TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE

Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation of external sources.

More detail can be found at [the end of the book.]

GLORIOUS DEEDS
OF AUSTRALASIANS IN THE
GREAT WAR

Books of Topical Interest.

The Russian Campaign.
The second series of Field Notes.

By Stanley Washburn.

Demy 8vo, 70 Illustrations.
Price 7 s. 6d. net.

[Third Thousand.

Russia, the Balkans and the Dardanelles.

By Granville Fortescue.

Illustrated. Demy 8vo, cloth.
Price 6s. net.

Ferdinand of Bulgaria.

By the Author of "The Real Kaiser." Cartoons by Will. Dyson. Price 2s. net.

Sketches in Poland.

By Frances Delaney Little.

12 Illustrations in Colour.
Demy 8vo. Price 9s. net.

[Second Edition.

Field Notes from the Russian Front.

By Stanley Washburn.

Demy 8vo, 60 Illustrations. 6s. net.

[Fourth Thousand.

At the Front with Three Armies.

By Granville Fortescue.

Demy 8vo, 30 Illustrations. 6s. net.

[Second Edition.

Germany's Swelled Head.

By Emil Reich.

Crown 8vo, cloth. Jacket in Colours. Design by Kapp. Price 1s. net.

[Ninth Edition.

London: ANDREW MELROSE, LTD.

General Birdwood, in charge of the operations at Anzac.

Frontispiece.

GLORIOUS DEEDS
OF AUSTRALASIANS
in the Great War

E. C. BULEY

Author of "Australian Life in Town and Country"

FIFTH (ENLARGED) EDITION

LONDON: ANDREW MELROSE, LTD.

3 YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C.
1916

First printed October, 1915.
Reprinted November, 1915.
" twice in December, 1915.
New edition (enlarged) January, 1916.

[PREFACE]

In the course of writing this book I have interviewed some hundreds of wounded Australasian soldiers in London hospitals. From their narratives, delivered with a modesty which I have not sought to reproduce here, I gathered much material not obtainable in the short official accounts given of their exploits.

The temptation to record individual deeds of remarkable bravery has been strong, but in most cases it has been resisted. This comparatively small force, which has suffered 25,000 casualties in less than five months, consists of men who are all heroes. After the first few days on Gallipoli, its officers recognized the impossibility of officially recognizing deeds of bravery, and practically no awards have been made since the end of April.

I have collected a large number of remarkable instances of gallantry, but I have concluded that to mention these would be invidious, since the bulk of such exploits has not come under my notice. Such an exception as I have made in the case of Private Simpson, the dead hero of the Ambulance section, will be pardoned. No Australasian ever speaks of him without saying, "He earned the V.C. a dozen times."

I have heard Australasian officers recount deeds of wonderful bravery which they have not cared to report, because "Any of my men would have done the same"; and, in my attempt to record the main incidents of this great adventure, I am constrained to accept this very high standard of duty. Its effect has been to win for Australasian soldiers a reputation for "daredevil bravery" in the mass, and to ignore the supreme efforts of the individual.

I have to thank the Daily Mail for the permission to reproduce three of the wonderful exclusive photographs its enterprise obtained from the Anzac zone; the British Australasian for the use of all the remaining photographs with which the book is illustrated; and the Weekly Dispatch for permission to reproduce matter which first appeared in that paper.

Finally, I have spoken to no wounded Australasian in this country who has not taken occasion to mention the great kindness shown by the people of Great Britain. Many of them, hearing that I was writing a book on Australasia's part in the war, have asked me to mention this. Their thankfulness has been so spontaneous, and they have been so profoundly touched, that I have ventured to refer to it. Their gratitude cannot be too widely made known on this side of the world; nor can the attentions which elicited it be too freely indicated to those who sent them from Australasia.

[PREFACE TO THE FIFTH EDITION]

The rapid exhaustion of four editions of this book has been accepted by myself as sufficient proof that I have succeeded in carrying out the main idea suggested to me by Mr. Andrew Melrose, the publisher. He divined that some continuous account of the deeds of Australasians in the war would be received with interest, pending the appearance of an authoritative work by the official historian of the Anzacs. I have now extended the book to include all the main incidents of the fighting in Gallipoli, and the evacuation of the Peninsula.

I wish to thank my many friends of the Australian and New Zealand Imperial Forces who have written pointing out errors in the original text, and amplifying my accounts of various engagements. The appreciation they have expressed of my modest performance has indeed been gratifying, and any fear I may have had of their misunderstanding the purpose of the book has been entirely removed.

I have added an alphabetical list of those members of the Anzac Army who have been decorated for services in the field, or mentioned in dispatches. I hope it will be found useful, as well as the index to the contents of the book. With these additions I am content to let the fifth edition go, in the fullest confidence that it will be accepted for what it is intended to be, a brief and simple outline of the most adventurous enterprise and most heroic deeds that the whole history of war can discover.

London, February 25, 1916.

[CONTENTS]

CHAP.		PAGE
I	The Long Black Ships	[13]
II	The End of the Raider "Emden"	[29]
III	In the Land of Pharaoh	[47]
IV	The Battle of Brighton Beach	[59]
V	Occupying the Land	[75]
VI	Pope's Hill and Gaba Tepe	[95]
VII	The Charge at Krithia	[107]
VIII	The Battle of Quinn's Post	[121]
IX	A Thorn in the Flesh	[133]
X	The Soul of Anzac	[149]
XI	The Story of Lone Pine	[159]
XII	The Charge of the Light Horse	[169]
XIII	The Mighty New Zealanders	[181]
XIV	The Valley of Torment	[193]
XV	The Great Night March	[203]
XVI	The Story of the "Southland"	[215]
XVII	The V.C.'s of Anzac	[225]
XVIII	Said an Australian Officer	[239]
XIX	The Band of Brothers	[253]
XX	A Tribute to the Turk	[267]
XXI	Gurkhas, White and Brown	[279]
XXII	The Man who wasn't Let	[291]
XXIII	The Australasian Soldier	[303]
XXIV	Filling the Gaps	[315]
XXV	The Armies of Australasia	[331]
XXVI	Clearing the Pacific	[343]
XXVII	The Youngest Navy in the World	[353]
XXVIII	The Heart of Empire Stirred	[369]
XXIX	The Second Division	[385]
XXX	The Last of Anzac	[397]

[LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS]

	FACING
	PAGE
General Birdwood, "the Soul of Anzac"	[Frontispiece]
Australian Infantry Training at Broadmeadows	[14]
Troops Leaving Brisbane	[20]
The Australians returning to Camp at Mena, in Egypt	[48]
Australian Soldiers at the Foot of the Pyramids	[50]
Sir George Reid, High Commissioner for the Commonwealth, Reviewing the Australian Expeditionary Force at Mena Camp, Egypt	[52]
Transports bearing the Australasians to Anzac Cove.	[62]
The Landing at Anzac Cove on Sunday, April 25, 1915	[66]
Shrapnel bursting over Anzac Cove	[70]
Roll-call on Brighton Beach. The Sad Scene after an Engagement	[80]
Sir George Reid, High Commissioner for the Australian Commonwealth, 1914-15	[90]
General James McCay, commanding 2nd Brigade, Australian Infantry	[100]
The New Zealanders Reviewed at Heliopolis	[110]
General Bridges, who commanded the 1st Expeditionary Force from Australia	[116]
General Monash, Commander of the 4th Brigade, Australian Infantry	[122]
Australian Field Artillery in Action	[124]
Map showing the stretch of Gallipoli Peninsula from Gaba Tepe to Suvla Bay	[134]
A Battery of Australian Field Artillery going into Action	[162]
Sergt.-Major Wynn, a Typical Trooper of the Australian Light Horse	[174]
A Battalion of New Zealand Mounted Rifles	[182]
General Legge, who commanded the Second Division	[218]
General Sir Newton Moore, in Charge of the Australasian Depôt at Weymouth	[240]
The Valley of Death	[248]
Captain Richardson of the 1st Brigade	[252]
A New South Wales Battalion, ready for the Front	[304]
The Last March through Sydney Streets	[310]
General Sir A. J. Godley commanding the New Zealanders and the 4th Brigade, Australian Infantry	[316]
Farewell to the Troops in Melbourne	[324]
The Canterbury Section of the New Zealand Expeditionary Force	[326]
The Australian Submarines AE 1 and AE 2, both lost in the First Year of War	[346]
Rear-Admiral Sir George Patey, commanding the Australian Squadron	[348]
H.M.A.S. Australia in Sydney Harbour	[356]
The Governor-General of Australia	[364]
Australian Guns in Action before Sari Bair	[390]

THE LONG BLACK SHIPS

[CHAPTER I]
THE LONG BLACK SHIPS

On November 1st, 1914, there steamed out of the harbour of Albany, in Western Australia, three long lines of great ocean steamships. At their head proudly steamed the Australian cruiser Melbourne; the procession was brought up in the rear by another Australian cruiser, the Sydney. So the long black ships, forty in all, set out from the last port of Australia in the golden Southern spring, bearing the army of Australasia to the Antipodes in the Old World.

If another such army has ever been seen, it must have been a goodly sight. Each man was a volunteer, who sailed away to fight, not so much as a duty—but as a proud privilege. For that privilege many thousands of fine young men had competed unsuccessfully; those selected were truly the very pick of the flower of the youth and strong manhood of Australasia. The ranks contained men from every class of life. A young barrister, who had relinquished a practice worth some thousands a year, had as his fellow ranker a kangaroo shooter from the far remote bush fastness. Well-to-do young farmers rubbed shoulders with architects and miners, shearers chummed up with city clerks. Men of all grades were bound together by the common cause that had impelled them to take up arms.

The Australasian army was a democratic army. The officers held their rank for no other reason than their fitness to command. Social station counted for nothing; soldier-like qualities alone decided the allotment of commissions, and of appointments to the non-commissioned grades. In one regiment the major was a stockbroker's clerk; the stockbroker himself, formerly the chairman of his stock exchange, was glad to serve in the same regiment as a private. Many of the officers, and especially the non-commissioned officers, had seen much active service in the Boer war. In the ranks there was a strong leavening of the young soldiers who were the product of the system of compulsory national service adopted throughout Australasia only a few years before.

Australian Infantry Training at Broadmeadows.

Physically, the men were as near perfection as could be attained in so large a body. The average height of the 20,000 Australians was 5 feet 8 inches; the 8,000 New Zealanders averaged quite an inch more. One battalion of Australians averaged 5 feet 10 inches; while New Zealand again outdid this figure with a battalion averaging an inch better. The 12,000 horses they took with them were the very pick of two countries renowned for the stamina and quality of their horseflesh. Their equipment was all of Australasian manufacture; the khaki of their uniforms the best that could be made of the best wool the world produces, their rifles, their ammunition, and every last trifle of their outfit all home-made, and all designed to show how well the Southern Nations could answer a sudden call on behalf of the Empire. It was the first instalment of Australasia's vindication of the promise made by the Prime Minister of Australia: "the last man and the last shilling."

The offer by Australasia of this substantial aid in fighting the battles of the Empire was made before the war-cloud had burst upon Europe, but when the prospects looked very threatening.

The actual outbreak of war was anticipated by the Governments of the Commonwealth and the Dominion of New Zealand by offers of every loyal support. "All Australian resources are for the Empire's preservation and security," declared Mr. Cook, then the Australian Prime Minister; a sentiment crystallized by Mr. Andrew Fisher, then leader of the Opposition and now Prime Minister, in the phrase, "Australia will stand by to the last man and the last shilling"; which has become the war motto of the Commonwealth. The Prime Minister of New Zealand, Mr. Massey, said New Zealand would send an expeditionary force, and would support the Empire to the utmost of its resources. A stirring scene followed in the New Zealand Parliament, when the members rose spontaneously and sang "God save the King."

The loyal messages of the Australasian Governments were acknowledged by King George in the following cable:—

"I desire to express to my people of the Oversea Dominions with what appreciation and pride I have received the messages from their respective Governments during the last few days. These spontaneous assurances of their fullest support recall to me the generous self-sacrificing help given by them in the past to the Mother Country. I shall be strengthened in the discharge of the great responsibilities which rest upon me by the confident belief that in this time of trial my Empire will stand united, calm, resolute, trusting in God.

"George R.I.

"London, August 4."

This was acknowledged by New Zealand in the following terms:—

"I am desired by the New Zealand Government to acknowledge your Majesty's gracious message, and to say that, come good or ill, she, in company with the other Dominions and Dependencies of the Crown, is prepared to make any sacrifice to maintain her heritage and her birthright.

"Liverpool, Governor General."

Australia made a specific offer of 20,000 men as a first instalment for an expeditionary force, which was promptly accepted, as was the offer of the Australian navy. New Zealand offered 8,000 men as a first instalment, and these were also accepted promptly. The work of selecting the best men from the many thousands of eager applicants was a difficult one. New Zealand had 30,000 men in camp at the time, training under the system of compulsory national service. They volunteered for service abroad practically to a man. No immature boys were selected, the age limit being twenty; and in the end it was necessary to ballot for places among the large number of suitable men who applied for places in the Expedition.

In Australia equal enthusiasm was shown. The age limit here was nineteen, which excluded a large number of the youths training under the Australian system of compulsory service. The medical tests were very severe, as were the tests for horsemanship in the cavalry brigades. Australia had to deny thousands of highly suitable men the privilege of serving in the first contingent, but 10,000 of these were put into training at once in order to be ready for a second instalment.

An example of the eagerness to enlist was afforded by the case of a young Queensland grazier, who mounted his horse and, as a preliminary, rode 460 miles from his place at Cooper's Creek to the nearest railway station, whence he travelled by train to Adelaide. He wished to join a Light Horse regiment, and finding there was no vacancy in South Australia, he set off to Hobart, in Tasmania, by boat. There he was also unsuccessful, solely because all the vacancies were filled. Not to be denied, he took boat to Sydney, where he found his place at last, after having travelled over 2,000 miles, on horseback, by train, and by steamer, to serve as a private soldier in the Empire's cause.

The instance is not unique; it is rather typical. Men went willingly under the surgeon's knife for the removal of physical excrescences or defects which were held to incapacitate them for service. Those who could not find a place in the Australasian armies took their passages literally by hundreds to Great Britain, there to enlist in the new armies that were being gathered by Lord Kitchener for training. Others obtained promises of places in future contingents, and at once went into camp for practical training in all the duties of a soldier on active service. The men selected for the first contingent threw themselves into the work of preparation with a splendid ardour, that shortened the time of preparation and permitted a speedy dispatch of the troops to the old world. The actual work of embarkation began on October 17, and was concluded on October 22, so that 20,000 men and 9,000 horses were got on the transports in five days, a sharp bit of work. Before the actual departure, General Bridges sent the following message to the people of Australia:—

"I hope to report that the conduct of the Australians, both in camp and on the field, is worthy of the trust imposed upon them by the people of the Commonwealth. The men are a fine lot, soldierly and patriotic. I am grateful to the soldiers and citizens for the help they have given me in organizing and preparing the force now about to do its part for the good of the Empire. I venture to express the hope that no matter how great the demands on their patience, the Australian people will see to it that there is no diminution of their determination to face their responsibility. This spirit cannot fail then to pervade the troops."

Mr. Pearce, the Minister for Defence, sent to the troops on their departure the following message:—

"Upon the force devolves the honour and responsibility of representing Australia and of performing Australia's share in the great Imperial effort in the interests of justice, honour and international integrity. The ultimate issue of that undertaking can never be in doubt, but its attainment demands a steadfast display of the British qualities of resolution and courage, which are yours by right of heredity. The people of Australia look to you to prove in battle that you are capable of upholding the traditions of the British arms. I have no fear that you will worthily represent the Commonwealth's military forces. Your presence among the Imperial forces has, however, a wider significance, as representing the solidarity of the Empire and the Imperial spirit of loyalty to the King."

And now the men of Australasia are embarked on their mighty adventure. Six months later they were to thrill the Empire with a feat of arms as brave and brilliant as anything contained even in the annals of this, the greatest war of all times. So much they hardly dared to hope then, but they strove by every means in their power to keep themselves fit for the ordeal to come, when they would be matched against the trained soldiers of the greatest and proudest military Power history has ever known.

Troops leaving Brisbane.

A glance around those forty troopships would reveal an interesting object lesson in the production of new types of the great Anglo-Saxon race. These are all picked men, whose parentage consisted of the same kind of Britons, drawn from the four root stocks of the islands of Great Britain. But the wide range of climate permitted between the tropical plains of North Queensland and the rugged fastnesses of the mountains of the New Zealand Southland has already produced types so divergent that it is hard to believe that they sprang from the same stock.

Compare McKenzie of Townsville, Queensland, with McKenzie of Dunedin, New Zealand, and the difference is apparent. They may be cousins: such things occurred in that wonderful army of Australasia; but the Northerner is dark, slight, lean and wiry. The lines are bitten in his browned face by exposure to many a glaring day in the merciless direct rays of a tropical sun. His broad shoulders and narrow hips make him an ideal athlete, but he is loosely built. He walks with a swing; his movements look slower than they really are; the sun has given him something of a languor that is not all graceful. But the fire of a high courage burns in his dark eyes, and the sea breezes have already brought a touch of colour to the pallor of his cheek. He is in superb physical health, for all that he is so sallow and hard bitten.

McKenzie of Otago weighs two stone more, though he has no whit of advantage in height. He carries no spare flesh, but is a big-boned, thick-set fellow, brought up on mutton and oatmeal. His cheeks are rosy and tanned with the salt wind that never ceases to blow over the wholesome island where he grows rich harvests of grain and tends his plentiful flocks. He is a stiff, great fellow, as hard as nails, and as healthy as a big bullock. His keen blue eyes look out from under a smooth brow unfurrowed by any care. He comes from a land where there is no want; his million or more of fellow New Zealanders have not yet built a big city or created a huge fortune. Easy prosperity, an abundance of physical well-being, and a continual strife for high moral excellence are the characteristics of his country, where the death-rate is the lowest in the world and the sale of intoxicants is subject to closer restriction in peace time than anywhere else in the Empire.

Between these two extremes are all sorts of modifications; the Tasmanian, who grows apples on the sunny borders of the beautiful Huon river and enjoys a country that resembles in many of its features the rustic beauty of the best parts of Southern England. He is a big, stocky fellow, this Tasmanian, with something of the rustic simplicity of an English yeoman. But he is not by any means as simple as he appears. Now look at Tommy Cornstalk from New South Wales, tall and lanky, slow of speech and swift as a miracle in action. Hear his queer slang as he talks of his "cobbers" or mates; and shrewdly reckons his chances of seeing Australia again within a reasonable number of years. The Victorian from the rich Western plains is a stouter man, who has an intimate acquaintance with that exasperating animal the cow. Butter has been to him a means of realizing prosperity; from his early youth he has milked so many cows every morn and evening. And when he wishes to express his opinion of the Germans he calls them cows. It is his last term of abuse.

The West Australians, for some reason not yet apparent, are, as a class, the heaviest and stoutest of Australians. They number many a jack-of-all-trades in their ranks, for they have learned to turn their hands to many things. They are bronzed by a climate where the sun seldom fails to shine brilliantly; healthy, shrewd, sane and full of reckless courage. The South Australians approximate more nearly to the Cornstalk type, and from them are drawn some of the finest riders in the ranks of Australia's celebrated Light Horse.

The speech of these Australasians varies remarkably. The short-clipped speech of the men from the coastal cities contrasts strangely with the monotonous drawl of the bushmen. In the New Zealanders the old accents survive strangely; many of them talking Scotch as broad as the men of a Highland regiment. Others speak English of a remarkable purity of accent, though strangely tinged with the slang of the shearing shed, the stable and the bush track.

Of the 631 officers and 17,305 men comprised in the Australian contingent, twenty-two officers only and 6,098 men had seen no previous service. The large remainder were veterans of the Boer war. Only 190 officers and 1,451 men were married, the bulk of Australia's soldiers being single men. Eighty-two per cent. of the officers and 73 per cent. of the men were of Australian birth, the ranks containing a fair percentage of "new chums" of comparatively recent arrival from Great Britain.

Their conditions of service were as follows:—

Rates of Pay.—Lieutenant, 21s. per day; sergeant, 10s. 6d. per day; corporal, 10s. per day; private, 6s. per day.

Separation Allowance.—Married members receiving less than 8s. per day—(a) for wife living at home, 1s. 5d. per day; (b) for each child under 16 years of age, 4½d. per day. A similar allowance as in (a) is paid to the mother of a member who is solely dependent upon him for support.

Pensions.—Payable to widow on death of member of the forces or to a member on total incapacity:—Lieutenant, £91 per annum; sergeant, £70 per annum; corporal, £68 per annum; private, £52 per annum. In addition, on the death or total incapacity of a member, for each child under 16 years of age, £13 per annum. In the case of total incapacity, the wife in addition receives half the rate specified above for the respective ranks.

Under these conditions they were heading Northwards, daily approaching nearer to that Old World where the war flame burned so fiercely. For many days nothing occurred to break the regularity of the discipline by which they kept themselves fit for the great task they had undertaken; then the monotony of their journey was disturbed by an event which startled them into a sudden realization of the grim imminence of battle and death.

THE END OF THE RAIDER "EMDEN"

[CHAPTER II]
THE END OF THE RAIDER "EMDEN"

At 6.30 a.m. on the morning of November 9 the Melbourne was steaming at the head of the three long lines of transports when she picked up a wireless message from the cable station at Cocos Island. The message was imperfect, but conveyed to the Melbourne the fact that an enemy warship was then off the island. The convoy was at the time about sixty miles away from the island, so that it was obvious there was no time to be lost. The Melbourne was the flagship, and her commander was responsible for the safety of the transports, he had, therefore, to deny himself the supreme pleasure of setting off to deal with the stranger. He sent instead instructions to the Sydney, which at once set off, gathering speed as she went.

