the Turkish
Army. He said many would desert if they did not fear for their
lives. The New Zealanders spare their prisoners.
Last night, while he was talking to me, Colonel C. was hit by a bit
of shell on his hat. He stood quite still while a man might count
three, wondering if he was hurt. He then stooped down and picked it
up. At 8 p.m. last night there was furious shelling in the gully.
Many men and mules hit. General Godley was in the Signalling Office,
on the telephone, fairly under cover. I was outside with Pinwell,
and got grazed, just avoiding the last burst. Their range is better.
Before this they have been bursting the shrapnel too high. It was
after 4 p.m. Their range improved so much. My dugout was shot
through five minutes before I went there. So was Shaw's . . . .
Colonel Chaytor was knocked down by shrapnel, but not hurt. The same
happened to Colonel Manders. We heard that the Indian troops were to
come to-night. Twenty-three out of twenty-seven Auckland officers
killed and wounded.
11a.m. All firing except from Helles has ceased. Things look better.
The most the men can do is to hang on. General Godley has been very
fine. The men know it.
4.30 p.m. Turks suddenly reported to have mounted huge howitzer on
our left flank, two or three miles away. We rushed all the
ammunition off the beach, men working like ants, complete silence
and furious work. We were absolutely enfiladed, and they could have
pounded us, mules and machinery, to pulp, or driven us into the
gully and up the hill, cutting us off from our water and at the same
time attacking us with shrapnel. The ships came up and fired on the
new gun, and proved either that it was a dummy or had moved, or had
been knocked out. It was a cold, wet night.
The material which General Birdwood and General Godley had to work
upon was very fine. The Australians and the New Zealanders were born
fighters and natural soldiers, and learnt quickly on Active Service
what it would have taken months of training to have taught them. But
like many another side-show, Anzac was casual in many ways, as the
following excerpt from this diary will show: --
Diary. Thursday, April 29th. Kaba Tepé. I was woken at 2.30 a.m.,
when the New Zealanders stood to arms. It was wet and cold, and a
wind blew which felt as if it came through snowy gorges. The alarm
had been given, and the Turks were supposed to be about to rush the
beach from the left flank in force. Colonel Chaytor was sent to hold
the point. He told me to collect stragglers and form them up. It was
very dark, and the stragglers were very straggly. I found an
Australian, Quinn, and told him to fetch his men along to the gun
emplacement, beyond the graves, on the point where Chaytor was.
Every one lost every one.
I found Colonel Chaytor with an Australian officer. He said to me:
"Go out along the flank and find out where the Canterbury Battalion
is, and how strong. On the extreme left there is a field ambulance.
They must be told to lie down, so that the Turks will not shoot
them." I said I would look after them. We started. I heard the
Australian, after we had gone some hundred yards, ordering the
Canterburys in support to retire. I said: "But are your orders to
that effect? A support is ther to support. The Canterburys will be
routed or destroyed if you take this support away." He said: "Well,
that's a bright idea." He went back, and I heard him say, in the
darkness: "This officer thinks you had better stay where you are." I
don't know if he was a Colonel, or what he was, and he did not know
what I was.
I found the field ambulance, a long way off, and went on to the
outposts. The field ambulance were touchingly grateful for nothing,
and I had some tea and yarned with them till morning, walking back
after dawn along the beach by the graves. No one fired at me.
When I got back I heard the news of Doughty's death, which grieved
me a great deal . . . .He seems to have saved the situation. The
description of Helles is ghastly, of the men looking down into the
red sea, and the dying drowned in a foot of water. That is what
might have, and really ought to have happened to us.
One hears the praise of politicians in all men's mouths . . . .
A beautiful night, last night, and a fair amount of shrapnel. Every
evening now they send over a limited number of howitzers from the
great guns in the Dardanelles, aimed at our ships. That happens also
in the early morning, as this morning. To-night an aeroplane is to
locate these guns, and when they let fly to-morrow we are to give
them an immense broadside from all our ships.
At this time the weather had improved, but we were living in a good
deal of discomfort. We were not yet properly supplied with stores,
the water was brackish, occasionally one had to shave in salt water,
and all one's ablutions had to be done on the beach, with the
permission of the Turkish artillery.
The beach produced a profound impression on almost all of us, and
has in some cases made the seaside distasteful for the rest of our
lives. It was, when we first landed, I suppose, about 30 yards
broad, and covered with shingle. Upon this narrow strip depended all
our communications: landing and putting off, food and water, all
came and went upon the beach--and the Turkish guns had got the exact
range. Later, shelters were put up, but life was still precarious,
and the openness of the beach gave men a greater feeling of
insecurity than they had in the trenches.
Diary. Our hair and eyes and mouths are full of dust and sand, and
our nostrils of the smell of dead mules.
There were also colonies of ants that kept in close touch with us,
and our cigarettes gave out. Besides these trials, we had no news of
the war or of the outer world.