The excitement on board the Sydney was intense. It was an open secret that the notorious Emden was somewhere in that neighbourhood, and every soul on board, from Captain Glossop to the two boys who had been taken aboard at Sydney from the training ship Tingara at the last minute, was fervently praying that it might be the sea-raider which had sunk more than twenty British merchant vessels, and bombarded Madras. Down below the stokers were at work like demons; a significant sentence in Captain Glossop's official report afterwards revealed how well they worked. He reported that the engines worked splendidly, developing a higher rate of speed than upon the official trials of the ship; as a matter of fact, the crew worked her up to the great speed of twenty-seven knots.

Meanwhile it may be as well to explain just what had happened at Cocos Island. At five o'clock on the evening of November 8 the inhabitants, who were all officials connected with the cable and wireless stations there, noticed a strange warship approaching the island. She paid no heed to their wireless signals, but after approaching very close, stood away again at night time. Early in the morning she again appeared, and as nothing could be made of her, and she was lowering a boat, a wireless call for help was sent off at random. The stranger tried to obliterate this by sending strong wireless calls, which accounts for the message reaching the Melbourne in a mutilated condition.

The message was despatched just in time, for three boats put to land with a strong party on board. They were Germans, and at once took possession of the station, and began the work of dismantling it without any delay.

The Sydney was now making good time, and at a little after nine o'clock sighted the island, seventeen miles away. To the right of the island could be seen the smoke of a steamer, quite stationary; then the people on the Sydney knew they were in time. They were going so fast that all that could be seen of them from the island was a great plume of smoke and a mighty bow wave. That was enough for the Emden—for the stranger was, of course, the German corsair. "If that is an Australian cruiser," said the captain, von Mueller, "I'm going to sink her." Out he put to make good his vainglorious boasting, and the distance between the two vessels rapidly decreased.

There was an international group of spectators for the wonderful ocean duel that followed. The people of the cable station gathered on the roof of their building to get a view of the fight; and they were joined there by the members of the German landing party, who had no time to rejoin their ship. The manœuvres of the two vessels were dictated by their armaments. The Emden had guns of only 4-inch calibre, and it was her policy to fight at comparatively short range. The Sydney had eight 6-inch guns, and Captain Glossop was determined that she should enjoy the tactical advantage due to her by reason of her heavier metal.

The Sydney's people were all aglow with excitement, but level-headed withal. Many of them were young Australians, members of the newest navy in the world, and determined that in the first important action fought by that navy all concerned should do it credit. Lads of nineteen, with eyes ablaze with excitement, stood as coolly at their guns as the veterans of a dozen sea fights might have done. The two boys from the Tingara carried ammunition about the decks at a steady run, laughing and whistling with glee.

The ships were now steaming parallel courses at a distance of about five miles, the Emden trying to get closer and the Sydney outmanœuvring her. The order was given on the Sydney to load, when the Emden fired the first shot of the duel, a salvo which went harmlessly over the Sydney; as intended, for it was meant to give the German gunners the range. The Sydney replied similarly, with a broadside from her port guns; and the fighting had now begun in real earnest. It was about a quarter to ten in the morning, with a calm sea and a clear atmosphere.

The Emden began with some very good shooting; its excellence was emphasized by the fact that the German gunners were firing at the extreme range of their guns, and had to use an elevation of about thirty degrees. The shots that struck the Sydney—there were ten in all, and all in the first ten minutes of the fighting—were falling at such an angle that their hole of exit on the starboard side was much lower than the shothole where they struck on the port side. But the shots of the Sydney went straight through the Emden, the hole of exit being practically on the same level as the entry. Such an advantage do heavier naval guns give in a duel at sea.

The fourth shot of the Emden was a good hit; it went through the Sydney's deck and exploded below, wounding Petty Officer Harvey and another man. An Australian lad who was detailed there to watch for torpedoes never even turned round at the explosion, nor did he move the telescope from his eyes. At the same time the Sydney was scoring hits on the Emden, though the first sign of it to the Australians was not observable until the fall of one of the German's funnels, which was greeted with loud cheering from all the Sydney's company. A minute afterwards the foremast of the raider toppled over, carrying with it the main fire control, and throwing its members into the sea.

When fighting had been in progress for a quarter of an hour the Sydney discharged a salvo which settled any hope the Germans may have cherished either of victory or escape. It entered the Emden's stern under the afterdeck, where it burst, blowing up the whole of the steel deck. The steel plates were twisted and shattered beyond anything that could have been deemed possible; the after gun was dismounted, and the crew blown into the sea; the ship was set afire aft, and remained afire for the rest of the fight. Most serious effect of all, the salvo destroyed the steering gear, and for the rest of the battle the Emden had to steer by means of her screw, thus reducing her speed immensely, and leaving her completely at the mercy of the manœuvres of her opponent.

The Emden now swung round, doubling in an attempt to reduce the distance; but the Sydney easily countered the move by following the operation; and continued steaming parallel with the German, and battering her to pieces. In the first quarter of an hour, and before she had received her deadly injury, the Emden had scored several important hits on the Sydney. One had struck the second starboard gun, and set fire to some cordite, which the gun crew threw overboard. This shot was followed by a shrapnel shell in the same quarter, which killed two of the gun's crew and injured all the rest except two. Another shot exploded in the lads' room, and damaged their kits; but the room was empty, and no one was hurt.

But after that explosion aft she never struck the Sydney again, though the fight lasted for an hour longer. She had been firing with remarkable speed; it is believed that the third salvo was out of her guns sometimes ere the first had reached the neighbourhood of the Sydney. In all she fired 1,400 shots, of which only ten struck their mark; and of these only three, or at the most four, could be considered important hits.

Again she doubled, with smoke pouring from her at every quarter. Suddenly the whole company of the Sydney burst into ringing cheers. "She's gone," was the shout; and indeed for a time it appeared as though the Emden had suddenly gone down. Reports from the centre of a patch of curiously light-coloured smoke dissipated the notion; the Emden was still afloat, and still fighting. The smoke that hid her was the smoke that showed how badly she was hurt. One by one her guns ceased firing, as the well-directed shots from the Sydney put them out of action; but still she ran, and still she fought her remaining guns.

One by one her funnels collapsed, and fell across the twisted deck. Only one gun was left, a gun far forward on the port side. Desperately the crippled Emden ran, and desperately she fought her last little gun. What an inferno she then was, only those who fought her can tell. Her gnarled steel work was hot with the raging fire; the smoke from her furnaces belched from the holes left by the fallen funnels, and streamed in scorching clouds across her deck. Her ammunition hoists, and most of the rest of her equipment, had been hopelessly damaged; and what ammunition was being used had to be carried to her remaining gun by hand. The ship was a shambles, with dead men lying everywhere, and badly wounded as well. But in the conning tower Captain von Mueller still fought his ship, and prayed for a shot to carry him and it away.

His ship was wrapped in flame; the stern actually glowing red hot with the fire. She no longer could be steered, even by the employment of her screws; and with her ensign still flying, and her solitary gun roaring at intervals, she ran high up on the coral reef, a hopeless, shattered wreck. Her conqueror gave her two broadsides as she lay there, with her bow high out of the water and only a short stretch of surf between her and dry land. Her ensign was still flying, and Captain Glossop had to make sure.

While the fight was in progress a merchant ship had hovered round the combatants; obviously most anxious as to the result of the duel. At one period she showed signs of wishing to take part with the Emden, and the guns of the Sydney had been trained upon her, though no shot was fired at her. She was really a collier which had been captured by the Emden, and with a prize crew from the Emden on board had met the raider at Cocos Island. Her crew had considered the advisability of trying to ram the Sydney, but were wise enough to abandon the scheme, and make for safety when the fight went so badly against their side.

When the Emden ran ashore this collier was already a long distance away; in fact she was almost out of sight. The Sydney put after her, and after a long chase came near enough to send a shot across her bows as a summons to surrender. She was boarded, but by this time she was sinking, as some one on board had turned on the seacocks, and filled her with water. The crew was accordingly taken off her, and she was abandoned to her fate, the Sydney returning to the Emden.

The tide had gone out, and the one-time terror to the commerce of the British Empire was lying high and dry, with her ensign still floating. "Do you surrender?" signalled the Australian warship. To this question the Emden replied by hand signal: "We have lost our book, and cannot make out your signal." Then Captain Glossop sent the curt demand, "Haul down your ensign." As the Germans paid no attention to this, he sent yet another message, intimating that he would resume hostilities if the ensign were not hauled down in twenty minutes. For so long he steamed up and down her stern, while the white flag with the black cross still fluttered upon the wreck. Then reluctantly, and because he had no option, Captain Glossop fired three more salvos at the defiant raider. Down came the German ensign and in its place the white flag of surrender was hoisted.

Those three last salvos, unwillingly discharged at short range into a helpless hull, did terrible havoc. The scorching decks were strewn with dead and wounded sailors, hapless victims to a tradition the Kaiser has sought to impose upon a navy that has no traditions of its own making. The Sydney could not succour them yet, for there was still work left for her to do. A boat manned by the German prize crew of the collier was sent to the wreck, with the message that the Sydney would return to the assistance of those on board early in the morning.

It is now necessary to relate what occurred upon the island, where we left the British and Germans together gazing spellbound at the opening of this remarkable ocean duel. After the deadly salvo which crippled the Emden had been fired, the German landing party recognized that their ship was doomed. They at once ordered the British off the roof of the cable station, and shut them up in a room where they could not know what was going on. They behaved courteously but firmly, taking every precaution that there should be no interference with the work now before them. There was lying at the island the schooner Ayesha, and into this vessel they loaded everything they could find that was likely to be useful for a long ocean voyage.

By the middle of the afternoon they were all ready, and about half an hour before the Sydney returned from her chase of the collier they set sail, taking with them the three boats and four maxim guns with which they had landed. They were about forty in number, and their bold plan of escape was successful. The story of their adventures on the little schooner is a romance in itself; it belongs to the history that Germany will one day produce of the daring of her own men. Before leaving, they had done all the damage they could to the cable and wireless stations.

Next morning the Sydney returned to the wreck, taking with her the doctor from Cocos Island, and all the helpers that could be mustered. The Emden was found in a condition truly pitiful. The deck was a tangle of twisted steel; so shattered that it was impossible to make a way about it. The survivors were huddled together in the forecastle, the only part of the ship which had not been made an inferno by the fire, which was still burning aft, and had scorched the stern out of all shape or even existence. There was not a drop of fresh water on the ship, and the food supplies were inaccessible or destroyed. For quite twenty-four hours the survivors, many of them suffering from terrible wounds, had been without food or even drink.

To reach the shore was a matter almost of impossibility, so heavy was the sea that was running. To make matters worse, the more experienced of the two doctors carried by the German cruiser had had his thigh broken in the action. In their despair some of the crew, including a number of wounded men, had managed to reach the shore, only to be mocked by a waterless and utterly barren patch of sand.

The work of rescue was a difficult business. Only four or five wounded men could be taken off by each boat; and the company of the Sydney worked hard all day at their task. Night fell with it still unaccomplished, but it was completed on the following day. Each wounded man meant a hard task, the work of getting the injured on the boats, and hoisting them from the boats on to the Sydney, being complicated by the roughness of the sea, and the dreadful injuries and sufferings they had one and all experienced.

The losses on both sides showed how utterly the Emden was outfought. The Sydney lost three men killed outright, while one more afterwards died of his wounds. Four were seriously wounded, four more were returned as wounded, and yet another four as slightly wounded. The men killed were: Petty Officer Thomas Lynch, Able Seamen Albert Hoy and Reginald Sharpe, and Ordinary Seaman Robert Bell.

The Emden lost, in the action and by drowning, twelve officers and 119 men; the prisoners totalled eleven officers, nine warrant officers, and 191 men. Of these three officers and fifty-three men were wounded, most of them seriously. The fight lasted for an hour and forty minutes, though after the first fifteen minutes the battle was a hopeless one for the Germans. In their manœuvres the combatant vessels covered more than thirty miles during the progress of the fight.

Every courtesy was extended to the prisoners; the officers were allowed to keep their swords, and were treated by the Australians with such consideration as their refusal to give parole permitted. The wounded were tended with the utmost solicitude, and repaid the care lavished on them with expressions of the liveliest gratitude.

The Sydney rejoined her convoy at Colombo, one of the world's great ports of call. The great roadstead was swarming with friendly vessels, the city lay white above the cliffs of Galle Face, the houses nestling among the brilliant green of the palms, bisected with startling red roads. Above, a cloudless blue sky, and the British flag proudly floating over all. Colombo is one of those "places in the sun" which have aroused the covetous greed of his Majesty Wilhelm II.

The flagship Melbourne signalled her course to the Sydney, and the victorious cruiser swung round and steamed between the long rows of transports. The side of each swarmed with Australasian soldiers, all greeting the conqueror, hat in hand. The silence was so oppressive that the captured Germans looked uneasily at one another. Every ship in the harbour showed its bunting, but no whistle blew, no cheer was raised to greet the heroes of the fight.

Piqued into an unrestrainable curiosity by this apparent lack of emotion, one of the German captured officers asked an officer of the Sydney why there was no cheering. He was told, very simply, that as there were prisoners on the cruiser, suffering from serious wounds gallantly sustained, the Sydney had sent a message asking that no noisy demonstration should mark her return to the fleet. This reply unmanned him completely. With tears in his eyes he said, "You have been kind, but this crowns all; we cannot speak to thank you for it."

For Australians not the least proud of the memories of the first engagement fought by their navy will ever be that silent greeting of the returning conqueror. The restraint imposed upon that army of Australasians, going out for the first time to make war in Europe, was hardly natural, when the thrilling nature of the incident is considered. The chivalrous care for the wounded enemy will surely immortalize the gallant sailors who desired it, and the brave soldiers who respected their wish so thoroughly.

But elsewhere such restraint was not necessary. On November 10, the news of the destruction of the Emden was announced at Lloyd's in London, the parting knell of the raider being rung on the bell of the old Lutine. The underwriters, mindful of the £2,500,000 of damage done by the raider to British commerce, burst spontaneously into hearty cheering for the Sydney and her bold crew; also for the newest navy in the world, the navy of the Commonwealth of Australia.

From all parts of the world messages of congratulation were flashed to the Prime Minister of Australia. For the first time the man in the street realized that Australia really had a navy, efficient in the highest degree as to quality, though still limited in the number of its component vessels.

IN THE LAND OF PHARAOH

[CHAPTER III]
IN THE LAND OF PHARAOH

The fight that ended in the destruction of the Emden was the one exciting incident that broke the monotony of the tedious voyage from Australia. When they had left Albany, the last port of call in Australia, the men believed that they would go to Great Britain, there to train for service in Northern France. The intervention of Turkey in the war on the side of the Teutonic nations caused the original intention to be altered, and the men heard that they were to disembark at Egypt. This decision shortened the voyage originally undertaken by nearly one-half, but delays, especially at the Suez Canal, made the journey still a long one. The men who shipped in Tasmania spent nine weeks on the transports before finally disembarking in Egypt; while some of the New Zealanders had even a longer spell of troopship life.

All were glad, therefore, for the break in the monotony afforded by the Emden incident; for the whole fleet witnessed the sudden dash of the Sydney at break-neck speed, and shared the glad news flashed by the cruiser by wireless, that reached the convoy some six hours later. The one menace to the safety of the convoy was thus removed, and the remainder of the journey was devoid even of the interest arising out of the possibility of attack. All were correspondingly pleased when they left the transports and entered their Egyptian camps; the Australians at Mena in the shadow of the Pyramids, and the New Zealanders at Heliopolis.

It is doubtful whether the good people of Cairo have quite yet got over the surprise occasioned them by the proceedings of our Australasian army during their first few days in residence in Egypt. The men certainly behaved as no soldiers had ever behaved before, in Egypt's fairly wide experience. They were as unlike the traditional Mr. Atkins of the British regular army—the type to which Cairo has been accustomed—as it is possible for men of the same race to be. They were young men just freed from the restrictions of life on a troopship; many of them had plenty of money to spend; few of them had ever called any man master, or been subject to any will but their own.

The Australians returning to Camp at Mena, in Egypt.

Their frame of mind was well understood by those in control of them; and for the first few days a good deal of latitude was allowed the newly-landed Australasians. In those few days the word went round the bazaars that all the Australasians were surely millionaires; and that many of them were many times madder than the mad English. Taxicabs (at two shillings an hour) became unattainable things each evening in Cairo; they were monopolized by Australasian private soldiers seeing the sights.

They went into camp on December 8, at the very height of the Egyptian season. A night or two later, a table was set in the most prominent part of the dining-room of one of Cairo's costliest and most fashionable hotels. The place was crowded, and many visitors sought in vain for seats at dinner; this table was exclusively guarded by an unapproachable waiter, who averred that it had been set aside for a party of most particular gentlemen. Presently these gentlemen arrived, all attired in the uniforms of privates in the Australian army, and to the scandal of some of those present proceeded to enjoy, cheerfully but decorously, the best the house could produce.

One dragoman of Cairo was accosted by an Australian private, who engaged his services, explaining that he wished to buy carpets to send to Australia as presents to his friends there. The dragoman, wishing to overawe him by a display of the unattainable, took him to a merchant who exhibited three carpets as a beginning, one of which cost £100, and the other two £75 each. While the dragoman was explaining to the seller of carpets that his would-be customer was but a private soldier, and only able to buy very cheap goods, the Australian produced the cash for all three carpets, and leaving an address to which they were to be sent, strolled off. This case is but one of many incidents which excited the keen merchants of Egypt, and gave rise to the bazaar talk of the unlimited wealth of these Australians, even those who served in the ranks.

From Cairo to the Pyramids there runs a thin asphalt road, bordered by green irrigation patches and sandy wastes of desert. Each night in those first easy weeks in Egypt, this road was thronged at midnight by all the motley vehicles Cairo could produce, all crammed with happy soldiers returning to camp after a night's fun in the city. Every day the sights of the neighbourhood were visited by scores of curious Australasians; the desire to climb to the top of the great pyramid of Cheops consumed them; no less than seven men fell in attempting it. Four of them were killed outright, and another was maimed for life.

Australian Soldiers at the Foot of the Pyramids.

The wisdom of affording them an outlet for their high spirits was apparent when, a week or so after landing, the work of military training began in earnest. One and all, they settled down to the collar like veterans, and soon twenty-mile marches through the heavy sand became a joke, as battalion vied with battalion in breaking records of physical fitness. "Physically, they are the finest lot of men I have ever seen in any part of the world," wrote Mr. Ashmead Bartlett, when they came under his observation at this period in their training. At the end of the year both Australians and New Zealanders were able to show at reviews how much they had already benefited by their training.

The occasion of these reviews was the visit to Egypt of Sir George Reid and the Hon. Thomas McKenzie, the High Commissioners in London for the Commonwealth of Australia and the Dominion of New Zealand respectively. The Australians were reviewed at Mena, and the New Zealanders at Heliopolis; and at both reviews General Sir John Maxwell, the officer commanding his Majesty's troops in Egypt, was present. He asked the High Commissioner to convey to the Commonwealth Government his congratulations upon the superb appearance of the Australians. The New Zealanders, with their continuous lines of six feet men, drew from him the observation, "It would be impossible to obtain better material anywhere."

The men were much pleased with the visits of their London representatives, and cheered them to the echo when they departed. At the review of the Australians, Sir George Reid addressed them in the following inspirited words:—

"Sir John Maxwell, General Birdwood, Mr. Mackenzie, General Bridges, officers, and men,—I am glad to see you all. I am only sorry that I cannot take each of you by the hand of friendship. Many anxious mothers have implored me to look after their sons. Alas! it is impossible; but I rejoice to think that you are under officers who will be true guardians of you throughout the length of this great venture.

"The youngest of these august pyramids was built 2,000 years before Our Saviour was born. They have been silent witnesses to many strange events; but I do not think that they could ever have looked down upon so unique a spectacle as this splendid array of Australian soldiers, massed to defend them. Who can look upon these majestic monuments of antiquity without emotion, without regret? How pathetic, how stupendous, how useless, have been these gigantic efforts to preserve the bodily presence of Egyptian kings from the oblivion to which all mortality is doomed. It is the soul of deeds that lives for ever. Imperishable memories have sprung from nameless graves on land and sea whilst stately sepulchres are dumb. The homes of our Imperial race are scattered far and wide, but the breed remains the same—as staunch, as stalwart, as loyal in the east and west and in our own south as in the northern mother land.

Sir George Reid, High Commissioner for the Commonwealth, reviewing the Australian Expeditionary Force at Mena Camp, Egypt.

"What brings these forces here? Why do their tents stretch across this narrow parting of the ways between worlds new and old? Are you on a quest in search of gain such as led your fathers to the Australian shore? Are you preparing to invade and outrage weaker nationalities in lawless raids of conquest? Thank God, your mission is as pure and as noble as any soldiers undertook to rid the world of would-be tyrants.

"In this bright climate, beneath these peaceful skies, which tempt so strongly, do not forget the awful ordeal which is near you. Do not forget the fearful risks which you are approaching. Do not forget the desperate battles long drawn out which you must fight and win. Do not forget Lord Kitchener's warning to the soldiers of the Empire. Do not forget the distant homes that love you. Do not forget the fair fame and stainless honour of Australia committed to your keeping. A few bad ones can sully the reputation of a whole army. If such there be in these ranks before me they must be shunned. They must be thrust out. The first and best of all victories you can ever win is the victory of self-control. Hearts of solid oak, nerves of flawless steel come that way.

"Remember the generous rivalries that await you. Remember the glorious soldiers of the British Isles, of the British Empire, who long to greet you on the battle-line. Remember the heroes of Belgium, of France, of Russia, of Serbia, and Japan. Remember all the fleets watching on every sea. The allied interest is deep and vital, but there are interests deeper and more vital still. The whole destinies of the world are at stake in this titanic struggle. Shall the hand of fate point backwards to universal chaos or forward to everlasting peace. Backwards they must not, shall not, go. It is impossible. True culture, crowned with chivalry and good faith, will prove too strong once more for savage tricks and broken faith.

"Good luck. May God be with you each and all until we meet again."

The next two months were months of hard work. Twenty-mile marches through the desert sand with a 70-lb. load took all the desire for an evening's fun in Cairo out of even the friskiest of them, and in surprisingly short time they settled down into soldiers as good as they looked—steady, resourceful and disciplined, as they were soon to prove on one of the bloodiest battlefields of the Great War.

For some of them the baptism of fire came in Egypt, when the Turks made their farcical attempt on the Suez Canal. The New Zealand Infantry and the Australian Engineers took part in the engagement which ended that attempt, and comported themselves well. The New Zealanders captured one of the celebrated galvanized iron boats, which the Turks had lugged across the desert for the crossing of the canal, and it was sent to New Zealand, the first trophy of the war from the Old World for Australasia.

Training in Egypt continued till early in April, and then a large proportion of the Australasians were despatched to the Dardanelles, to assist in the attempt to force the passage of the Straits, already begun by the combined British and French fleets. The first task before the Expeditionary Force to the Dardanelles was to effect a landing on the Gallipoli Peninsula.

THE BATTLE OF BRIGHTON BEACH

[CHAPTER IV]
THE BATTLE OF BRIGHTON BEACH

Four months in camp under the passionless gaze of the great Sphinx had shaken the men into a thoroughly fit and efficient army. It had also wearied them into an ardent desire to be up and doing. Each day brought them news of the fierce fighting in Belgium and Northern France. Their cousins and friendly rivals from Canada had already won undying glory, and the Australasians chafed at the monotonous round of hard work and military discipline that seemed to lead to nothing. Not for this had they come half-way across the world; they yearned to be in the thick of it, and show how they could fight for the Empire they were so proud to serve.

The glad excitement that followed the announcement that they were detailed for active and immediate service can well be imagined; and additional joy was displayed when it became known that they were to serve on the classic battleground that borders the Dardanelles. And indeed, there is something of the miraculous in the dispatch of this composite army from two nations that dwell where a century and a half ago no white man existed to the scene of the first great adventure recorded in written history: the quest of the Golden Fleece.

Their land of the Golden Fleece lay thousands of miles away, still unscarred by any war, whatever the future may hold for it. Many of them, until they embarked on this momentous expedition, had never seen any other lands than their own. They had read of the adventures of Homer's heroes, but the scene of those exploits might as well have been laid in some other planet, for all the conception they could form of it. They knew that Alexander the Great had crossed the Dardanelles with a force no greater than their own, and had returned as Conqueror of Asia. For thousands of years the possession of those few miles of narrow sea passage had been the subject of contention among nations that had passed away for ever. Now they, the first real army of the newest nations, came to dispute its possession with an old and decadent race, which for hundreds of years had terrorized Eastern Europe.

Yes, these sheep-farmers and fruit-growers, these land agents and miners and city clerks, were the new Argonauts. They had left the Golden Fleece behind them, and the peaceful sunlit plains of Australia. They had deserted the wind-swept heights of New Zealand, where the salt breeze fans the cheek, and the snow-clad summits of the mountains are mirrored in the placid bosoms of lakes more beautiful than any the Old World has ever seen. Their quest was honour for themselves and the young races they represented; they went to fight for justice, for the unity of the Empire, for the cause of the weak and small nations of Europe. Surely their dispatch to the Dardanelles ranks with the greatest of great adventures.

The whole of the Dardanelles Expedition was commanded by General Sir Ian Hamilton, a familiar name and figure to Australasians, since he was instrumental, by his report on the state of the Australasian defence forces, and by his recommendations, in the establishment of the system of compulsory military training in vogue throughout Australasia. Sir Ian Hamilton's plans provided for a number of separate but simultaneous landings on the peninsula of Gallipoli; and, as a blind, a landing by the French troops which formed a component part of the force at his disposal, on the Asiatic shore of the Dardanelles. Owing to the strong fortifications and defences which had been contrived by the Turks upon plans of German origin, the task of effecting a landing was an extremely difficult one; von der Goltz, the German general who had designed the defences, boasted that it was impossible of accomplishment. His boast, like that of the Emden's captain, was soon to be proved an empty and vainglorious one.

The place chosen for the landing of the Australasians was Gaba Tepe, a high point on the Gulf of Saros, opposite the town of Maidos on the Straits. It should be pointed out here that the landing of troops at this point was of the highest strategical importance, as the presence of a hostile force there would be a continual menace to the Turkish communications. A successful advance of such a force would drive a wedge between the strong forts at the Narrows, on which the attack of the Allies was concentrated, and the Turkish base at Constantinople.

The actual landing party was the Third Australian Brigade, a mixed body of men from Queensland, South Australia and West Australia, commanded by Colonel Sinclair Maclagan, D.S.O. These men 1,500 in number, embarked at Mudros Bay on April 24 on British battleships, and set out for Gaba Tepe. Following them were men of the 1st and 2nd Brigades, a covering force of 2,500. These were conveyed to the landing place in transports. The reason of embarking the actual landing force in warships was fairly obvious. It was hoped that a landing on the rough and inaccessible spot chosen for the Australasians might be effected unopposed; and it was argued that the Turks, who might have been alarmed at the sight of transports and so have time to prepare an opposing force, would accept the presence of warships as merely the prelude to one of the bombardments to which they were now accustomed.

Transports bearing the Australasians to Anzac Cove.

As a matter of fact, the British plans were not hidden from the enemy, for the place actually chosen for the landing was afterwards discovered to have been elaborately prepared for resistance. Barbed wire was entangled under the water, and the beach was enfiladed with machine guns. The cliff was honeycombed with hiding places for snipers, and only a fortunate accident saved the Australians from a much hotter reception than the very warm one accorded them by the Turks.

The landing force arrived opposite Gaba Tepe at 1.30 a.m., and the men were transferred in absolute silence to their boats. At the same time the covering force was transhipped from the transports to six destroyers; and all made for a point about four miles off the coast. The dying moon rose as they steamed to this place, and the outlines of the ships were visible to the Turks, who were watching from the shore. At half-past three the landing force was ordered to go forward, and the tows made for the land with all dispatch.

Now occurred the happy accident to which allusion has already been made. The tows got off the line they had intended to take, and reached the beach about a mile north of the spot actually selected for the landing. A description of the landing place, which will go down to history as Brighton Beach, is given by Sir Ian Hamilton in his first official dispatch of the operations at the Dardanelles.

"The beach on which the landing was actually effected is a very narrow strip of sand, about 1,000 yards in length, bounded on the north and the south by two small promontories. At its southern extremity a deep ravine, with exceedingly steep, scrub-clad sides, runs inland in a north-easterly direction. Near the northern end of the beach a small but steep gully runs up into the hills at right angles to the shore.

"Between the ravine and the gully the whole of the beach is backed by the seaward face of the spur which forms the north-western side of the ravine. From the top of the spur the ground falls almost sheer, except near the southern limit of the beach, where gentler slopes give access to the mouth of the ravine behind. Further inland lie in a tangled knot the under-features of Sari Bair, separated by deep ravines, which take a most confusing diversity of direction. Sharp spurs, covered with dense scrub, and falling away in many places in precipitous sandy cliffs, radiate from the principal mass of the mountain, from which they run north-west, west, south-west, and south to the coast."

Obeying orders to the letter, the Australians sat as quiet as mice in the boats as the tows neared the land; on the edge of the cliffs they could see the Turks scampering along at breakneck speed, to be in the right place to receive them. And now the boats were nearing the shore, and a new sensation was provided for the men of Australia.

"You know one of those hot days when a storm blows up in Australia," said one of the party, in describing it. "The air seems heavy, as if there was lead in it. Then, splash! All around you on the pavement appear big drops, that hit the asphalt with a welt. Well, all of a sudden something began to hit the water all round us just like that. We knew from the rattle on the shore what it was. Bullets! A man two places away from me sank quietly on the bottom of the boat; something touched my hat and ruffled my hair. We were under hot fire for a start."

As the boats reached the shallow water the Australians jumped in up to the waist, and made for the sand; some of them died in the moment their feet first touched Europe. "Like lightning," writes General Sir Ian Hamilton, in his official dispatch, describing the landing, "the Australians leapt ashore, and each man as he did so went straight as his bayonet at the enemy. So vigorous was the onslaught that the Turks made no attempt to withstand it, and fled from ridge to ridge pursued by the Australian infantry."

It must be remembered that the cliff up which this bayonet charge was made was from 30 to 50 feet high, and as described by Sir Ian Hamilton, was "almost sheer." At each end of the strip of beach was a higher knoll, about a hundred feet in height. On each of these were posted scores of sharpshooters, who were firing as rapidly as they could at the men scrambling up these cliffs; the Turks at the top could not even fire at them, the cliffs were so steep.

As the men sprang from the boats they set off in groups of five or six, acting on their own initiative. They had empty magazines, all the work being left to the cold steel. In that terrible scramble up the cliffside they fell by dozens, but the rest pressed on to the trenches at the top. The Turks who waited for them there had to encounter infuriated giants. One Australian still bears the name of "The Haymaker," for his way of picking Turk after Turk on the end of his bayonet and throwing them one after another over his shoulder and over the edge of the cliff behind. Two or three more great men preferred to use the butt, smashing down everything human that dared to resist them. In a few moments the Turks had abandoned their trenches and were flying up the foothills to another trench they had prepared on the top of a ridge.

The Landing at Anzac Cove on Sunday, April 25, 1915.

Fast as they ran, the Australians ran faster. The cries of "Come on, Australians," rang through the ravines, and warned the Turks ahead of their coming. The first ridge was occupied, and a second; finally they reached a third nearly two miles inland. It must be understood that they had waited for no orders and had not tarried for any formation. Men of different battalions and from different States swept forward together, all acting on their own initiative, and all prepared to sacrifice themselves for the main object, which was to clear the clifftops so as to permit of a safe landing for the main body of the troops. These watched the fighting in the lightening morning from the decks of the ships, while waiting their turn to land.

They could see on one ridge after another the gaunt figures of their comrades appear, only to disappear over the crest, presently to become visible yet farther inland. How they cheered as the pioneers swept the Turks off the coast and drove them into the thick scrub that skirted the more distant ranges of hills! The audacity of that landing has no superior in history, and Australian soldiers will ever be remembered for their initiative, resource, and daring. Where men less used to acting on their own responsibility would have formed bravely, and waited for orders from some superior, these men from the South dashed off in little groups, all working efficiently, as if by some tacit understanding.

So the 3rd Brigade cleared the way for the 1st and 2nd Brigades, so that 12,000 infantry and two batteries of Indian mountain guns were landed by two o'clock—smart work on such a difficult coast, in ten hours. For this splendid record the greatest credit is due to the Navy men, of whom the Australasians all speak as they would of the greatest heroes on earth. Their coolness, their unassuming courage, and their steadfast adherence to the object in view are topics of which Australians who were there will never tire of talking. And the men of the Navy have an equally high opinion of those law bushmen whom they set down on that narrow strip of bullet-swept beach.

For it must not be supposed that the clearance of the trenches opposite the landing place made the task of landing in any way a safe one. All day long batteries posted in the hills, which had the range of the beach quite accurately, continued to spray the landing with shrapnel. One sandy point was christened by the Australians Hellfire Spit, and will go down to history by that name. Their name for the landing place was Brighton Beach, which name it now bears on the official maps. British people must not suppose that this name has any reference to the seaside town which is sometimes called London-by-the-Sea. The Australians had in mind another Brighton, 12,000 miles away, where the cliffs rise abruptly from a sandy beach, and where the eye rests on slopes covered with a thick growth of scrubby ti-tree, of which the scrub on the hillsides at Gaba Tepe reminded the men of Australia. So it is Brighton Beach near Melbourne, and not Brighton Beach in Sussex, that gave its name to the landing place at Gaba Tepe.

There were also guns on each of the two knolls which terminated Brighton Beach, and from them and from machine guns very cleverly placed on high points a cruel enfilading fire was directed upon the beach. The guns on the knolls were one by one put out of action by the warships, and three were captured by the infantry, but some of the machine guns, as well as innumerable snipers, continued to fire on the boats and on the landed men throughout the day. Many a brave Australasian met a bullet before ever he set foot on the soil of Europe, and the sailors suffered heavily but doggedly as they rowed their boats to and fro between the ships and the landing place.

It is now necessary to follow the fortunes of the little bands of the gallant 3rd Brigade, whose rush had carried them over three successive ridges on to a high tableland, where the backs of the retreating Turks were still visible. "Where's the Light Horse?" the men shouted as they rushed on in pursuit. The Light Horse was then eating out its heart somewhere in Egypt, wishing that such an animal as the horse had never been created, and that they might be with their comrades of the infantry, fighting in Australasia's first great battle. Of course they could never have got cavalry up on to that plateau, though mounted men would have been very useful when the first Australian soldiers crossed the ridges, and reached its wide, scrubby slopes.

These devoted little bands found more than stragglers on that high plateau. Soon the advance guard of the main Turkish defence force arrived on the scene, and then it went very badly with these bold spirits. The fate of many of those little groups of brave, resourceful soldiers is yet to be learned; most of them appear on the sheets as "Missing." Those behind them were thrown back by sheer force of numbers, as the main body of the Turks pressed on, and fighting gallantly, fell back on the second line.

By nightfall the main body of the Australians, all mixed up just as they had landed, and without regard to battalions or anything else, was dug in on the clifftop, and fighting desperately to prevent the Turks from dislodging them.

"The troops had had no rest on the night of the 24th-25th," writes the General, "they had been fighting hard all day over most difficult country, and they had been subjected to heavy shrapnel fire in the open. Their casualties had been deplorably heavy. But despite their losses and in spite of their fatigue, the morning of the 26th found them still in good heart, and as full of fight as ever."

Shrapnel bursting over Anzac Cove.
This is one of the most remarkable photographs taken of the Dardanelles fighting, since it shows the water on the right of the picture pitted by the spray of shrapnel bullets.

Such is the story of the battle of Brighton Beach, ending with our boys "in good heart, and full of fight as ever." The wounded and dying men were also in good heart. Mr. Ashmead Bartlett describes the arrival of the first batch of Australian wounded back to the ships in a passage that will stir every Australian's pulse till the very end of time.

"I have never seen the like of these wounded Australians in war before, for as they were towed among the ships while accommodation was being found for them, although many of them were shot to bits and without hope of recovery, their cheers resounded through the night, and you could just see amid a mass of suffering humanity arms being waved in greeting to the crews of the warships. They were happy because they knew they had been tried for the first time in the war, and had not been found wanting. They had been told to occupy the heights and hold on, and this they had done for fifteen mortal hours under an incessant shell fire without the moral and material support of a single gun ashore, and subjected the whole time to the violent counter-attacks of a brave enemy led by skilful leaders, while his snipers, hidden in caves, thickets, and among the dense scrub, made a deliberate practice of picking off every officer who endeavoured to give a word of command or to lead his men forward.

"No finer feat of arms has been performed during the war than this sudden landing in the dark, this storming of the heights, and, above all, the holding on to the points thus won while reinforcements were being poured from the transports. These raw Colonial troops in those desperate hours proved themselves worthy to fight side by side with the heroes of Mons and the Aisne, Ypres and Neuve Chapelle."

OCCUPYING THE LAND

[CHAPTER V]
OCCUPYING THE LAND

The morning of April 26 found the Australasians occupying the cliff top in a long semicircle, with its right resting on the sea at a point opposite the hill of Gaba Tepe, and the left resting on high ground above the coast at a place called Fisherman's Hut. The New Zealanders were on the extreme left, with the 4th Australian Brigade in support of them; next were the 1st Brigade from New South Wales, next to them were the 2nd Brigade of men from Victoria, while on the right were the 3rd Brigade, or what was left of it.

All night they had been fighting, the Turks making brave but ineffectual attempts to dislodge them, and being quite unable to prevent them from digging themselves in. The scattered groups of pioneers were soon sorted out into their various battalions, missing men turned up from all sorts of unexpected places, and order was rapidly instituted among the ranks. This was a very necessary step, for men had been fighting side by side with perfect strangers, a state of things which afforded unlimited opportunities to the host of spies and snipers who swarmed boldly among the Australians, and, employing perfect English, did much to create confusion and loss among them.

Some incidents that occurred during that temporary confusion are evidence of the amazing audacity of these enemies, most of whom were Germans. They were equipped with undeniable Australian uniforms, and spoke with the same accent as the average Australian officer. One of these fellows encountered Captain Macdonald and Lieutenant Elston, of the 16th Battalion (West Australia), and professed to convey to them orders from a superior officer that they should at once go to a spot beyond a piece of rising ground. Unsuspectingly they went, and fell into the hands of a band of Turks, who made them prisoners. The same man delivered a similar message to Colonel Pope, also of West Australia, but on his way to the rendezvous this officer saw something which made him suspicious. He took a flying leap from the rise on which he was walking into a patch of soft sand many feet below, and just in time to save his life. The rise where this took place was promptly christened Pope's Hill; it lies to the left of the deep ravine mentioned in Sir Ian Hamilton's dispatch as being one of the main features of the ground before the Australian line.

The enemy had also become acquainted with the Australian bugle calls, and in the darkness the "Retire" was frequently sounded on the bugle, loudly and insistently. But before landing the precaution had been taken to announce that all bugles had been removed, and that other signals had been substituted. Consequently no notice was taken of this ruse on the part of the enemy, except that it made the Australians profoundly suspicious. And when their suspicions were aroused, the Australians were not easily duped, as many a bold spy found to his cost.

One fellow, in the dress of an Australian officer, ventured to convey some spurious orders to a small group of men who were holding a detached position. He was heard with a show of respect, and then the sergeant asked, "What battalion is yours, sir?" "The 22nd" was the ready reply; a very good one, if there had been a 22nd battalion. "And what ship did you cross on?" continued the questioner. "There is no need to cross-examine your superior officer" was the answer, delivered with the utmost coolness. Just then a rifle cracked, and the supposed officer spun round and fell. "Bit sudden, aren't you?" asked the sergeant of the gaunt Australian who strode forward. "What?" said the shooter, "22nd battalion! Don't know what ship he came on! Let's look at his papers." There was found plenty of proof that the summary methods of the bush were fully justified; and the example was a wholesome one for the audacious colleagues the spy undoubtedly possessed, who had found their way among the temporarily disorganized Australasians.

The snipers, with whom the hillsides were thick, showed in some instances an equal audacity, leaving their prepared hiding places in the scrub on the approach of the Australians, and joining with them in the dusk, pretending to help them look for snipers. During the first few days these marksmen accounted for many brave Australian officers, and in some instances it has been established that an Australian officer was killed by a shot fired from behind, the sniper's lair being passed by the advancing line, though that line contained many bushmen of great skill and experience.

On the other hand, a great number of these fellows were tracked to their hiding places, where they thought themselves quite safe, and got short shrift. The nature of the country made all these ruses possible to the Turks and their German tutors. Most of it was covered with a dense scrub of short, bushy trees, with branches growing right down to the ground. Set very close together, these afforded excellent cover to both sides, but the initial advantage lay, of course, with the defenders, especially in the early days before the Australasians had become familiar with the country. An instance of the density of this scrub is given by an officer of high rank, who, on a tour of inspection, found a group of some twenty soldiers advancing cautiously through the thickest of it. On asking them how they were progressing, he was told, with a great show of genuine sorrow, that they were the survivors of over a hundred, the rest having been cut off. He was able to tell the "survivors" that they were the third group he had encountered in his tour, each believing that the others were hopelessly cut off by the enemy.

In that first twenty-four hours of fighting the Australasian officers set an example of cool courage and hardihood that might have spurred men less daring than their own to deeds of the greatest courage. "The officers were splendid" is the universal verdict of the men, who are not easily moved to enthusiasm. But Australia and New Zealand paid a heavy toll of their finest officers and most trusted leaders. The first man out of the boats was Major Gordon, of Queensland, who leaped into the water shoulder high, followed by a dozen brave fellows in the same instant. But a bullet cut the gallant Major off before he set foot on dry land, the first Australian officer to give up his life in Gallipoli. In the very act of landing Major Robertson, of Queensland, fell dead; Colonel Braund and Colonel Garside did not long outlive him, nor did Colonel Clarke.

Next day saw the death of Colonel McLaurin, one of the leading barristers at the Sydney bar, and a man whose high character was renowned from one end to the other of Australia. "He was a man of singularly high, noble and chivalrous mind," wrote one who knew him well, when his death was announced. "No unworthy word ever passed his lips; it was impossible to imagine any action of his that would be other than generous and just; and there is no doubt that with his remarkable abilities, his courage, and his charm of character, he would have attained the highest position in his profession, or in the profession of arms."

An equally high value was rightly placed by Australia and New Zealand upon other of their brave citizen soldiers who perished gallantly in that first day's fighting so far from home. With simple emotion a sergeant tells of the death of the brave Colonel Clarke. "We stormed the cliff, and the Turks did not wait for us. Halfway up I came across our Colonel. He had his pack on. I asked him to throw it down, but he said that he did not want to lose it, so I carried it for him. We advanced about one mile and a half due east of our landing-place, and found the Turks holding a ridge in great strength, so we lay down and opened fire. I was alongside the Colonel, and had just given him his pack and got down again, when zip—a bullet got him in the body. He was dead in a minute. Major Elliott was sent for. He had been there only two seconds when he was hit. Another officer came up and he was hit, so we had got into a fairly hot place."

Roll-Call on Brighton Beach.
The sad scene after an engagement, when the wide gaps in the ranks are disclosed by the failure of dead, wounded and missing to answer to their names.