Diary. Tahu and I repacked the provisions this morning. While we did
so one man was shot on the right and another on the left. We have
been expecting howitzers all the time, and speculating as to whether
there would be any panic if they really get on to us. The Turks have
got their indirect, or rather enfilading, fire on us, and hit our
mules. One just hit a few yards away. . . .Imbros and Samothrace are
clear and delicate between the blue sea and the hot sky. The riband
of beach is crowded with transport, and Jews, Greeks, Armenians, New
Zealanders, Australians, scallywag officers, and officers that still
manage to keep a shadow of dandyism between their disreputable
selves and immaculate past. And there's the perpetual ripple of the
waves that is sometimes loud enough to be mistaken for the swish of
shrapnel, which is also perpetual, splashing in the sea or rattling
on the beach. There is very little noise on the beach in the way of
talk and laughter. The men never expected to be up against this.
When we left Lemnos we saw one boat with an arrow, and in the front
of it "To CONSTANTINOPLE AND THE HAREM." Precious few of those poor
fellows will ever see Constantinople, let alone the Harem.
May 1st. A beautiful dawn, but defiled by a real hymn of hate from
the Turks. Last night the Torgut Reiss sent us some shells. This
morning it was supposed to be the Goeben that was firing. I woke to
hear the howitzers that everybody had been talking of here droning
over us, and watched them lifting great columns of water where they
hit the sea. Then there came the sigh and the snarl of shrapnel, but
that to the other is like the rustle of a lady's fan to the rumble
of a brewer's dray. This hymn of hate went on for an unusually long
time this morning from the big stuff. A lot of men were hit all
round, and it has been difficult to wash in the sea. All the
loading, unloading, etc., is done at night. The picket-boats are
fairly well protected. The middies are the most splendid boys. We
are all very cramped and the mules add to the congestion. We shall
have a plague of flies before we are done, if we don't have a worse
plague than that. The New Zealanders are all right. . . .
Colonel white, Rickes, and Murphy, all hit at breakfast this
morning, but not hurt. One of the Greek donkey-boys says he is a
barber. This would be a great advantage if he wasn't so nervous and
did not start so much whenever there is a burst.
There is a fleet of boats in front of us, and even more at Helles;
the Turks must feel uncomfortable, but another landing, between us,
would be pretty risky. They are fighting splendidly. Opinion are
divided as to what would happen if we fought our way to Maidos. Many
think we could be shelled out again by the Goeben. This expedition
needed at least three times the number of men. The Indians have not
come, and the Territorials cannot come for a long time.
General Godley wants to change Headquarters for us. Colonel
Artillery Johnston's battery is on our right, facing the Turks, and
only a few yards away. The Turks spend a lot of time shooting at it,
missing it, and hitting us. Another man killed just now. Shrapnel,
heaps of it, is coming both ways on us. Nobody speaks on the beach.
We have two tables on the top of the dugout. One is safe, and the
other can be hit. The punctual people get the safe table.
B. has lunched. He says that Rupert Brooke died at Lemnos. I am very
sorry; he was a good fellow, and a poet with a great future. B. was
blown up by a shell yesterday. He has to go back to-night. While we
lunched a man had his head blown off, 20 yards away. . . .
Orders have come that we are to entrench impregnably. We are
practically besieged, for we can't re-embark without sacrificing our
rearguard, and if the howitzers come up we shall be cut off from the
beach and our water. A lot more men have been killed on the beach. .
. .
Sunday, May 2nd. 6 a.m. Shrapnel all round as I washed. Beach
opinion is if this siege lasts they must be able to get up their
heavy guns. The Indians have gone to Helles, and the Naval Division
is being taken away from us. New Turkish Divisions are coming
against us. There are no chaplains here for burial or for anything
else.
Waite took a dozen prisoners this morning--gendarmes, nice fellows.
They hadn't much to tell us. One of them complained that he had been
shot through a mistake after he had surrendered. There ought to be
an interpreter on these occasions. . . .
It is a fiery hot day, without a ripple on the clear sea, and all
still but for the thunder coming from Helles. I bathed and got
clean. The beach looks like a mule fair of mutes, for it is very
silent. We are to attack to-night at seven. We have now been here a
week, and advanced a hundred yards farther than the first rush
carried us. There is a great bombardment going on, a roaring ring of
fire, and the Turks are being shelled and shelled.
At night the battleships throw out two lines of searchlights, and
behind them there gleam the fires of Samothrace and Imbros. Up and
down the cliffs here, outside the dugouts, small fires burn. The
rifle fire comes over the hill, echoing in the valleys and back from
the ships. Sometimes it is difficult to tell whether it is the sound
of ripples on the beach or firing.
Monday, May 3rd. I was called up at 3 a.m. To examine three
prisoners. Our attack had failed, and we have many casualties,
probably not less than 1000. The wounded have been crying on the
beach horribly. A wounded Arab reported that our naval gun fire did
much damage.
The complaint is old and bitter now. We insist that the Turks are
Hottentots. We give them notice before we attack them. We tell them
what we are going to do with their Capital. We attack them with an
inadequate force of irregular troops, without adequate ammunition
(we had one gun in our landing) in the most impregnable part of
their Empire. We ask for trouble all lover the East by risking
disaster here.
The Goeben is shelling the fleet, and 11.30) had just struck a
transport. The sea is gay, and a fresh wind is blowing, and the
beach is crowded, but there is not a voice upon it, except for an
occasional order. . . .
The Turks are now expected to attack us. We suppose people realize
what is happening here in London, though it isn't easy to see now
troops and reinforcements can be sent us in time--that is, before
the Turks have turned all this into a fortification. A good many men
hit on the beach to-day. The mules cry like lost souls.
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