The difficult country made it necessary that officers should take great risks when making observations, and they took them cheerfully and courageously. The casualty lists show what a heavy penalty was paid in officers killed and wounded, but the success attending the operations proves that the risk and the loss was not without fruit. Those lives, so cheerfully risked and lost, were not wasted; they were spent audaciously for the purpose in view. "You cannot lead your men from the rear," was the motto of the Australasian officers at Gaba Tepe, and disregarding the imploring counsel of the men beside them they set an example that Australasia will ever mourn and cherish.

The rewards for distinguished service earned in that first day's operations are so numerous as to testify the great gallantry and ability shown in the actual onset. The D.S.O. was granted to Colonel McNicoll, of Victoria, for his gallantry and skill in leading his battalion into action; and to Colonel White, of the Garrison Artillery, for the skill he displayed in the work of reorganization after the necessary confusion of the landing. Colonel McNicoll was afterwards severely wounded when leading his men forward in the great charge at Krithia; and at the time of writing lies slowly recovering in a London hospital. Major Brand, of Queensland, carried messages personally under heavy fire on many emergency occasions, and gathered groups of stragglers into a band which, under his command, attacked and disabled three guns. He, and Major Denton, of West Australia, who occupied an important trench with only twenty men, and held it in face of repeated attacks for six days, both got the D.S.O.

Among recipients of the Military Cross was Lieutenant Derham, of Victoria, who was severely wounded in the thigh, but continued to do his duty for five days more in spite of his agony. He returned to Great Britain with five wounds. Captain Richardson, of New South Wales, led his men up the steep path of the cliff into two bayonet charges against bands of Turks five times their number. The men on either side of him were killed, and he had a bullet through his cap. Finally, an expanding bullet struck him on the shoulder, inflicting a terrible wound. Many other officers were rewarded for their grand work on that first day; the instances given are only typical ones that come to hand.

The non-commissioned officers and the rank and file displayed no less bravery and devotion. There was Sergeant Ayling, of Western Australia, who was one of a platoon which got too far forward in an exposed position, and received the command to retire. The officer in charge, Lieutenant Morgan was severely wounded with shrapnel while this operation was in progress; and Ayling, with three volunteers, returned and drove off the advancing Turks with bayonets, afterwards carrying his wounded officer to safety. Then he reformed his platoon and returned to the attack, holding an exposed position until reinforcements came.

Private Robey, of Queensland, seeing a boat drifting away from the landing-place with a wounded man as its sole occupant, plunged into the water, swam out to the boat under heavy fire, and rescued the comrade from a certain death. Sapper McKenzie, of the Engineers, displayed a similar devotion in carrying a wounded sapper to a departing boat, and pushing it off under heavy fire. He himself was wounded while making for cover. These are only examples among scores of acts of individual bravery displayed on that day of April 25. Some of them have received official recognition; some escaped unrewarded; many of the heroes of that day paid for their gallantry with their lives.

Foremost in heroism on that Sunday were the doctors and stretcher-bearers, of whom the men speak with eyes glowing with enthusiasm. Private Howe, of West Australia, tells how Dr. Stewart, who had wrenched his leg so badly that he had to be invalided, nevertheless picked him up when wounded and carried him on his back under heavy fire for half a mile to a place of safety. Major O'Neill, of New Zealand, has also received the D.S.O. for his bravery and resource in command of bearers.

The Red Cross men were glorious. Most of them worked for thirty-six hours without cessation, and some of them fell down asleep in exposed positions from sheer weariness, as they toiled about the steep rough hillsides at their grand work of mercy. "Two of them saved my life, and I don't even know who they were," said one convalescent Australian. "I was wounded in an exposed trench, and was bleeding quickly to death. My mate wouldn't stand for it; a good chap, but a bit fussy. He signalled back that a man was dying for want of a doctor, and these two chaps came out through the thick of the bullets and carried me off at a sprint. I remember no more until I was on a Hospital ship. They ought not to have come; they risked two good lives to save a doubtful one; and I don't know even who they were and can never thank them." Perhaps those two nameless heroes will see these words one day, and know that their devotion is not forgotten by its grateful object.

Their work was equally as dangerous as that of the fighting soldier, for in those first days of fighting at Gaba Tepe, the Turks made no attempt to respect the Red Cross, though their conduct in this respect improved later on. To advance into the line of fire with a stretcher, under the supposed protection of the Red Cross, was to court a speedy death, and yet there are countless instances of this being done.

One incident, for which a number of witnesses will vouch, shows that this disregard of the Red Cross was part of their training at the hands of their German tutors. A German officer who was lying badly wounded in the firing line attracted the attention of an Australian Red Cross man, who bent over him to render assistance. The return was prompt; the wounded man drew his revolver and shot his benefactor. With a roar of anger, an Australian soldier rushed forward and drove his bayonet time after time through the body of the ungrateful wretch.

The Australian Engineers, who landed about midday on that momentous Sunday, were soon busily at work under the heavy fire directed upon the landing-place. As if by magic, practical paths appeared leading up the cliffside, with sandbag protections; and thus a means of conveying stores and ammunition to the trenches above was at once improvised. The landing-place was improved, and means of getting guns and heavy stores rapidly ashore were contrived with marvellous rapidity. Soon Brighton Beach assumed the appearance of a busy little port, with boats coming and going continually, while shrapnel burst around them and threw up the sand in showers on the beach.

The Australasians completely lost their hearts to the sailormen, with whom they were working here. "I was glad to get out of the blooming boats," said one Australian when recounting his experiences; "but those Jack Tars went to and fro under the shells and bullets as if they never knew of them. You ought to have seen the little middies in charge of the boats; young boys that might have been larking at school. Just boys with round rosy faces, but so keen. When I have a boy I mean to put him in the Australian navy. It makes fine men of them."

The Australasians excited a corresponding admiration from their British sailor friends, not only for the way they fought, but for their whim of bathing under shell fire. Brighton Beach is an ideal place for a swim, barring the small circumstance that several Turkish batteries concealed in the broken ground had the range of the place, and devoted a flattering attention to it. But this did not deter the Australasians, when their time came for a rest, from trying the tonic effect of a plunge in Gallipoli waters.

One man would be stationed on the shore, to give warning, and a score would take to the water together. "Duck," the signalman would cry, as the whining groan of shrapnel shell was heard. Down would go their heads all together, and up their heels, to disappear under the water just in time to avoid the spray of bullets that tore the smooth surface into foam. Then the sailors, watching the fun through their glasses, would roar with laughter; and the gasping Australians would show their heads again, to take breath for the next plunge. It sounds reckless, but the practice continued, though many men subsequently lost their lives through it.

But these amusements were not possible in the few days that followed the first landing. Within twenty-four hours of the appearance of the first warship off Gaba Tepe, the enemy had brought an army of 25,000 men to hold the strongly-prepared positions that commanded the heights above it, and to attempt to drive the Australasians from the precarious footing they had obtained with so much daring. Furious attacks were made all along the line, the object being to prevent the invaders from digging in, and establishing themselves. The 3rd Brigade, which had led the way up the cliffs, and suffered most severely in the initial fighting, had a very hot time of it. They stood firm against repeated bayonet attacks, as did the whole line; and the work of entrenching went on steadily, in spite of the brave fury with which the Turks repeated their attacks.

The warships gave splendid help, shelling the main bodies of the defenders wherever they showed on the ridges. The Queen Elizabeth was conspicuous in this work, standing off so far to sea that she was hardly discernible, yet landing her gigantic shells with amazing accuracy among the ranks of the Turks. The havoc played by one of these shrapnel shells may be imagined when it is considered that they weigh three-quarters of a ton, and contain 20,000 bullets. Nothing impressed the Australasians more than the hideous din made by the explosion of one of these gigantic shells, and the scar on the hillside that showed after its bursting.

It was under the supporting fire of the warships that the Ninth and Tenth Infantry made a most gallant bayonet charge on the 26th, to drive the Turks from a ridge beyond Pope's Hill, which commanded the whole Australian position, and permitted machine guns to enfilade the landing-place. They advanced in open lines through the scrub, making dashes of a hundred and fifty yards at a swift run, and then dropping to take breath for another charge. Twice they drove the Turks from the position, and were in turn driven back; the third time they stayed there.

The 8th Battalion (Victoria) had to bear the brunt of repeated charges by bodies of Turks who far outnumbered them and came charging with shouts of "Allah! Allah!" The losses sustained by the enemy in these charges were enormous. The 4th (New South Wales) made one dashing bayonet charge that carried them right through the Turkish camp, but beyond they came into an area commanded by machine guns, and got off again, having lost heavily and fought most gallantly.

These are only some of the incidents detailed out of the confusion of the second day's fighting. By the end of that day the Australasians recognized that they were there to stay. A conversation in one of the advanced trenches bears quaintly upon their certainty on this point. One by one the men gazed through a periscope at the prospect commanded from the height they occupied. "Fair country for stock," remarked one, as he yielded his place. "Take a lot of clearing," commented another. The third was a miner. "Here," he said after a long inquisitive look around, "chuck me an entrenching tool; I'm going to try for a prospect."

Yes, they were there to stay right enough; until their duty should call them to fight the cause of right and freedom somewhere else. Already a lamentably large number of them were there to stay until the last trump shall sound the call to them to arise and receive the reward the hereafter holds for brave and noble men, who have laid down their lives that justice and goodness may not perish from the face of the earth. But dead or alive, the Australasians were there to stay, until such time as they should receive the command to retire.

Already they had made history after a fashion which is testified in a letter written about that time by General Birdwood, who had charge of the whole of the Gaba Tepe operations, to Sir George Reid, the High Commissioner in London for Australia. The General wrote:—

"The capture of the position we at present hold will, I feel sure, go down to history as a magnificent feat of the Australians and New Zealanders. Our one chance of success was to hurl ourselves on the position on a broad front, and just insist on taking it. That is just what we succeeded in doing. We tried our best to effect a surprise by landing at night, though this was necessarily a risky matter, but our one great chance. Our surprise, I fear, was by no means complete, as owing to the moon setting late, our ships were necessarily silhouetted against it as we approached, and we were consequently met with a heavy fire whilst still in the boats. Nothing, however, would stop the men, who just raced ashore, and up and all over this most difficult scrub-covered hill, of which we now hold a portion. In their great zeal, I am sorry to say, some detachments advanced too far, getting right away from the flanks, while the enemy held the centre in strength, and there were, I fear, completely cut off, which made our losses heavy. That, however, could not possibly be avoided, for had commanding officers and brigadiers waited to form up their commands as they normally would have done, we should probably never have captured the position at all, which great dash alone was able to take."

Sir George Reid, High Commissioner for the Australian Commonwealth, 1914-15.

POPE'S HILL AND GABA TEPE

[CHAPTER VI]
POPE'S HILL AND GABA TEPE

"I heartily congratulate you on the splendid conduct and bravery displayed by the Australian troops in the operations at the Dardanelles. They have indeed proved themselves worthy sons of the Empire."

When this message, graciously sent by his Majesty King George to the Prime Minister of the Commonwealth of Australia, emerged from the fog of war, there was widespread gratification and pride throughout a continent of 3,000,000 square miles. Nobody knew what the Australians had done, for though more than a week had passed since the Third Brigade made its famous rush up the cliffs at Gaba Tepe, the Censor still nursed the secret of their bravery, lest the waiting nations of the South might communicate it to the powers of darkness in Berlin. The gracious message of the King was the first intimation that Australians were even at the scene of action, and the avidity with which Australasia waited for further details may well be imagined.

Meantime the soldiers of Australasia were fighting hard, and incurring enormous losses to make good their position. Their first important offensive operation, after the actual landing was established, was made against the knoll which now bears the name of Pope's Hill. This position, described by Sir Ian Hamilton as a commanding knoll in front of the centre of the line, was attacked on the night of May 2. Behind it was the head of the deep ravine called Monash Gully, down which the Turks directed a rifle fire so continuous that its outlet on the beach was named Death Valley. The enemy continually sought to extend their advantage to a point which would allow them to direct their fire on the Australians from the other side of the hill also.

The importance of the position can therefore be estimated. It was a sort of no-man's-land, but its possession would give the occupants a great advantage; it certainly would free the Australian lines from a continuous and harassing fire from whole hosts of snipers.

The German officers who directed the Turkish operations had themselves fully seized the value of the post to the invading force, and had posted a number of machine guns with deadly science, covering the whole slope approaching the knoll. When the attack opened on the night of May 2, the attacking force was not long in discovering the arrangements made for its reception. Line after line charged into a perfect hail of bullets from the destructive machine guns, and no less than 800 men were lost before the attackers desisted.

One incident of that terrible day was narrated to the writer by a private of the 15th Battalion who took part in the attack. Early in the morning part of his company was detailed to take a Turkish trench on the slope of the hill. The men crouched in cover about forty yards from the trench waiting a lead. It was given by Lieutenant Kerr, a young South Australian officer, who sprang forward calling on the men to follow. No sooner had he assumed an upright position than he fell dead, with a bullet through his forehead. With a yell of rage the men rushed forward and occupied the trench, bayoneting all the Turks who awaited their coming.

In this operation but few men were lost, though they deeply lamented the death of the brave young officer who had pointed the way to them. But the position soon became a most difficult one to maintain. The Turks appeared in front and to either side of them in overwhelming force, and swept the ground behind them with machine guns, so that none could come to their aid. They maintained a stout defence, until they found to their dismay that their ammunition was running short. Volunteers were quickly forthcoming to go to the rear for fresh supplies, but they could see them fall one after another, within a few yards of the trench.

They eagerly sought the cartridges still in the belts of the dead and wounded, passing them from hand to hand along the trench, one clip for each man. But this source was soon exhausted, and they were confronted with the fact that they were defenceless and practically cut off. How complete was their isolation they only realized when they saw two machine gun sections of marines attempting to advance up the hill to their assistance. Every man in both sections fell by the side of the guns under the withering fire directed upon them as they climbed upwards.

In this extremity the officer in command, whose name the narrator of the affair could not ascertain, determined to try to reach the communication trench in his immediate rear. He told his men of his resolve, and said he would do all in his power to cover their subsequent retreat, if he succeeded in reaching safety himself. The signal for their retirement would be the hoisting of an entrenching tool in the communication trench.

Having made this arrangement, the officer leaped from the trench and made a dash down the hill. Apparently he took the enemy by surprise, for he reached a safe place without a shot being fired. Then the shovel was hoisted, and the men prepared to run the gauntlet. One after another eight men bolted from the trench, not one of them going ten yards before being cut off. The ninth was the narrator of this experience.

"I knew it was death to stay," he said "and I knew it was almost as surely death to go. I grit my teeth and made a dash for it. I doubled like a hare; I checked and turned and twisted as I ran; the bullets whizzed around me and cut my tunic to rags. Within two yards of safety, and as I was preparing for the last leap into the trench I was struck in the thigh, and the force of the bullet rolled me over among my comrades."

Over two hundred men were lost in the futile attempt to hold that trench alone. For many weeks Pope's Hill remained neutral territory, a menace to the safety of the whole Australasian position at Gaba Tepe. In the end the Australasians, after capturing and losing it many times, made good their title to the position. Its importance was at once demonstrated by the control it gave them of the high ridge beyond, which they christened Dead Man's Ridge. Before the capture of Pope's Hill the enemy continually shot down Monash Valley, and caused serious casualties every day. Afterwards they were soon cleared from this commanding ridge, and the whole Australasian position was rendered comparatively safe. But this development was deferred for nearly three months after the attack of the second of May.

Another point of vantage is the hill of Gaba Tepe, which is situated on the very seaboard, at the extreme right of the Australasian line. This knoll is only 120 feet high, but the batteries upon it, until they were silenced by the guns of the warships, did an immense amount of damage to landing parties coming and going in the bay. On May 4 an attack was made upon this knoll, but proved unsuccessful, because, to quote the official dispatch of Sir Ian Hamilton, "the barbed wire was something beyond belief." Three months later Gaba Tepe still remained in the hands of the Turks.

The actual losses in these first days of fighting were excessively heavy, and the little force of Australasians, now facing a ring of 25,000 Turks, counted the missing ones ruefully, not only in grief for their dead and wounded comrades, but because the strain placed upon the survivors was by so much the heavier.

General James McCay, commanding 2nd Brigade, Australian Infantry.

The Second Brigade, composed of Victorians led by General McCay, had landed with 4,300 men. After the unsuccessful attack on Gaba Tepe, nine days later, the roll-call showed 2,600 remaining. A week later the same brigade was engaged in a glorious charge at Krithia, and returned with only 1,600 men. In a little over a fortnight that Brigade had lost over 60 per cent. of its effectives, a heavy toll indeed.

The experience of those early days had already taught the adaptable Australasians many new things about bush fighting. They had learned, for instance, how to deal with the snipers who had infested the hillsides; and in a very short time put an end to them. This was highly necessary, for in the first two or three days' fighting the toll in officers had been intolerable, owing to the efforts of these sharpshooters, whose mission was to pick off the leaders of the men.

The Australian method of stalking them called for a considerable amount of hardihood on the part of those practising it. Two of them would go out after one sniper, having roughly marked down the spot where he lay by the sound of his rifle. They separated as they crawled near him, so that one could approach him from either side. Stealthily they crawled through the olive bush, waiting sometimes for long half hours for the crack of his rifle to assist in locating him. At last the exact thicket that sheltered him would be located; then, at a given signal, both would rush on him with fixed bayonets. Usually he was alert enough to account for one of them, but the other invariably got him. Those snipers were ready to surrender when caught and held at bay, and the self-control of an Australasian who could spare the enemy who had just shot down his comrade is hard to estimate.

Another new employment was the throwing of bombs, home-made for the greater part. An empty jam tin, with some fuse and explosive, were materials from which the handy bushmen constructed very serviceable bombs, which were employed at that part of the line between Quinn's Post and Courtney's Post, where the trenches approached very closely together.

One team of bomb throwers achieved fame as the Test team, because the sergeant always distributed the ammunition in his own way. He made the distribution a "catching" practice, the bomb forming the cricket ball. The record of no catches missed was well sustained; exactly what might have happened had one been dropped had better be left to the imagination.

It was at this period of their occupation of Gallipoli that the word by which they have since become famous was coined. Every case of ammunition and every parcel of stores landed on their beaches bore the initials of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, thus: A N Z A C, and the little cove where they were landed was quickly christened Anzac Cove. But the real popularity of the word dated from the time when an interpreter pointed out that this was really a Turkish word, meaning "wholly just."

It was at once adopted as a name for the area they occupied, and was avidly seized upon by the British and Australasian Press as a handy and expressive substitute for Australasian, a cumbrous title that has always offended those who have had to use it most frequently. So the Australasians became the Anzacs, a title under which they have won fame and will live for ever in the history of warfare.

During the whole of this time they had heard and seen nothing of their British comrades, who had landed on the southern point of the peninsula of Gallipoli at the same moment as they were scaling the cliffs above Brighton Beach. The German spies who did so much to confuse the initial operations were continually passing word to detached bands to cease firing, as the British, or the French, were immediately in front of them. Little attention was paid to these false statements, except that a vigorous search was made for the originators, and summary justice meted out to them when found. For the Australians were well informed of the movements of the other detachments of the Allied forces.

Between these and the Australasian post at Gaba Tepe towered a range of hills, rising to its highest point at Achi Baba, the Gibraltar of Gallipoli peninsula. The means of communication between the two holdings was limited to the sea, for the Turks were strongly posted, right down to the coast, in the intermediate territory.

By means of the sea, communication was established on May 6 between the two forces; and 4,000 Australasians were detached for the time being to help in the operations of the main body of the Allied armies before the village of Krithia. The men chosen were the Second Brigade of Australians, and the New Zealand infantry. They were taken off on small boats, transferred to trawlers, and carried to the major scene of operations, where they distinguished themselves after a fashion now to be described.

THE CHARGE AT KRITHIA

[CHAPTER VII]
THE CHARGE AT KRITHIA

The men of Anzac were now called upon to take their part in a great concerted attack, made by all the forces commanded by Sir Ian Hamilton on Gallipoli Peninsula. Those familiar with the operations in Gallipoli will remember that, simultaneously with the landing of the Australasians at Gaba Tepe, no less than five landings had been effected by the British and French expeditionary forces further south, on points situated on the extreme southern point of the peninsula.

A great mountain rampart lay between these forces and the Anzacs, culminating in the summit of Achi Baba, the hardest nut to crack in the whole peninsula. Loftily situated on the slopes of Achi Baba is the village of Krithia, protected by a maze of Turkish trenches, and a wilderness of barbed wire entanglements. Upon this village an attack was directed from as many points as practicable, and in this attack a large proportion of the Australasian troops participated.

The attack was opened by such a fusillade of shellfire from the warships of the allied fleet as has seldom been seen or heard. From all quarters they rained shell and shrapnel on the slopes of Krithia, searching the ranges one by one in the attempt to dislodge the defenders from their trenches and hiding-places along the scrubby hillsides and precipitous ravines. The enemies' losses from that shellfire were enormous, but the Turks are admirable defensive fighters, and they clung to their trenches, making the most of the shelters that had been constructed in anticipation of such an attack.

The Anzacs had been posted as reserves in this great attack on Krithia, the Australians occupying positions on the left of the Krithia road, in support of a division of the Naval Brigade. On the other side of the road, and in support of the British 88th Brigade, were the New Zealanders. The fighting had begun on May 6, and between then and May 8 some ground had been gained; but the Turks were so strongly entrenched, and counter-attacked so vigorously, that on the morning of the 8th it appeared as though there were some danger of the advantage being again lost.

It was on the evening of May 8 that the long-expected signal to advance was received by the Australasian soldiers. Now they were to prove themselves in the eyes of the world, for they were fighting side by side with men drawn from four continents. Away to their extreme right the French, with their brave Senegalese helping them, had performed prodigies of valour during the preceding days. They were still holding the mile of ground they had gained, hanging on like grim death, and even pushing forward where opportunity permitted.

Nearer to the Australasian posts were Indian troops; Gurkhas, Sikhs and Punjabis; while with them were Britons of all kinds, sailormen and soldiers, regulars, Indian-service men, and a sprinkling of the new Army raised by Lord Kitchener. On the warships in the Gulf of Saros and the Dardanelles, eyes experienced in all the battlefields of modern days were watching them critically. The cannonade from the warships redoubled; the din was appalling, so that the very earth shook with it. It was at this moment that the Australasians were ordered to step into the limelight.

A quarter of a mile in front of the New Zealanders the gallant 88th held a trench. The Maorilanders had to go through that, and forward as far up the slope as a series of rushes with the bayonet would carry them. Before the Australians were the sailormen, situated similarly to the 88th. Past their trench the Australians had to charge, and up the bullet-swept slope towards Krithia. They waited for the signal to advance; it was given by the sudden cessation of the deafening din that was proceeding from the great 15-inch guns of the warships.

With a cry of "Ake! Ake!"—the war cry of the brave old Maori chief Rewi—the New Zealanders swept forward in a solid body over the 400 yards that separated them from the trench held by the 88th. A pause for breath was taken, and then they went on, taking with them many of their English cousins, who wanted to be in it with the bold fellows from the Long White Cloud. Just as they practised evolutions on the sands of Heliopolis, so they performed them now. The solid lines expanded, always advancing without check or pause. Sometimes they doubled, sometimes they walked; but they moved steadily forward all the time, a thin brown line that no human agency could stop. For seven hundred yards more they went on, with bullets raining upon them, and through a veil of constantly exploding shrapnel. Then they could go no farther. But they would not go back; they flung themselves on the ground and dug for shelter.

The New Zealanders reviewed at Heliopolis.

From the warships that charge was watched by those who were there for no other purpose than to observe and record. The great broken slope up which the charge was made lay like the stage of some huge theatre under the glasses of those who were watching, and with a fascination in which intensest admiration was blended, every move of the soldiers of the South was chronicled. Mr. Ashmead Bartlett was among those who watched that unforgettable charge, and he has placed his impressions on record in the following words:—

"The line entered one Turkish trench with a rush, bayoneted all there, and then passed on into broken ground, shooting and stabbing, men falling amid the terrible fusillade, but not a soul turning back. No sooner had one line charged than another pressed on after it, and then a third. On the right the New Zealanders and the Australians advanced at the same moment, but over much more open ground, which provided little or no cover. They were met by a tornado of bullets and were enfiladed by machine guns from the right.

"The artillery in vain tried to keep down this fire, but the manner in which these Dominion troops went forward will never be forgotten by those who witnessed it. The lines of infantry were enveloped in dust from the patter of countless bullets in the sandy soil and from the hail of shrapnel poured on them, for now the enemy's artillery concentrated furiously on the whole line. The lines advanced steadily as if on parade, sometimes doubling, sometimes walking, and you saw them melt away under this dreadful fusillade only for their lines to be renewed again as the reserves and supports moved forward to replace those who had fallen.

"In spite of all obstacles a considerable advance towards Krithia was made, but at length a point was reached from which it was impossible to proceed farther. Not a man attempted to return to the trenches. They simply lay down where they were and attempted to reply to their concealed enemy, not a man of whom disclosed his position. Only a few hundred yards had been won, it is true, but these Australians and New Zealanders were determined not to budge and proceeded to entrenching themselves where they lay."

The simultaneous charge of the Australians was made with the same steadiness and coolness as was displayed by the New Zealanders. The men were led up to the firing trench occupied by the Naval division by General McCay in person, and he gave them the signal to go forward when they had taken breath after their first quarter of a mile rush. "Now then, on, Australians!" he cried, waving the periscope he carried. And they took up the cry. "Come on, Australians!" was the shout, and there was no need to repeat it.

Through the bursting shrapnel they ran, line after line, always forward, though their ranks were thinning rapidly. They opened out as if on parade, they kept a straight thin line of advance. They raced the New Zealanders on their left and far outdistanced the British and Indians on their right. Then they too dug for shelter, and made good their ground. They were congratulated by their British friends afterwards on the fine show they had made, when one long bushman drawled out, "Why, it was child's play to that first Sunday."

But they had played to a full house and the Anzac charge at Krithia rammed home the reputation they had first won on the steep cliff of Gaba Tepe. On the next day, May 9, the 15th and 16th Battalions of the Fourth Regiment carried three more trenches near Gaba Tepe; and on the following day resisted successfully a series of deadly and persistent attacks. So they won fame, and again proved their title to be considered soldiers of the very first rank.

It was after the fighting of these two days that General Sir Ian Hamilton sent to Mr. Andrew Fisher, the Prime Minister of the Australian Commonwealth, a message of which every Australasian should be proud:—"May I, out of a full heart, be permitted to say how gloriously the Australian and New Zealand Contingents have upheld the fine traditions of our race during the struggle still in progress. At first with audacity and dash, since then with sleepless valour and untiring resource, they have already created for their countries an imperishable record of military virtue."

The Anzacs holding the position at Gaba Tepe were naturally weakened by the withdrawal of these reinforcements to co-operate in the main attack, and this fact appears to have been known to the enemy. It is at any rate certain that redoubled vigour was displayed in attacking those who remained to hold the Gaba Tepe position, while their comrades were employed elsewhere. All these attacks were successfully repelled, and the defenders, now accustomed to their surroundings, and becoming more inured to actual war conditions, gave even better exhibitions of soldierly qualities than before. That is to say that, while fighting as bravely as ever, they spared themselves more, and reduced the number of avoidable casualties.

But constant and dangerous work had put a great strain upon them, and a rest for many of them was badly needed. At this juncture a very considerable and most welcome reinforcement arrived, and permitted the needed rest to be taken. The reinforcement consisted of the cavalry, who had been left behind in Egypt with their horses. The news that their mates were in the thick of the fighting had not tended to diminish their discontent at being left behind, and on hearing the news from Gaba Tepe, and seeing the first wounded arrive at Egypt, they arose and demanded as one man to be allowed to serve in the trenches as infantry.

Those who know how close and intimate is the tie between the Australasian horseman and his horse will recognize that this volunteering had a special value of its own, coming from the class of man that it did. The offer was gladly accepted, the men doffed their mounted kit, and got into puttees and bluchers. They arrived in the nick of time, and any difference between their training and that of the infantry could not be appreciated, as soon as they got into the trenches and to real soldiering work.

The coming of the "light-weights" made a great difference to the men already at Gaba Tepe, whose numbers were sadly depleted; and the men who had left their spurs behind got a welcome all the warmer because they had not waited to be ordered there, but had volunteered. They came in the very nick of time, for the presence of the Anzacs had become so obnoxious to the German commanders of the Turkish forces that active steps were even then being concerted to get rid of them.

These positions that they held so strongly midway between the city of Gallipoli and the end of the peninsula, where the bulk of the Expedition to the Dardanelles was operating were an enormous hindrance to the Turks and their German masters. A large body of troops had always to be kept on the spot to prevent the Anzacs from cutting communications between the main defending force and the depots whence they drew their stores and reinforcements. Not only that; the actual progress of reinforcements was hampered by the operations of these tireless Colonials, who were constantly harassing the warrior natives of the soil.

Therefore General Liman von Sanders, in his wisdom, decided that the Anzacs must be driven into the sea; and at the time of the arrival of the reinforcements drawn from the Australasian Light Horse, was gathering a strong army, which he soon afterwards directed in a general frontal attack upon the Anzac positions.

But before that attack was delivered, the Australian army suffered an irreparable loss in the person of its brave and skilful General, General Bridges. This gallant soldier had been in the thick of the fighting throughout the whole of the operations that began with the landing of April 25. Wherever he went he set an example of cool courage that acted as a tonic to the men, who trusted and loved him dearly. At first he disdained to take the ordinary precautions that were dictated by the conditions under which he was directing operations, and with a grim carelessness walked about under shrapnel fire, without making any attempt to seek cover.

General Bridges, who commanded the 1st Expeditionary Force from Australia. Died from a wound inflicted by a sniper in the Valley of Death on May 10.

The warnings of his staff, and his early conviction that it was not necessary to set so uncompromising an example of personal courage to men so consistently brave as those under his command, caused him later to adopt a more prudent attitude; and on the day when he sustained his fatal wound he showed more than his customary care for himself. He set out upon an inspection of a firing line, and for once he consented to run through the more exposed parts of his round.

A description has already been given of the deep ravine that runs down to the sea on the right of Pope's Hill. When he came to the path that crosses this gully, he was warned by the dressers at the ambulance station that the bullets were flying very thickly down the gully. "You had better run across here, sir," said one of them. He took the advice and reached another shelter. There he stood for a time, and then remarking ruefully, "Well, I suppose I must run for it again," he made a dash for the next cover. Before he reached it a bullet struck him in the thigh, severing an important artery. He would have rapidly bled to death but for prompt assistance. Stricken as he was, his first thought was for others; he did not wish any one to expose himself in helping to carry him down to the sea-front.

He was carried there, however, and transferred to the hospital ship with every possible care. In spite of all attention and skill, he never rallied; and died at sea on his way to Egypt. Australia mourns him as a gallant and considerate leader, a man whose memory will be ever revered in the Southern Continent. His command was temporarily assumed by Brigadier-General Walker, who acted in that capacity until the arrival from Australia of General Legge, who was appointed to succeed General Bridges.

THE BATTLE OF QUINN'S POST

[CHAPTER VIII]
THE BATTLE OF QUINN'S POST

Captain Von Mueller boasted that he would sink the Australian cruiser Sydney. He lost his ship, and was carried a captive by the Australians to a British prison camp. General Liman von Sanders declared he would drive the Anzacs off the face of Gallipoli Peninsula into the sea. The result of his attempt was a slaughter of Turks that has not been equalled in the Dardanelles fighting, and the return of so many wounded to Constantinople that a panic was created in the Turkish capital. If any boasting is to be done, the proper time is after the event.

The preparations made by Sanders Pasha for his great attack upon the Anzacs were long and elaborate. For days beforehand he was busy in organizing the transport of great stores of ammunition to the neighbourhood of Maidos, a town on the neck of the peninsula, opposite Gaba Tepe. Five fresh regiments were brought from Constantinople to stiffen the attacking force; they afterwards proved to have been chosen from the very élite of the Turkish army. He detached in addition heavy reinforcements from the main body of defenders, who were holding back the Allies at Achi Baba. He had determined to do the thing very thoroughly.

His attack was launched on May 18, and he himself assumed personal charge of the operations. Shortly before midnight on May 18 he began to expend his huge store of shell after the approved German fashion. All the batteries concealed in the hills around set up a hideous din, swollen by the roar of the machine guns, and the cracking of countless rifles. In that shelling, 12-inch guns, 9-inch guns, and huge howitzers were employed, as well as artillery of smaller calibre. Naturally every Anzac was on the look out; and word was sent to every post to be prepared for the frontal attack it was assumed would follow. The assumption was a correct one; for soon countless Turks poured over the ridges and made for the centre of the Anzac line.

General Monash, Commander of the 4th Brigade, Australian Infantry.

It has already been explained that this line was a rough semicircle, the left, or Northern wing being situated on high ground above Fisherman's Hut. Here was a ridge facing North-East, named Walker's Ridge after Brigadier-General Walker, and to the right of that was Pope's Hill. These spots were North of the great central gully or valley, which was at first known as Death Gully by the Australian soldiers, but was afterwards called Monash Gully, after General Monash, commander of the 4th Brigade. Immediately to the right of the Gully was Dead Man's Ridge, and the point where the line takes a sharp turn to the South was known as the Bloody Angle.

The Turkish lines, which were some 250 yards distant at the extreme left of the position, continued to get closer to those of the Australasians until here they approached very closely. At Quinn's Post, named after a gallant Major from Queensland who fell fighting bravely at the spot, the lines were only twenty yards apart. The gap widened going South to Courtney's Post, and continued to do so through the other main positions at Steel's Post and McLaurin Hill, down to Point Rosenthal, which faced Gaba Tepe itself on the extreme right wing.

Quinn's Post, at the extreme curve of the Australasian semicircle, came in for the hottest attack of all. In this part of the line were stationed the Fourth Infantry Brigade, which comprised the bulk of the Second Australian Contingent, and is commanded by General Monash. Of this 4th Brigade more will soon be told, but it suffices to say that their steadiness and fighting qualities were put to the supreme test on this early morning of May 19. The trenches here faced the ridge called Dead Man's Ridge, and over this ridge the Turks pushed one another to the attack. Their advance was covered by a continuation of the heavy bombardment of the trenches from Hill 700, and from the top of the ridge where guns, heavy, light and machine, had been concentrated.

This fire, added to the bullets from thousands of rifles, kept all Anzac heads down. Bravely the Turks dashed through the scrub, taking all the cover it afforded, and regardless of the field guns and howitzers of the Anzacs, which were concentrated on them with deadly effect. Many of them got right up to the edge of the trenches, and were shot down at point-blank range. Still they crept out of their cover, massing in every thicket, and advancing under pressure of those behind.

The first light of early morning revealed to the waiting Anzacs a dense mass of the enemy, exposed and within easy range. Then the rifles of the best shots in the world—for there are at least no superiors to them anywhere—rang out, and as fast as each man could pull the trigger, the Turk fell under that deadly fusillade. Still they poured over the ridges, their officers driving them on from behind with loaded revolvers, and still the discriminate slaughter went on.

Australian Field Artillery in Action.

It was discriminate slaughter, for each Anzac, before he fired, marked his man and made sure of him. It was no time for sentimental considerations of mercy; and besides, the Anzacs were fierce with the anger of men who had been sniped for three weeks, without too many chances of getting their own back. They had charged against positions held as their own now was, and had seen their bravest and best fall by hundreds as they drove on in the face of shrapnel and machine-gun fire. Now it was their turn, and they fired until the barrels of their rifles got too hot to be touched. "It was like killing rabbits with a stick," said one man, who was in the hottest part of the fray.

The most terrible execution of all was done by a battery of eighteen pounders, which, with a number of machine guns, had been posted and carefully masked at a spot on the Anzac line between Steel's Post and the Pimple. The fire from these guns took the Turks all unawares and tore great gaps in their ranks. This ambush was arranged by General Johnston, the officer commanding the artillery, and the spot was afterwards known to the Anzacs by the peculiar name of Johnston's Jolly.

All along the line from Quinn's Post to Courtney's the dead were piled in heaps; and still they came on. Some of them died grasping the barbed wire protections in front of the trenches, others fell dead into the very trenches themselves, only stopped by a bullet met on the parapet. They had the support of all the guns Sanders Pasha had been able to muster, and all his huge store of ammunition was expended in trying to drive those Australians into the sea. But not a man budged from his post.

From daylight till ten o'clock that morning the bombardment and the frontal attack were continued; then the Turks would have no more of it. Sullenly they fell back, and as they did so shrapnel completed the disorganization which had now begun. Soon after ten they turned and ran for their trenches, and there they sheltered for hours while the heavy cannonade continued. In the middle of the afternoon their officers made another attempt to drive them forward, but it was a half-hearted response that was elicited. Once more they faced that deadly accurate rifle fire of the men from the South, and before it they crumpled up and fled again for shelter. All night they kept up an incessant fire from their trenches, but in the morning it died away into nothingness. General Liman von Sanders had made a mistake, and the most expensive mistake yet made on the peninsula of Gallipoli. Such was the end to his boasting.

Not a Turk had entered an Anzac trench except dead Turks, not a yard of ground had been gained in any direction. And from Quinn's Post all along the line to Courtnay's, the ground was piled with the dead and dying. "Eight acres of dead bodies," estimated one literal bushman, after a close scrutiny of the field of battle through a periscope. Another essayed to count the bodies in sight from his trench, and stopped at an estimate of 4,000. At least 30,000 Turks took part in that frontal attack, and on a conservative estimate, one-third of them were put out of action. The wounded were sent back to Constantinople literally by thousands, and the sight of them spread panic and dismay far and wide through that city.

Mr. Ashmead Bartlett, who went over the lines on the following day, presents a grim picture of the slaughter wrought by the straight-shooting Australians.

"The ground presents an extraordinary sight when viewed through the trench periscopes. Two hundred yards away, and even closer in places, are the Turkish trenches, and between them and our lines the dead lie in hundreds. There are groups of twenty or thirty massed together, as if for mutual protection, some lying on their faces, some killed in the act of firing; others hung up in the barbed wire. In one place a small group actually reached our parapet, and now lie dead on it, shot at point-blank range or bayoneted. Hundreds of others lie just outside their own trenches, where they were caught by rifles and shrapnel when trying to regain them. Hundreds of wounded must have perished between the lines, for it was only on the 21st that the enemy made overtures for an armistice for burying the dead; but up to the present this has not been granted owing to the suspicious number of troops in his front trenches.

"In places the Turks made four or five separate efforts to charge home, using hand-grenades, but they all failed dismally."

"Ever alert," writes one who took part in the slaughter, "the Colonials were ready to meet the strain when it came. The sight of seemingly endless masses of the enemy advancing upon them might well have shaken the nerve of the already severely-tried troops. Our machine-guns and artillery mowed down the attackers in hundreds, but still the advancing wall swept on. On, still! Would the ranks never waste in strength? Not till the wave was at point-blank range from the nimble trigger-fingers did it break and spend itself amongst our barbed-wire entanglements. Turks were shot in the act of jumping into our trenches. Corpses lay with their heads and arms hanging over our parapets. Our fire gradually dominated the ground in front. Those who turned to fly were mowed down before they could go a dozen yards. The Germans sent their supports forward in droves. It was sickening to behold the slaughter our fire made amongst the massed battalions as they issued from concealment into open spaces.

"These unfortunate Turks scrambled along towards us over piles of dead bodies. In an instant a company would be enveloped in the smoke of a shrapnel salvo. When the smoke cleared that company would be stretched or writhing on the ground, with another company approaching and ready to share its predecessor's fate."

The Anzacs did not lose one man for every twenty they put out of action. Coolly and methodically they took the chance sent them by Sanders Pasha, and every bullet was sent home in memory of the brave comrades they had lost, and the grand general who was even then breathing his last. They had previously displayed bravery, hardihood, and resource beyond imagination; the qualities shown at the battle of Quinn's Post were steadiness, accurate shooting, and a reasoned discipline that would have done the utmost credit to the most seasoned veterans of the British regular army.

Two days later the Turks craved an armistice to bury their thousands of slain. Too great indulgence could not be given them in the performance of their gruesome task, for under the tuition of their German masters they are apt to employ such breathing spaces for purposes to which they ought not to be devoted. The requests for armistices became very frequent after that slaughter of May 19, but the Anzacs knew just how to deal with them.

And so the Anzacs got their own back with enormous interest. After being sent forward over open country against big fields of barbed wire, with enfilading machine-guns hidden at every turn, it was a sheer luxury to lie in the trenches and let the other fellow do a bit of self-immolation. They knew, too, that they had struck a deadly blow at German prestige with the Turk. General Birdwood told them so when he inspected their defences, after the fight was over.

A THORN IN THE FLESH

[CHAPTER IX]
A THORN IN THE FLESH

The failure of the attempt to drive the Australasians into the sea was followed by two months of desultory fighting that resembled nothing so much as the deadlock between the Allies and the Germans in the North of France. The operations, of course, were on a scale infinitely smaller, and the Anzacs held the advantage of occupying the position of invaders. They were, indeed, a thorn in the flesh of the Turkish army, for they held a position with infinite possibilities.

The object of the whole land expedition in Gallipoli was to obtain command of that part of the straits of the Dardanelles known as the Narrows, where Europe and Asia are only separated by a mile of sea water. Here are the strongest of the forts built by the Turks to protect the passage of the Dardanelles. Before this narrow passage lies a minefield so thick that it defied the attempt of the fleet of the Allied Powers to force a passage through the Dardanelles to Constantinople. An attempt to dredge the minefield with trawlers was defeated by hidden batteries on the very heights for which the Anzacs were fighting, and also by the guns of the forts at the Narrows.

At the southern point of the peninsula the main force of the Allies was attempting to cut a way through to a tableland known as the Plateau of Kilid Bahr, which dominates the European coast of the Dardanelles from the entrance as far as the Narrows themselves. The spot occupied by the Anzacs on the Gulf of Saros was opposite the town of Maidos on the straits, and therefore above the Narrows. This much must be grasped in order to understand the possibilities arising from the existence of an Australasian force in that spot, and the precautions forced upon the Turks because they remained there.

The main body of the Turkish army was concerned with the defence of the fort of Achi Baba and all the strong positions centring in that height. All supplies for this defence force must come from the base at Constantinople, by sea to Gallipoli, and thence by road through Maidos, the town threatened by the Australasians. Moreover, all reinforcements must pass by the same way; and the heavy losses inflicted upon the Turks by the Allied forces in Gallipoli necessitated many reinforcements.

Therefore the presence of the Australasians around the hill of Sari Bair, even while they remained passive, forced the Turks to maintain a force of from 25,000 to 30,000 men at this point, merely to keep them in check. For two months the slightest sign of any diminution of that force was the signal for a demonstration by the Anzacs, which at least had the effect of bringing the Turks back to the trenches they are so anxious to vacate.

But the full importance of the Anzac position did not end there. Sir Ian Hamilton, finding that his attempt to force the great mountain stronghold of Achi Baba was doomed to failure without a strengthening of his forces which could not be granted him, decided on a new plan for cutting through to the Dardanelles. This, in his own words, was by a reinforcement of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, combined with a landing in Suvla Bay. Then with one strong push to capture Hill 971, and, working from that dominating point, to grip the waist of the Peninsula.

The objects to be attained were three—

1. To break out with a rush from Anzac and cut off the bulk of the Turkish army from land communication with Constantinople.

2. To gain such a command for my artillery as to cut off the bulk of the Turkish army from sea traffic, whether with Constantinople or with Asia.

3. Incidentally, to secure Suvla Bay as a winter base for Anzac and all the troops operating in the northern theatre.

These operations were not begun until early in August. But during the latter part of May, and through the months of June and July, they were forced to mark time steadily, and jealously to conserve the little patch of ground they had won with such incredible audacity on the cliffs of Sari Bair. The extent of that holding may be gauged when it is stated that the beachline was a little over a mile long, and that the furthest point inland of the Anzac line was not more than a mile from the sea, as a crow flies. Thus the Australasians were clinging on to less than a square mile of the Gallipoli peninsula; and for two months never lost an inch of it, but steadily consolidated their holding.

Mining and sapping went on all day and all night, and the Turks have proved themselves masters at this underground warfare. The Anzacs replied in kind, and the outcome of some of these adventures was lively hand-to-hand fighting. On May 29 the Turks got a sap close up to the Anzac line, and occupied two shell craters within four yards of the trenches. They soon turned them into bombproof shelters, and were established there before they were discovered.

Three men of the 15th Infantry Battalion of the Australasian Force, Sergeant Kidd, Corporal Stronach and Private Birch, have written the following account of what followed, and placed it at the disposal of the writer. All three men were wounded in the fighting of that May 29. Their account runs:

"Everything was quiet on the morning of May 29. At the hour of 3 a.m. a few rifles rang out from time to time, but for Quinn's Post this was comparative silence. Suddenly a bright glare shot skywards, followed by intense darkness, and a deep reverberating roar—the Turks had blown our trenches up. Almost simultaneously with the sound of the explosion an uproar of rifle and machine gun fire burst from the enemy's trenches, and was answered from ours, making a din in which it was impossible to hear an order, unless shouted in one's very ear.

"We stood to arms and in five minutes we rushed up the hill in the faintly gathering dawn. The enemy's artillery had the range, and their shells burst continuously overhead, lighting up the rugged sides of the great ravine like a terrific thunder-storm. The detonation of the guns, fired incessantly, reverberated through the hills and gullies and increased the likeness to some titanic tempest, while the sight of the ever-increasing stream of wounded we met coming down hill, all covered with blood and maimed and crippled, added to the terror of the moment.

"When we reached the hill-top we found the worst had happened: the Turks had got possession of three lines of trenches. The duty of turning them out fell to our battalion, the Fighting Fifteenth. As the faint light broadened to day we lined up and awaited the word to charge. If any one says that at such a moment he felt no anxiety or terror, let him be branded as a liar and empty braggart. No man should face death without some tremor, let alone the hail of bombs which the victorious Turks threw over from the conquered trenches, and which seem to hold a terror in themselves that is even worse than death.

"Yet it was through this screen of horror that we had to dash, and by sheer force drive the enemy out of their newly-acquired position. Clear above all other noises shrilled a whistle; and with a yell each man dashed forward. There was a confused glimpse of men falling, and of others staggering back through the smoke, all streaming with blood and with limbs shattered by the hideous bombs. But in thirty seconds the communication trench was clear.

"From the support trench, which was full of Turks, there poured a hail of bullets and grenades, causing us to reel and fall back for a breathing space. Then our own bomb throwers stepped forward and hurled bombs into the trench, whence fragments of shattered humanity leaped up into the air. The desperate men sprang from the trench and bravely charged, but ten yards was as far as they got; under our deadly rifle and machine-gun fire they went down like wheat before the scythe.

"We counter-charged in the next moment and scores of our fellows went over the parapet into the trench, where the stabbing blows of the bayonet could be heard for a good three minutes. Then the firing line was ours again.

"But the support trench in the centre still held out. Owing to the bombproof shelter there was no possible way of shifting the stubborn defenders. Bravely they fought for their footing but the use of bombs convinced them of the hopelessness of the position they occupied. Finally they surrendered; and came out covered with blood and dust, eighteen limping heathen heroes. We hope we showed them due respect, the respect we felt for their brave fight.

"Then came the task of clearing the trench of the dead, a gruesome work. Poor shattered fragments of humanity, without any likeness to the human form remaining had to be gathered up in sandbags and carried away. No words can paint the hideous thoroughness with which the grenades do their devilish work. So ended the fight of May 29."

The craters were also taken by a body of Light Horse who, after throwing a large number of bombs into the craters, boldly leaped in, with their bayonets fixed. They cleared the holes of Turks, though all of the attacking force were wounded but two, and the greater part of them were isolated in the craters for a night. But they held the craters until relief could be sent them.

This necessitated some brisk work by an Australian machine-gun section, in the course of which one young gunner distinguished himself by bravery and devotion of the highest order. He was engaged against two Turkish machine guns, and continued to work his own gun, though they were cutting away his parapet of sandbags, and must eventually expose him to a stream of bullets. The maintenance of his fire was of the utmost importance, since it covered a series of operations by a considerable force of men. At last he fell back wounded, but not until he had saved the situation by his devoted bravery.

With a little experience, the Anzacs became in their turn first-class sappers.

"I am a voluntary sapper now," writes one of them, "digging a tunnel to some new trenches we have dug just behind a ridge about 100 yards in front of the Turks' trenches. We went out one night to dig them in moonlight, and they opened a pretty brisk fire for a bit, but we were practically safe behind the ridge; all the same, we were ready for them. Three of the evening party got hit, but most of the damage was done by fellows bumping their picks into one another, tearing the seats of their trousers out, etc. Some of our saps go through dead Turks buried during the armistice before we came. We wash ourselves and clothes in the sea, as fresh water is too scarce for anything but drinking purposes just yet."

A diversion from this trench warfare was occasioned on June 28 by an attempt on the part of the Turks to withdraw part of their forces for use in the more southerly part of the peninsula. The Australasians replied with a strong attack. It opened in the regular way by the ships bombarding the hillsides. Then the 2nd Brigade of Australian Light Horse and the 3rd Brigade of Australian Infantry advanced 700 yards, and gave the Turks something to think about. This produced a counter-attack, which was repulsed by the Australasians with heavy loss to the enemy. Then, having fulfilled their mission, the Anzacs retired in good order within their lines.

They are now thoroughly familiar with the strange rough country of Gallipoli, of which one of them writes:—

"The world seems to have been built up on end, and the high cliffs are accessible only by the spurs and valleys. The place is very different now—roads have been cut and built, and steep as they are, mules can reach the top fairly easily. It is very exasperating to look out on the peaceful flat country just a few miles away with peaceful homesteads in places. Our chief pastime in life is smashing Turkish periscopes, of which they don't possess very many. It is good target practice, and helps to prevent them from being too perky. At present we are just marking time, and things are rather quiet."

Things were quiet by the deliberate plan of Sir Ian Hamilton. Having decided that his next attempt was to be made from Anzac, his hope was to divert the attention of the enemy, as far as might be, from that particular theatre of operations. The Anzacs were therefore confined to trench warfare and to those underground operations which made of their holding a warren of saps and tunnels.

They could watch the Turks entrenching busily all around them, until they were confronted with a series of defence works that were practically impregnable. North-east of them, where the mountain spurs of Sari Bair ran up from the coast to the dominating height of Koja Chemen (Hill 971), every rise had its network of trenches. Opposite Quinn's Post a net of trenches was dug so intricate that it was given the name of The Chessboard. Not a day passed but the Turks, working on higher ground, made their holding as secure as digging and earthwork could make it.

Also they posted guns on well-chosen positions, and the Anzacs had to endure a bombardment that recurred every day. On Battleship Hill there was a battery that had the whole of the southern posts ranged, and dropped shells on them with unceasing regularity and remarkable accuracy. In the mangroves south of Gaba Tepe there was hidden a quick-firing gun known to the Anzacs as Beachy Bill. He had the Anzac beaches ranged, and did enormous damage with his sudden bursts of shrapnel.

This monster, and a twin gun on an elevation to the north, somewhere behind Anafarta village and known as Anafarta Anne, made the old amusement of beach bathing a deadly peril. Long before the final abandonment of the Anzac position a camp statistician had reckoned that the score of casualties due to the activities of Beachy Bill exceeded the total of 1,500, and on one bad day he accounts for sixty-four men. Many attempts were made by the warships to silence these guns and blow away their emplacements. Sometimes they were so damaged that they had to remain quiescent for a day or two, but just when hope was growing in the Anzac ranks that they had heard the last of Beachy Bill, a bathing party would be reminded by a spray of shrapnel that he was very much in being.

The sufferings endured by the troops holding the southern part of the Anzac line, from Quinn's Post down to The Pimple, arising out of the shelling of their trenches with high explosive, will never be told. The remnants of the Second Brigade, which were posted at Steel's Post and Johnston's Jolly, endured this for weeks, especially toward the end of July.

One experience related to me by a young officer of the 7th will ever stick in my memory. His company had maintained a ceaseless vigil for days and nights, men falling asleep where they stood under arms. When things appeared at their worst, he was delighted at the appearance of a small party of reinforcements, fifteen in number. He gave a relieved glance at the new-comers, and conducted them to a deep trench that had been made a few yards behind the firing line where the men used to retire to rest in comparative safety.

He left them there while he selected from his band of overwrought warriors those who needed rest most of all where every one was in vital need of a spell. No sooner had he left this rest trench than a great "Jack Johnson" came, burying the reinforcements under many feet of earth. Their comrades sprang to their assistance, digging away the earth like possessed beings. One by one the dead and dying men were discovered, and tenderly borne back to the beach from which they had just come. Finally all had been removed but one, and of him no trace could be found.

"I urged the men to dig on," said my informant, and as I spoke I felt something move under my feet. I was standing on the hip of the buried man. We worked with our hands to clear his face, and I removed as well as I could the dirt from his mouth and nostrils. He was black in the face, and, I feared, beyond recovery.

"But, as we worked to clear him, I saw his face resume its natural colour, and he opened his mouth and spoke, 'Ah, Edith,' he muttered; then he opened his eyes and saw me bending over him. He struggled to his feet and saluted, with the remark, 'I'm all right, Sir.' I told him to go back to the beach, but he would have none of it. He said he was all right bar a bruise or two, and wanted to take his place in the firing line. Of course I would not hear of that, so sent him back for medical treatment. And that was all we got of our reinforcements."

Multiply this instance by hundreds, and you will get some idea of the stern endurance required of these men during those weeks of waiting, and the spirit in which they endured. With the hot weather came dysentery, and their sufferings were terrible. But they knew that a big move was shortly expected, and many of them concealed their complaint and carried on in silence, determined not to miss the great attack to which they were all looking so eagerly forward. When the word was finally given for the advance, many of these heroes charged the enemy, weakened as they were by many days' concealed suffering from this last scourge of Gallipoli.

The anticipated movement was heralded by the resumption of the offensive on the extreme right of the Anzac line on July 31. This operation can best be described in the words of Sir Ian Hamilton's dispatch:—

"On the extreme right of Anzac the flank of a work called Tasmania Post was threatened by the extension of a Turkish trench. The task of capturing this trench was entrusted to the 3rd Australian Brigade. After an artillery bombardment, mines were to be fired, whereupon four columns of fifty men each were to assault and occupy specified lengths of the trench. The regiment supplying the assaulting columns was the 11th Australian Infantry Battalion.

"At 10.15 p.m. on July 31 the bombardment was opened. Ten minutes later and the mines were duly fired. The four assaulting parties dashed forward at once, crossed our own barbed wire on planks, and were into the craters before the whole of the débris had fallen. Total casualties: 11 killed and 74 wounded; Turkish killed, 100."

And now English troops began to land on Anzac Beach, and the final dispositions for the great attack were put in train.

THE SOUL OF ANZAC

[CHAPTER X]
THE SOUL OF ANZAC

The great attack of August may well be divided under two main heads, the sortie from Anzac, and the landing at Suvla Bay. It is only with the first of these operations that I am called upon to deal in this book. The entire details, subject to Sir Ian Hamilton's approval, were formulated by General Sir William Birdwood, described by the Commander-in-Chief as "The Soul of Anzac," a description joyfully accepted by every man who ever set foot on the beach at Anzac Cove.

Nobody but a born leader of men could so have gripped the imagination of a whole army. He came to the head of these Colonial soldiers, few of whom had ever heard his name, and most of whom were born and reared with an innate prejudice against any domination except that of their own folk. In a few weeks he was the idol of each isolated post along the Anzac fighting line. He went everywhere and inspired everybody. He set the example of sane fearlessness that was the model of conduct in the Anzac trenches.

Few of the Anzacs are not convinced that they are personally known to their general. He came among them, and talked their bush slang and used their pet names. His presence pervaded the whole camp, his manner accorded well with the light-hearted daring that characterized the men he led. Soon a score of stories were associated with his name, and they were just the kind of stories that appeal to the men of Anzac.

Snowy Devine, a famous sharpshooter, was sitting outside his dug-out one morning when he was greeted by a pleasant voice, "Well, Snowy, how does the score stand now?"

"Twenty-nine, that I know of," replied Snowy, who kept careful count of the Turks who fell to his rifle.

"You'd better buck up; there's a man down at Quinn's who claims forty."

"Is there? Then tell him from me that he's a flaming liar."

Snowy's questioner retired, possibly to deliver this uncompromising message, and Snowy's mates started the usual chaff.

"I see you're getting very pally with the General, Snowy." Snowy's jaw dropped, and he stared in dismay. Then the slow grin of the Australian bushman crept over his hard face.

"Pally! I should think so. He called me Snowy. And I didn't know what to call him back. I s'pose I oughter called him 'Birdie.'"

A wound sustained during the early days of May, and General Birdwood's active devotion to duty while it was in the course of healing, completed his ascendancy over the men he commanded. Obedience to his commands was rendered in a cheerful and zealous spirit by every man; and this success in winning all hearts may serve to explain some of the impossibilities achieved by the Anzacs in the second week of August.

The commissioned officers from Australia and New Zealand are no less devoted to their distinguished leader than their men. To them he was a model of appreciative consideration. Many of them have been awarded decorations for services of special merit, but I have found that more prized even than these honourable awards are the few lines scribbled by Sir William Birdwood to his officers lying sorely wounded in hospital. He does not forget, even under the load of the heavy responsibilities that weighed upon him on Gallipoli peninsula. Nor will the officers and men of Australia and New Zealand ever forget Sir William Birdwood.

The dispatches of the Commander-in-Chief are testimony that he is as distinguished a General as he is sympathetic as a leader of men. Writing of the Anzac plans drawn up by General Birdwood Sir Ian Hamilton says:—

"So excellently was this vital business worked out on the lines of the instructions issued that I had no modifications to suggest, and all these local preparations were completed by August 6 in a way which reflects the greatest credit not only on the Corps Commander and his staff, but also upon the troops themselves, who had to toil like slaves to accumulate food, drink, and munitions of war. Alone the accommodation for the extra troops to be landed necessitated an immense amount of work in preparing new concealed bivouacs, in making interior communications, and in storing water and supplies, for I was determined to put on shore as many fighting men as our modest holding at Anzac could possibly accommodate or provision. All the work was done by Australian and New Zealand soldiers almost entirely by night, and the uncomplaining efforts of these much-tried troops in preparation are in a sense as much to their credit as their heroism in the battles that followed."

On the fourth of August reinforcements of British troops were landed by night at Anzac, and the work was continued through the following night, until the forces at the disposal of the General were 37,000 men and seventy-two guns; while two cruisers, two destroyers, and four monitors were detailed to support the operations from the sea.

The men were divided into two bodies. The 1st, 2nd and 3rd Brigades of Australian Infantry, and the 1st and 3rd Brigades of Australian Light Horse, were detailed to hold the original Anzac line, and from it to make demonstrations designed to hold the main body of the enemy in defence of the strong positions they had provided in front of the line.

The other body was ordered to attack the mountain mass of Chunuk Bair. It consisted of the New Zealanders, the 2nd Brigade of Australian Light Horse, and the 4th Brigade of Australian Infantry. British troops and Gurkhas co-operated with this body, as well as the Indian Mountain Battery, which had from the very day of landing rendered such magnificent service at Anzac.

The number of machine-guns along the Anzac line was notably increased, and large stores of ammunition had been accumulated in convenient spots. The report of these new machine-guns was entirely different to that of the original weapons with which the Anzacs had been armed; and this, as well as the activity of the warships during the days immediately preceding August 6, must have warned the Turks that some move was impending.

As far as can be ascertained the desired impression was created. The capture of Tasmania Ridge, and the activity along the right of the Anzac line misled the enemy into expecting a strong attack in that direction. Nor were they disappointed; but by massing their defences in that quarter they left the positions on the north of the Anzac line weakly defended. Most important of all, they took no precautions to hinder the great landing of British forces which had been planned to take place at Suvla Bay.

The most northerly boundary of the original Anzac position was the range of hills known as Walker's Ridge, which culminates in the sheer height of Russell's Top. North of this ridge were three outposts, isolated from the main position and the scene of some fierce fighting in the early days of the Anzac occupation. Two of these outposts were connected with the main line by deep saps. Into the larger of these saps, connecting Walker's Ridge with Outpost No. 2, and known as Russell's secret sap, a party of charging Turks had once blundered, unaware of its very existence. The result was disastrous to themselves, for not one of them ever got out again.

By this sap a huge store of munitions and other requisites for an attack in force had been conveyed to No. 2 Outpost, which had been held by the Maori contingent attached to the New Zealand forces, and was consequently known as the Maori Outpost. And here, on the night of August 6, all the men detailed for the attack on Chunuk Bair were concentrated.

Such, in outline, was the plan laid by General Birdwood for the operations from Anzac. Examined in the light of after events, no flaw can be found in it, nor in the execution of that part of it which was entrusted to the men whose deeds are described in this book. Let it be remembered that every man knew what was coming, and that all had been keyed up to the keenest pitch of expectation by weeks of weary waiting and arduous preparation. On August 6, the long-expected moment had arrived, and on the evening of that day the first bolt was launched.

THE STORY OF LONE PINE

[CHAPTER XI]
THE STORY OF LONE PINE

The 1st Brigade of Australian Infantry, from the State of New South Wales, and led by General Smyth, had the honour of opening the ball. They were massed on the right of the Anzac line, in trenches that ran along a salient known as The Pimple. It was on the seaward edge of a heath-covered plateau, on the shoreward edge of which, almost among the formidable series of Turkish earthworks, stood one little solitary pine tree. Lone Pine plateau was a no-man's land, an open expanse swept by the fire from innumerable trenches.

From its south-western edge, held so strongly by the Turks on that afternoon of August 6, a dim view could be obtained of the forts at Chanak, across the Dardanelles. It not only commanded one of the main Turkish sources of water supply, but was, as Sir Ian Hamilton points out, "a distinct step on the way across to Maidos."

The preparation of the Turkish position had been elaborated for three months. Their trenches were protected by a network of that thick barbed wire that resists all but the very largest, sharpest and most powerful cutters. The trenches had been designed to enfilade one another, and artillery and machine-guns had been posted on heights in the background to cover the approach across the open plateau. Such was the position which the 2nd, 3rd and 4th Battalions of the 1st Brigade were asked to charge on the evening of August 6.

The affair opened with a heavy bombardment of the Turkish position from the warships and monitors, which lasted for an hour. Then, punctually at 5.30, the whistle for the charge was sounded, and the men sprang over the parapet, and rushed across the plateau.

As they left their trenches, the enemy rifle fire rang out, and the burden was rapidly taken up by machine-guns here and there. But the charging Australians ate up the distance, and were soon among the barbed wire and at the very loopholes of the parapet. Then the observers saw a strange thing. The men stopped as if puzzled; many of them ran hither and thither as though in search for something.

The reason soon became clear, for men stooped and tore up from the earth huge planks of timber. The trenches had been roofed over with heavy sleepers of timber, on which earth had been cast, thus constituting a shell-proof defence, and one which could only be entered from the rear save by such expedients as the men of the 1st Brigade now adopted. Some of them stopped and tore up the sleepers which roofed in the foremost trenches, others charged on over the roofs to the communication trenches which afforded an exit to the Turks. These took the Turks in the rear; while the others, making holes for themselves through the roofing, dropped down into the darkness where the Turks were waiting for them.

The enemy, taken in front and rear, put up such a fight as the Australasian forces had never before experienced on the peninsula of Gallipoli. In the dark and fetid trenches men fought hand to hand, with bayonets and clubbed rifles, with bombs or knives or anything that came to hand. The Turks had the advantage of knowing every turn and twist of the rabbit warren which they had constructed, and fought as desperate men in the 150 yards of darkness over which these underground trenches extended.

One man who fought in that dark inferno told me a moving experience of its mysterious horrors. He found himself alone, a man with whom he had been engaged in a fierce hand-to-hand fight having suddenly fled into the encompassing darkness. The Anzac straightened himself, and after taking breath advanced, dully noting that he was treading on the bodies of the dead. He was brought to a standstill by the sound of hurrying feet and had time to shrink behind the angle of a traverse when a body of six Turks came running by.

As they passed him crouching there, he made a lunge with his bayonet, and a yell told him he had found his mark. Freeing his weapon he discharged his magazine at the invisible backs of the retreating foe. It was a dangerous experiment, for in another second he realized that three of them had turned back and were attacking him with their bayonets. How long that struggle in the semi-darkness lasted he could not say; it seemed ages, though it could only have been of a few seconds' duration.

As he fought he shouted lustily, back to wall, and striving to anticipate each move of his adversaries. His shouts brought him timely help, and in another second he was stooping over the dead bodies of his recent assailants, who had been dispatched by quick shots from an officer's revolver.

A Battery of Australian Field Artillery going into Action.

From both sides more men came to mingle in the fight, and the passages became choked with dead and dying men. They fought there in the darkness with the corpses piled three deep under their feet. It had been said that the Turks would not resist the bayonet, but here in the darkness many Australians died of bayonet wounds, and were clubbed to death by the desperate men they had taken in front and rear. Finally, the Turks were driven out of the underground trenches and an attack was delivered upon the positions behind them.

Here again the Turks stood up to their enemies, and fought with the bayonet. They had little option, for those who tried to flee through the open were caught by fire from well-posted machine-guns, and mown down in scores. Some hundreds of them were driven into incompleted saps of their own digging, and forced to surrender.

The trenches were so cumbered with the dead that they were piled up shoulder high, and held in place by ropes, so that a passage might be kept clear on the other side of the trench. All the horrors of modern explosives helped to make that fight more hideous; the rending of deadly bombs in confined places, the rattle of machine-guns that cut off from desperate men the last hopes of retreat. Men who lived through that fight will preserve to their dying day a new estimate of the horror of war under such conditions. It was possibly the fiercest hand-to-hand fight even in the history of the Great War.

Eventually every Turk was cleared out of the Lone Pine trenches, but the position was still a most precarious one. The approach to the position was swept by heavy artillery and machine-gun fire from the enemy, so that the supporting battalions lost heavily in charging to the help of the first bold stormers of the position. From the gloom of the underground trenches over 1,000 dead bodies of friend and foe were dragged, and as a counter-attack was developing these were hastily piled in a parapet to help the defence of the position.

The 1st Battalion (N. S. Wales), and the 7th (Victoria), which had been in reserve, were now brought forward. It was time, for by seven in the evening the Turkish attack was at its height. They came in dense masses armed with an abundance of bombs, and fought as no Turk had ever fought before in the experience of the Anzacs. All night the attack was maintained, but the Anzacs meant to hold what they had got. A section of a trench was lost here and there, owing to the showers of bombs which the Turks lavished on their former position. But always the men of Anzac recovered what they had lost.

At midday on August 7 the Turks once more advanced to the attack, and for hours fought like demons. Every man that could be mustered was thrown forward in the Anzac defence. The 4th Battalion lost an important section of trench owing to persistent showers of bombs, but Colonel McNaghten led them back to it, and they killed every Turk in occupation of it. At five the attack ceased, only to be resumed at midnight, and maintained until dawn broke over Lone Pine Ridge.

The 1st Brigade of Light Horse was brought up later to help in the defence of this position, which continued to be assaulted through the succeeding days. The ramparts of corpses festered under the sun, and bred corruption, so that the trenches crawled. The fire of the hill batteries was concentrated on the spot, and there was no respite, night nor day. But the men of Anzac held on.

Six Victoria crosses were awarded for acts of individual bravery in the course of that week. The men who received them were abashed at being singled out among so many who had fought as deathless heroes. It was a long-sustained and bloody fight, but in the end the Turks had to relinquish possession of this important position.

"Thus," writes Sir Ian Hamilton, "was Lone Pine taken and held. The Turks were in great force and very full of fight, yet one weak Australian brigade, numbering at the outset but 2,000 rifles, and supported only by two weak battalions, carried the work under the eyes of a whole enemy division, and maintained their grip upon it like a vice during six days' successive counter-attacks. High praise is due to Brigadier-General N. M. Smyth and to his battalion commanders. The irresistible dash and daring of officers and men in the initial charge were a glory to Australia. The stout-heartedness with which they clung to the captured ground in spite of fatigue, severe losses, and the continual strain of shell fire and bomb attacks may seem less striking to the civilian; it is even more admirable to the soldier.

"From start to finish, the artillery support was untiring and vigilant. Owing to the rapid, accurate fire of the 2nd New Zealand Battery, under Major Sykes, several of the Turkish onslaughts were altogether defeated in their attempts to get to grips with the Australians. Not a chance was lost by these gunners, although time and again the enemy's artillery made direct hits on their shields.

"For the severity of our own casualties some partial consolation may be found in the facts, first, that those of the enemy were much heavier, our guns and machine-guns having taken toll of them as they advanced in mass formation along the reverse slopes; secondly, that the Lone Pine attack drew all the local enemy reserves towards it, and may be held, more than any other cause, to have been the reason that the Suvla Bay landing was so lightly opposed, and that comparatively few of the enemy were available at first to reinforce against our attack on Sari Bair. Our captures in this feat of arms amounted to 134 prisoners, seven machine-guns, and a large quantity of ammunition and equipment."

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT HORSE

[CHAPTER XII]
THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT HORSE

By midnight on August 6 the British forces were landing at Suvla Bay. It is probable that by that time the Turks were in full possession of this outstanding fact. The attack delivered successfully on the Lone Pine position during that afternoon had drawn a large number of the enemy from positions farther to the north to the defence, and so had helped to protect the landing. With the same object attacks were made from the Anzac trenches on strong positions in front of their line farther north than Lone Pine.

One of the positions so attacked was that mysterious stronghold known as the German Officers' Trench. It was only a short section of trench, but had early attracted the attention of the observers because of the elaborate preparations that were made for its defence. The interest excited by these preparations was heightened by the accounts given of it by Turkish prisoners. According to these accounts no Turk of any degree whatsoever was permitted to enter this section of trench, access being only granted to the German officers with the Turkish forces.

Many theories existed among the men of Anzac as to the purpose for which this trench existed, the most popular one being that it contained the apparatus for making and projecting poisonous gas. An opportunity for testing the truth of this conjecture was now afforded, for the 2nd Brigade was allotted the task of charging the German Officers' Trench.

The attack was delivered at midnight, while the struggle for Lone Pine farther to the left was at its height. The 6th Battalion, which had suffered severely in the charge at Krithia on May 8, but had since received welcome reinforcements, was sent out to show the way, after some bombardment from the ships in the bay.

The men knew only too well what was before them. The sixty yards of plateau that separated them from their objective was clear and flat, and was swept by well-posted machine-guns, and by rifle fire from cleverly placed enfilading trenches. They ran for the trench silently, but their silence was of no avail to them. No sooner had the first man climbed the parapet of the Anzac trench than the storm of bullets began. It was, as one of the assailants said, "like rice at a wedding." Not a man ever reached the trench.

Later another charge was made for this trench, with as little success. Humanly speaking, the position was an impregnable one, but it had to be attacked. The men of the 2nd Brigade had a hopeless task, but their devotion was not all unavailing. Their opponents, who were badly needed elsewhere to resist the landing at Suvla Bay, were fixed to the spot, and kept fully occupied in resisting their gallant and self-sacrificing attacks.

It was not otherwise at Russell's Top, the supreme point of Walker's Ridge, where the 3rd Brigade of Australian Light Horse were entrenched. One side of this peak fell a sheer 200 feet to the valley below, while inland it was joined by a narrow neck to the slope of the hill called Baby 700. On this neck was concentrated the fire of more than a score of machine-guns, while the approach to the hill beyond was scarred by trench after trench, each one enfilading that before it.

Many a time had the men of Anzac peered through their periscopes at that neck, and shaken their heads over the probable fate of any bold fellows who might venture to assault it. At dawn on August 7 the time had come for this arduous operation to be attempted, and the 8th and 10th Light Horse were selected for the experiment.

I am told that a previous bombardment of the position by the warships had been ordered, but men who took part in the charge are positive that nothing of the sort took place. Like the 2nd Brigade before the German Officers' Trench they were under no misconception of what was before them. Colonel White, who led the 8th, shook hands with Colonel Antill and said good-bye before the signal was given. He knew he was going to his death.

Twenty yards separated them from the enemy trench at the centre of the position and about fifty at the wings. No man crossed that twenty yards alive. One man of the 8th, it is said, reached the enemy parapet and sheltered under it, afterwards to crawl back unobserved to safety.

The 10th were hot on the heels of the 8th. This is a crack regiment raised by Major Todd of Western Australia, a fine soldier who had won his D.S.O. in the African War. Every man provided his own horse, and among them were some of the finest horsemen and athletes of their State.

They passed over a ground strewn with the bodies of their comrades. Some of them, taking advantage of slight depressions in the ground, threw themselves down to shelter from the tornado of bullets that met them. One little group, consisting of a lieutenant and half a dozen men, found themselves sheltered by a little hillock. They knew it was certain death to go on; without orders they would not retire.

As they lay as close to the ground as they could squeeze, the lieutenant made a suggestion. "Boys, a shilling in, and the winner shouts." (Shout is the Australian word for treating.) The suggestion was eagerly accepted, and the men chose their numbers, and proceeded to "sell a pony" after a time-honoured Australian custom. But before the lottery was decided they heard the "retire" whistle blow. "And so," said the narrator of the incident mournfully, "we never knew who ought to stand the drinks."

Men who can so behave in the very shadow of death are beyond any comment of mine.

The survivors returned to their trench, and made occasional dashes out to assist single wounded men, who were crawling painfully back to shelter. The whole affair was very soon over, and any one curious to know what it cost may turn up the casualty list of the 3rd Brigade of Light Horse for that date. But the enemy, who had packed their effects to turn on the landing force at Suvla, and on the New Zealanders who were now attacking Chunuk Bair, were held to the spot, so that the sacrifice of the Light Horse was not made in vain.

Almost simultaneously with the charge of the 3rd Brigade of Light Horse across the Neck to the Baby 700 trenches, the 1st Brigade (1st, 2nd and 3rd Regiments) made an equally desperate charge across the corner known as the Bloody Angle, the objective being the Turkish trenches at the foot of Dead Man's Ridge.

The 2nd Regiment (Queensland), under command of Major Logan, were supposed to charge from Quinn's Post, while the 1st Regiment (New South Wales) charged from the trenches at the foot of Pope's Hill. The first line of the Second left Quinn's Post at the signal, and as they crossed the parapet most of them crumpled up under a steady stream of machine-gun bullets. The remainder of the fifty men were all killed or wounded, with the exception of one man, before they had covered the twenty-five yards which separated the two lines. That one man, who came back unscathed, is said to have jumped high in the air at the place where he imagined the stream of bullets to be pouring across the line of charge, and so escaped even a scratch.

The 1st Regiment reached the line of trenches and took five in succession. These they held for two hours, but the Turks had the upper ground and counter-attacked with bombs most desperately. The positions were no use, in any case, and after this fact had been recognized the First retired, taking their wounded with them. Of 250 men who went out only fifty-seven returned unwounded.

I am indebted to Sergeant-Major Wynn of the 1st Regiment for some graphic details of that charge from the foot of Pope's Hill.

A Typical Trooper of the Australian Light Horse.

"While we were preparing on the evening of August 6," he says, "the scrap down at Lone Pine began. I wish I could tell you what I saw through my glasses in the odd spare moments (very few, you may be sure). It was marvellous to see the reserves dash in through the blazing scrub, without arms, to bring in any of the first or second line who had gone down. There's not enough bronze to spare to V.C. those chaps.

"About this time Abdul, facing us, held above the parado of the trench a board that said Warsaw had fallen. 'Why don't you put on your white armlets and come across?' it added. As I was just tearing up the calico to sew on our arms and right shoulders we were naturally amazed. But we made matchwood of their board; no wonder they were ready for us later on.

"At sunset the artillery began, and kept it up all night. There was one gun which drove shells just skimming over our heads in the trenches up there; I can hear it yet, and the clay and gravel rolling down where the shells exploded. That night nobody slept, for the cessation of artillery fire was to be the signal for a charge by A and B squadrons. I was in B squadron.

"When the signal came A went straight over their parapet and across the Bloody Angle to the Turkish trenches. We went down the sap to the foot of a gully at the base of Quinn's, turned to the right, and were slap into it. We cleared their first trench with practically the first bombing rush, and crouched down to gather breath for another rush.

"One of our bomb-throwers had gone down here, and he gave me a poke and pointed to a little heap of eight or nine grenades, which I was permitted to carry to the nearest band of throwers. From one I pulled the safety-pin and passed it forward as a present to the Unspeakable.

"When I returned the boys were all lying flat, and the skipper nowhere to be seen. He had got it in the first trench, and was taken out later, so badly wounded that he died at Malta. I started to shout, and I am glad I opened my mouth pretty wide. A bullet struck my left cheek, carried all my front teeth and my right ones out through my right cheek, and never touched my tongue.

"I felt as though I had been hit on the right jaw by the red hot spike fixed to the cowcatcher of a fast express and I promptly 'took the count.' When I found myself again, one of Ours was trying to gather my sagging cheek and lips into the naval shell bandage he had taken from me, and using the most wonderful language. He was hit in the head too, but we managed to get back the way we came. And, my word, the stretcher-bearers were busy.

"That day we lost Major Reid of A Squadron, who should theoretically have remained behind in the trench to direct operations, but preferred to lead his own men over the parapet. He went West with many other good men, but first accounted for a few with his revolver, I'm told. A great soldier and a gallant gentleman!

"No one had much chance in the charge. Believe me, you'd swear you'd met a swarm of locusts, the bullets were so thick and the hum of them so loud, and the very ground seemed to open under your feet. For the rest of it, it was like any other hustle. When you are in the thick of it you only think how you are going to get the other fellow. The waiting was the worst; the silence and the few handclasps exchanged in the gloom before dusk, when we stood in single file along that sap, and not a whisper was heard. Yes, that was eerie."

Such were the desperate means by which the men of Anzac sought to detain the Turkish army before their old lines, while the British force was being landed at Suvla Bay. These were demonstrations made with the object of attracting the attention of the enemy and of leading him to believe that the preparations that had obviously been made at Anzac were in anticipation of this frontal attack on the positions between Anzac and Maidos. In the meantime, as already explained, another body of the Anzacs had slipped silently out into the country, north of Walker's Ridge, with the object of attacking the heights of Sari Bair. We shall now see how it fared with them.

THE MIGHTY NEW ZEALANDERS

[CHAPTER XIII]
THE MIGHTY NEW ZEALANDERS

Reference has already been made to the two New Zealand Outposts, at the second of which the troops to take part in the night sortie had been massed. Inland from these was a third post, once held by the Anzacs but afterwards wrested from them by the Turks. It had been the custom every night for some weeks for a British destroyer to arrive about nine o'clock and bombard the parapet of this trench for about half an hour. The Turks had learned to expect it; they always crept out of the trench as soon as the searchlight was turned on, and returned when the fun was over to rebuild their parapet and restring their torn barbed wire.

On this night of August 6 the destroyer, the Colne, came as usual and bombarded the trench. The cessation of the bombardment was the signal for the first move from Outpost No. 2. The Auckland Mounted Rifles silently rushed the trench, and had the returning Turks bayoneted almost without a shot being fired.

Just as silently the Wellington Mounted Rifles made through the scrub for the hill known as Greater Table-Top, an elevation with perpendicular sides and a flat summit, which the Turks had adorned with an infinity of trenchwork. Here the Turks were taken completely by surprise. The position, if held by an adequate force of alert men, was an impregnable one. But the men of Wellington were too much for them; they carried this fortress by assault and captured 150 prisoners.

Writing of this feat Sir Ian Hamilton says:—

"The angle of Table-Top's ascent is recognized in our regulations as 'impracticable for infantry.' But neither Turks nor angles of ascent were destined to stop Russell or his New Zealanders that night. There are moments during battle when life becomes intensified, when men become supermen, when the impossible becomes simple—and this was one of those moments. The scarped heights were scaled, the plateau was carried by midnight."

A Battalion of New Zealand Mounted Rifles

The Otago Mounted Rifles and the Maori Contingent had the task of capturing a hill mass known as Bauchop's Hill. Like the other New Zealanders, the Otago men worked silently with the bayonet. The entrance leading to this hill was protected by a trench very strongly held by the enemy, and the Maoris were sent out to charge it. It was their first opportunity to fight in the open, and they rose to the occasion. In their wild charge they drove the Turks headlong out of their trenches and pursued them through the darkness of the foothills.

They came over a spur of the hills, yelling with excitement, and seeing in the dim light that a trench before them was occupied by armed men, rushed upon it, shouting their war cry. The men before them were the men of Auckland, who at once recognized the war cries of the Maoris. Fortunately the average New Zealander rather prides himself upon possessing a fair smattering of the Maori tongue, and this knowledge came in very handy as the Maoris charged down upon their own friends.

The Auckland men shouted at them what phrases of Maori they could summon up in such an emergency, and the Maori charge was stayed on the very parapet of the trench itself.

The beginning of that fierce charge of Maoris, when they swept every Turk out of their path, was described to me by a New Zealander who was present, in the following words:—

"We lay under cover in the dark waiting for the word to go. Every man had his bayonet fixed and his magazine empty. The work before us had to be done with the cold steel. The Turks had three lines of trenches on the hill slope opposite.

"Suddenly I became aware of a stir among the Maoris on my left; I was right up against them. Next to me was a full-blooded Maori chief, a young fellow of sixteen stone, as big and powerful as a bullock. I played Rugby against him once and tried to tackle him; it was as much use as trying to stop a rushing elephant. He is a lineal descendant of fighting Rewi, the Maori chief from whom all the legends descend.

"You know the story of Rewi. Once he and his tribe were surrounded in a Pah by a force of white men who outnumbered them three to one. The whites had got between them and the stream of water on the top of the hill, which is unfair fighting according to Maori rules. Then they sent a message to Rewi bidding him surrender. He replied, 'Ka Whawhai Tonu, Aké Aké Aké.' ('We fight on and on; for ever and for ever and for ever.') 'Then send away the women and children,' was the next suggestion. 'The women fight too,' says brave old Rewi. An hour later the Maoris rushed out of the Pah with Rewi at the head of them and before the astonished whites knew what was doing had cut a way through and escaped.

"This descendant of Rewi's is a different sort of chap. He holds two good university degrees and is one of the finest speakers in New Zealand. Not much more than a year ago I saw him in a frock coat and a silk hat, with creases in his pants that would have cut cheese, telling a lot of bush Maoris of the virtues of cleanliness and the nobility of hard work.

"But now he had dressed for the occasion in a pair of running shoes and shorts which covered about eight inches of the middle of him. I could see the whites of his eyes gleaming and his brown skin glistening with perspiration in the dim light. His head was moving from side to side and his lips were twitching. From time to time he beat the earth softly with his clenched fist.

"Then I got the swing of it. I suppose the 500 Maoris picked me up into their silent war song. For I know the words of the Haka well, and though they could not dance it they were beating out the measure of it with their fists on the ground. There they lay, and after each soft thump I could feel that their bodies strained forward like dogs on a leash. They caught me up in their madness and I longed to be at it. I thumped the ground with them, and prayed to be up and dancing, or out and fighting.

"Would the whistle never blow?

"Now their eyes were rolling and their breath was coming in long, rhythmical sobs. The groaning sound of it was quite audible; in another minute they would have been up on their feet, dancing their wild war dance. But then came the signal; and Hell was let loose.

"'Aké, Aké,' they shouted, 'we fight for ever and for ever.' Up to the first trench they swept, and we gave them the right of way. It was their privilege. I could hear some of them yelling, 'Kiki ta Turk' ('Kick the Turk'). Those were the fellows who had kept on their heaviest boots, and meant to use their feet. God help the Turk who got a kick from a war-mad Maori.

"Our own blood was up; I know mine was. We were not far behind them to the first trench, and you never saw such a sight in your life. The Turks had been bashed to death; there is no other word for it. We got up to them at the second trench, where there was a deadly hand-to-hand going on. Some of them had broken their rifles and were fighting with their hands. I saw one Maori smash a Turk with half-a-hundred-weight of rock he had torn up. I don't remember much more, because now I was in it myself. That is why I am here.

"I don't know anything more at first hand. I hear a good many of them came back, though I shouldn't have thought it possible. I am also told they were very pleased with themselves, as they have had good reason to be. The Turks who escaped from them will not wait another time when they hear the Maoris coming; that I'll answer for. And you can hear them coming all right."

Through the gully so opened, and through one parallel to it, the New Zealand infantry now moved to the attack on the height of Chunuk Bair. They met fierce opposition, but drove the Turks before them up the slopes, and eventually reached the crest of a ridge immediately below Chunuk Bair itself, known as Rhododendron Ridge. In this position they were well established on the morning of August 7.

The Auckland Mounted Rifles, the Maoris and the Indian Mountain battery now joined them, with some British troops, and before daybreak on August 8 they assaulted the height of Chunuk Bair. In that gallant climb their loved leader Colonel Malone was killed, and many another brave New Zealand officer. But nothing could stop them, and in the face of a furious fire above them they actually scaled to the summit and dug in upon the crest. That night they held what they had so painfully won.

No words can paint the gallantry of the fighting of the four days that followed the night of August 6. August 9 saw the gallant little band of New Zealanders still in the trench that spans the summit of Chunuk Bair, while a little later the Gurkhas, who had occupied a gully still farther north than those penetrated by the New Zealanders, arrived on the crest of 971 itself.

From that point of vantage the bold pioneers could see all they had striven for through many weary weeks of constant fighting. Away to the south-east were the forts of the Narrows. At their very feet ran the road of communication, which leads from Gallipoli town to the main Turkish position at Achi Baba. They could see the trains of mules and the transport vehicles passing along this road. The goal of their efforts was there, in their full sight.

Right and left, on higher crests, were the Turks in force, determined to drive them from their post of vantage. Desperately the New Zealanders hung on to what they had gained, until support should come. The history of that attempt to hold a hilltop is one of the most glorious in all the annals of war. Some day the world will know how sixteen New Zealanders kept a long section of trench against a whole host of enemies for three hours. If the desperate valour of the men of New Zealand, and of their Gurkha friends, could have conserved the advantage, it would never have been lost.

The story of the loss of the position had best be told in the merciful words of Sir Ian Hamilton's despatch:—

"During the night of the 9th-10th the New Zealand and New Army troops on Chunuk Bair were relieved. For three days and three nights they had been ceaselessly fighting. They were half dead with fatigue. Their lines of communication, started from sea level, ran across trackless ridges and ravines to an altitude of 800 ft., and were exposed all the way to snipers' fire and artillery bombardment. It had become imperative, therefore, to get them enough food, water, and rest; and for this purpose it was imperative also to withdraw them. Chunuk Bair, which they had so magnificently held, was now handed over to two battalions of the 13th Division, which were connected by the 10th Hampshire Regiment with the troops at the farm. General Sir William Birdwood is emphatic on the point that the nature of the ground is such that there was no room on the crest for more than this body of 800 to 1,000 rifles.

"The two battalions of the New Army chosen to hold Chunuk Bair were the 6th Loyal North Lancashire Regiment and the 5th Wiltshire Regiment. The first of these arrived in good time and occupied the trenches. Even in the darkness their commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Levinge, recognized how dangerously these trenches were sited, and he began at once to dig observation posts on the actual crest and to strengthen the defences where he could. But he had not time given him to do much. The second battalion, the Wiltshires, were delayed by the intricate country. They did not reach the edge of the entrenchment until 4 a.m., and were then told to lie down in what was believed, erroneously, to be a covered position.

"At daybreak on Tuesday, August 10, the Turks delivered a grand attack from the line Chunuk Bair Hill Q against these two battalions, already weakened in numbers, though not in spirit, by previous fighting. First our men were shelled by every enemy gun, and then, at 5.30 a.m., were assaulted by a huge column, consisting of no less than a full division plus a regiment of three battalions. The North Lancashire men were simply overwhelmed in their shallow trenches by sheer weight of numbers, whilst the Wilts, who were caught out in the open, were literally almost annihilated. The ponderous mass of the enemy swept over the crest, turned the right flank of our line below, swarmed round the Hampshires and General Baldwin's column, which had to give ground, and were only extricated with great difficulty and very heavy losses."

THE VALLEY OF TORMENT

[CHAPTER XIV]
THE VALLEY OF TORMENT

The loss of the crest of Sari Bair was the turning point in the fight for the Dardanelles. The whole of the Turkish forces were thrown into action at this point. The plan of attack had been designed so that a portion at least of these defensive forces should be held up by the advance of the troops which had landed at Suvla Bay. But the advance of those troops was delayed, for reasons which do not rightly come within the scope of this book, and therefore the bulk of the defending forces could be concentrated in one desperate and successful effort to drive back the invaders.

But the defenders paid dearly for their success. The slope up which the New Zealanders had advanced with such painful effort, and over which the victorious Turks were now pouring in dense masses, was ranged by the Anzac artillery, by the guns of the warships and by the Indian Mountain batteries. Their fire was all concentrated upon these serried masses of the enemy, and great gaps were torn in their ranks as they swept over the hill-top.

Even deadlier was the work of the New Zealand machine-gun section, directed by the famous Major Wallingford, D.S.O. A whole book could be written of the feats which the New Zealanders ascribe to this remarkable soldier, "The human machine-gun" as they call him. His quick eye for a tactical advantage had grasped the probability of a rush of Turks over the crest of Sari Bair, and his ten guns were posted to take the fullest advantage of the materialization of that surmise.

In the slaughter that followed those ten guns consumed 16,000 rounds of ammunition, and the claim made of 5,000 hits is probably a conservative estimate. But our own losses had been very heavy. Of the 37,000 men under General Birdwood's command on August 6, 12,000 were out of action on the evening of August 10. Of these quite one half were New Zealanders. Gloriously had they fought. Their silent charges in the dark will for ever remain as the high-water mark of restrained courage and enterprise. Their wounded showed the same qualities of silent endurance and devotion to their fellows.

The New Zealand wounded had an experience that is an epic of suffering. Only the supreme fortitude with which it was endured impels me to give some account of the days and nights spent by over four hundred of these heroes in a place which they have christened the Valley of Torment. It was placed on the rugged side of Sari Bair, a deep depression in the hillside. On one side of it a mountain wall rose in a perpendicular cliff that would have defied a mountain goat to climb it. On the other rose the steep declivity of Rhododendron Ridge. Below, the valley opened out upon a flat plateau, so swept by the guns of both sides that no living thing could exist for one moment upon its flat, clear surface.

The only way in and out of the valley was from above, where the New Zealanders were fighting like possessed beings for the foothold they had won on the crest of Sari Bair. And to this valley the stretcher-bearers had carried the men who had fallen in the fight, a sad little group of wounded men whose numbers were hourly increasing. There, too, crawled those who were less severely injured. And there the unwounded soldiers carried their stricken mates for shelter from the hail of bullets, while the fight lasted.

As the wounded men came in, a devoted band of Red Cross men lent them what aid they could. There was no doctor nearer than the dressing station on the beach, but these Red Cross workers stayed their wounds with bandages, tying tourniquets round limbs to check the flow of arterial blood, and making tortured men as easy as circumstances would permit.

The approach to this valley was so dangerous that no one might come to it by daylight. There was no water there, until one man, less severely wounded than some of his comrades, dug into a moist spot far down the valley, and chanced on a spring that yielded a thin trickle of brackish water.

By midday on August 8 there were three hundred wounded men in this place of refuge, and more were continually arriving. They were suffering from all the terrible manglings that exploding bombs and high explosive shells can inflict. And in the Valley of Torment they lay and endured. Some of them told their experiences, and sought to cheer the rest by predicting a great victory as the result of the attack in which they were taking part. Here and there a man could be heard reciting verses to those who would listen.

No one moaned, and no one uttered a complaint. When a man too sorely wounded died of his hurts, they expressed their thanks that he had been spared further pain. The filling of the little spring was eagerly awaited, so that each man could have his lips moistened with a little brackish water. So there they lay and waited for the night, which might bring them aid.

When night at last came, the weary stretcher-bearers tried to move some of them over the ridge to a safe valley which lay on the other side. A few were so moved, but these men had been working for days and nights without rest or respite, and the task was beyond their strength; for the steepness and roughness of that hillside is beyond description. A message was sent down to the dressing station asking for help, and a reply was sent in the early morning that it would be forthcoming on the following night.

Through the night the parched men were tortured by the sight of water being carried through the valley to the men in the firing line above them. There was none of it for them, and they did not expect any; for they knew the necessities of warfare, and recognized that at such a time the combatant must come first.

The next day came with a hot sun, and clouds of flies. Also there came many more wounded to the Valley of Torment, until the tale of living men exceeded four hundred. And that day many died. Among those who lived the torture from tourniquets that had been left too long on wounded limbs became unendurable. Many of them will never recover the free use of the limbs so tortured; others have already died from the unavoidable mortification which resulted from this long delay.

Meanwhile, down at the dressing stations, the weary doctors were struggling with hundreds of cases just as bad, and men seriously wounded were waiting by scores for their turn for attention. These are the necessary evils of war, accentuated at Gallipoli by the very rough nature of the country in which the fighting took place, and by the severity of the struggle and the importance of the issues depending upon its outcome.

At last that day ended too, and evening fell with a cool breeze. The exhausted men heard the stealthy approach of many men in the dark, from the safe gully that lay beyond the range. And one of them, out of thankfulness, began to sing the hymn—

At even, ere the sun was set,

The sick, O Lord, around Thee lay.

Nearly all of them took up the singing.

While they were still singing, there came over the ridge a large number of soldiers, and put them all on stretchers. Then the new-comers, some thousands in number, ranged themselves in two rows facing one another. The double row of soldiers stretched up to the crest of the ridge, and down the other side into the safe gully that was there. And each stretcher was passed from hand to hand, up the steep ridge and down the slope to the safety that lay on the other side.

When all had been taken from the Valley of Torment, a long procession of men with stretchers was formed, bearing the wounded down to the sea. Two miles it stretched from start to finish, and it serpentined slowly down the gully, each pair of bearers walking with slow care, for the sake of the tortured man who was in their charge.

So the wounded men of New Zealand were carried out of the Valley of Torment. One could fill whole volumes about the tender care of the lightly wounded for their more grievously injured comrades, and of the stoical indifference to pain and personal suffering shown by these men. I have met many of the men who suffered there; and I know that in their eyes the real tragedy of the experience is not the torture they experienced. It is that, after all, their comrades eventually had to forgo the advantage that had been won by so much hardihood and loss of life.

Most handsomely, and for all time, has General Sir Ian Hamilton proclaimed the fact that they were blameless of the final catastrophe. His tribute concludes as follows:—

"The grand coup had not come off. The Narrows were still out of sight and beyond field-gun range. But this was not the fault of Lieutenant-General Birdwood or any of the officers and men under his command. No mortal can command success; Lieutenant-General Birdwood had done all that mortal man can do to deserve it. The way in which he worked out his instructions into practical arrangements and dispositions upon the terrain reflect high credit upon his military capacity. I also wish to bring to your Lordship's notice the valuable services of Major-General Godley, commanding the New Zealand and Australian Division. He had under him at one time a force amounting to two divisions, which he handled with conspicuous ability.

"As for the troops, the joyous alacrity with which they faced danger, wounds and death, as if they were some new form of exciting recreation, has astonished me—old campaigner as I am. I will say no more, leaving Major-General Godley to speak for what happened under his eyes:—'I cannot close my report,' he says, 'without placing on record my unbounded admiration of the work performed, and the gallantry displayed, by the troops and their leaders during the severe fighting involved in these operations. Though the Australian, New Zealand, and Indian units had been confined to trench duty in a cramped space for some four months, and though the troops of the New Armies had only just landed from a sea voyage, and many of them had not been previously under fire, I do not believe that any troops in the world could have accomplished more. All ranks vied with one another in the performance of gallant deeds, and more than worthily upheld the best traditions of the British Army.'

"Although the Sari Bair ridge was the key to the whole of my tactical conception, and although the temptation to view this vital Anzac battle at closer quarters was very hard to resist, there was nothing in its course or conduct to call for my personal intervention."

THE GREAT NIGHT MARCH

[CHAPTER XV]
THE GREAT NIGHT MARCH

It is now time to follow the fortunes of the 4th Brigade of Australian Infantry who, under General Monash, had massed at Outpost No. 2 on the night of August 6. Their mission was to cross the two gullies up which the New Zealanders had charged to the capture of Chunuk Bair, and to storm a third and more northerly gully, known as the Aghyl Dere. The upper portion of this gully leads to the slopes of the height of Koja Chemen, the highest point of the mountain mass of Sari Bair. Its crest is 971 feet above sea level, and is marked on the maps as Hill 971.

Their line of march lay north-east, through unknown country that was badly broken by gullies and steep hills. It took them over part of the open plain which lay between Sari Bair and Suvla Bay, an agricultural plain comparatively flat and clear, where the Australasians had watched the Turkish peasants getting in their crops through the month of July.

It was the individual resource and confidence of each unit of these Colonial troops which permitted this difficult night march to be accomplished successfully. The task of co-operation set to the newly landed troops at Suvla Bay was by no means so difficult. Without intending any disparagement of these forces, it has to be said that if they had displayed the initiative and resource of their more seasoned Colonial comrades, a more successful outcome of these operations could surely have been recorded.

The plan adopted by the Australians was beautiful in its simplicity, and in the full reliance placed upon each individual man. The officers showed the non-commissioned men their maps of the unknown country through which the night march was to be made; and the non-coms, in their turn explained to each man the object of the march, and the nature of the chief obstacles marked on the maps.

When the word to advance was given, the men simply melted away into the darkness, and without any noise made their way towards the goal. Sometimes two or three pressed forward silently together; more often the fellows made their way alone. The most impressive part of that advance was its noiselessness. Now and then the enemy would turn their guns down the gullies up which the advance was being made, and then each man found cover as best he could, and waited until he thought it safe to pursue his onward way.

The net result of these tactics was that a surprisingly large percentage of the men reached their objective unharmed. Where opposition had to be overcome, the men massed silently in the darkness, and charged at the word of their officers. The terror inspired among the Turks by these midnight charges, coming suddenly out of the silent darkness, has been testified by the prisoners taken.

Thus the 4th Brigade reached its first objective after the wonderful night march; but the expected supports were not forthcoming. During the day that followed, the enemy appeared in great force, and there was some stiff fighting. The 13th Battalion captured the emplacement of a 75-gun, which had worked great havoc during the preceding six weeks in the Australasian trenches. The 15th Battalion saw the gun disappearing round one long bend of a valley, as they emerged from the scrub at the elbow below. A few shots were fired at it, but the chance was lost, by at most two minutes.

The 14th Battalion captured a Turkish bakery, and a Turkish major in charge of it; also a telephone exchange and a very sullen German lieutenant. Later in the day the 16th Battalion encountered a strong force of the enemy, very skilfully posted, and suffered very severe losses.

On August 7 a fresh advance was made from the Aghyl Dere to a gully still further north; the Asmak Dere. As they advanced they drove the enemy back, and got into touch with a regiment of Sikhs from Suvla Bay. So reinforced they made an attack upon the big hill, but found that by this time the Turks had come up from further south. The effect of the frontal attacks from the old Anzac line had expended itself, and the enemy had moved north in force. It is worthy of mention that the official estimate of the total number of Turks mustered to the defence of Sari Bair places it at 75,000. They were certainly strong enough to check the attack on Hill 971 without much difficulty.

In the evening of the same day (August 7) the 4th Brigade attacked the height of Abduo Rahman Bair, running out from Koja Chemen to the north, and met a perfect hell of machine-gun fire. In less than an hour's fighting they lost 1,000 men, and were nearly surrounded. They managed to withdraw to their original positions, and spent the night resisting a series of vicious attacks from the intrepid enemy. In this fighting they inflicted severe loss, without budging one foot from the line they had taken up.

From this point, slightly south of the hill known as Kaiajik Aghala, or Hill 60, they saw the loss of the crest of Chunuk Bair, and the great slaughter of Turks that followed. And there they remained for the next fortnight, while the line across the valley which led to the village of Biyuk Anafarta was being strengthened. On August 21 it was deemed that the time had come for an attack upon Hill 60 itself, and in this the 4th Brigade participated.

They were joined by General Russell and his New Zealanders, and by the 18th Battalion of Australian Infantry, who had landed on the preceding day as the advance guard of the Second Division of the A.I.F. The fighting was desperate and the newcomers suffered most severely in their baptism of fire. In the end the capture of Hill 60 had to be postponed.

But on August 27 the attack was renewed, this time with success. The operations are clearly told in the official dispatch:—

"The conduct of the attack was again entrusted to Major-General Cox, at whose disposal were placed detachments from the 4th and 5th Australian Brigades, the New Zealand Mounted Rifles Brigade, and the 5th Connaught Rangers. The advance was timed to take place at 5 p.m. on August 27, after the heaviest artillery bombardment we could afford. This bombardment seemed effective; but the moment the assailants broke cover they were greeted by an exceeding hot fire from the enemy field-guns, rifles, and machine-guns, followed after a brief interval by a shower of heavy shell, some of which, most happily, pitched into the trenches of the Turks. On the right the detachment from the 4th and 5th Australian Brigades could make no headway against a battery of machine-guns which confronted them. In the centre the New Zealanders made a most determined onslaught, and carried one side of the topmost knoll. Hand-to-hand fighting continued here till 9.30 p.m., when it was reported that nine-tenths of the summit had been gained.

"On the left the 250 men of the 5th Connaught Rangers excited the admiration of all beholders by the swiftness and cohesion of their charge. In five minutes they had carried their objective, the northern Turkish communications, when they at once set to and began a lively bomb-fight along the trenches against strong parties which came hurrying up from the enemy supports and afterwards from their reserves. At midnight fresh troops were to have strengthened our grip upon the hill, but before that hour the Irishmen had been out-bombed, and the 9th Australian Light Horse, who had made a most plucky attempt to recapture the lost communication trench, had been repulsed. Luckily, the New Zealand Mounted Rifles refused to recognize that they were worsted. Nothing would shift them. All that night and all next day, through bombing, bayonet charges, musketry, shrapnel, and heavy shell, they hung on to their 150 yards of trench. At 1 a.m. on August 29 the 10th Light Horse made another attack on the lost communication trenches to the left, carried them, and finally held them. This gave us complete command of the underfeature, an outlook over the Anafarta Sagir valley, and safer lateral communications between Anzac and Suvla Bay.

"Our casualties in this hotly contested affair amounted to 1,000. The Turks lost out of all proportion more. Their line of retreat was commanded from our Kaiajik Dere trenches, whence our observers were able to direct artillery fire equally upon their fugitives and their reinforcements. The same observers estimated that the Turkish casualties as no less than 5,000. Three Turkish machine-guns and forty-six prisoners were taken, as well as three trench mortars, 300 Turkish rifles, 60,000 rounds of ammunition, and 500 bombs. Four hundred acres were added to the territories of Anzac. Major-General Cox showed his usual forethought and wisdom. Brigadier-General Russell fought his men splendidly."

This was the last great offensive movement made by the Anzacs on the Gallipoli peninsula. Shortly afterwards the whole of the Second Australian Division was landed, a step which permitted the temporary withdrawal of the veteran brigades to Lemnos for a much-needed spell. Then operations at Anzac dragged on until the entry of Bulgaria into the war established easy communication between Berlin and Constantinople, and made the evacuation of Gallipoli an imperative necessity.

The story of those last months at Anzac, and the final act of withdrawal, will be found in the two concluding chapters of this book. The position occupied by the Anzacs at the point now reached was summarized by Lord Kitchener in the House of Lords on September 15 in the following terms:—

"The attack from Anzac, after a series of hotly contested actions, was carried to the summit of Sari Bair and Chunuk Bair, which are the dominating positions in this area. The arrival of the transports and the disembarkation of the troops in Suvla Bay were designed to enable the troops to support this attack. Unfortunately, however, the advance from Suvla was not developed quickly enough and the movement forward was brought to a standstill after an advance of about 2½ miles. The result was that the troops from Anzac were unable to retain their position on the crest of the hills, and after being repeatedly counter-attacked they were ordered to withdraw to positions lower down.

"These positions, however, have been effectively consolidated, and now, joining with the line occupied by the Suvla Bay force, form a connected front of more than twelve miles. From the latter position a further attack on the Turkish entrenchment was delivered on August 21, but after several hours of sharp fighting it was not found possible to gain the summit of the hills occupied by the enemy, and the intervening space being unsuitable for defence the troops were withdrawn to their original position.

"Since then comparative quiet has prevailed and a much-needed rest has been given to our troops. In the course of these operations the gallantry and resourcefulness of the Australian and New Zealand troops have frequently formed a subject for eulogy in Sir Ian Hamilton's reports. General Birdwood and his staff have greatly distinguished themselves both in planning and conducting the operations of the Australian and New Zealand Corps, whose activities have been marked by constant success. Their determination to overcome apparently insuperable difficulties has been no less admirable than their courage in hand-to-hand fighting with the enemy.

"It is not easy to appreciate at their full value the enormous difficulties which have attended the operations in the Dardanelles or the fine temper with which our troops have met them. There is now abundant evidence of a process of demoralization having set in among the German-led (or rather the German-driven) Turks due, no doubt, to their extremely heavy losses and to the progressive failure of their resources. It is only fair to acknowledge that, judged from a humane point of view, the methods of warfare pursued by the Turks are vastly superior to those which disgraced their German masters."

THE STORY OF THE SOUTHLAND

[CHAPTER XVI]
THE STORY OF THE "SOUTHLAND"

The transport of the Second Australian Division from Egypt to Gallipoli was not to pass without at least one striking incident, which proved that the Australian army, if without traditions of its own, is able at a moment's notice to live up to the finest traditions of the soldiers of the British race. There is probably no Australian who has not been made familiar with the history of the Birkenhead, and it fell to the lot of one battalion of the Second Division to show that "To stand and be still in the Birkenhead Drill" is not too tough a thing for the untried troops of the south.

This battalion was the 21st, a Victorian Battalion mainly composed of farmers' sons from the Wimmera district; and it left Egypt on the last Monday in August on board the transport Southland in charge of Colonel Linton. The transport had also on board General Legge, the officer in command of the Second Division, and his staff—the brains of the Second Division, as one of the men told me. And, when she left Egypt, it was freely prophesied that she would be the object of attack by the submarines that were at that time very busy in the Ægean Sea.

No precaution was omitted on the voyage. The men were daily paraded by their Colonel (Colonel Hutchinson) and instructed in boat and lifebelt drill. All went well till Thursday morning, just after the early exercises. It was a beautiful morning, and the deck was crowded with men, smoking and chatting, and some of them cleaning their equipment in readiness for the imminent landing.

Suddenly a cry was heard, "God, is that a torpedo?"

No one who saw the deadly thing ripping through the water had any doubt of it. A moment later there was a dull clanging roar, and a hole nearly thirty feet in diameter was blown in the side, two holds being destroyed. In a second the siren was blowing the signal to abandon ship, and the Australians, conforming to the drill regulations, lined up on deck as if on parade.

The ship's officers kept magnificently cool. The captain, by a magnificent piece of navigation, contrived to avoid a second torpedo which if it had struck the Southland would undoubtedly have sunk the vessel in a couple of minutes. The engineer closed the bulkheads and a number of open portholes, and to him also must be ascribed the credit of having prevented the vessel from sinking.

Obeying the order conveyed by the siren, the crew of the Southland made for the boats, and most of them were afloat before any Australian moved. They stood at attention along the deck and waited for a lead from their officers.

It came from the General himself. In full uniform, with spurs and cane, he stood at the side of the ship and lighted a cigarette. General Legge was joined there by his Chief of Staff, Colonel Gwynn of Duntroon College, and the two chatted unconcernedly as they surveyed the scene.

The order was given to the men to remove their boots, and they began to do so. One of them noticed the General standing there, booted and spurred, and ventured the question, "What about General Legge?" "Oh, the General is going to walk it," he was told.

There was a heavy rolling sea, and the ship was now in a bad way, listing as though she were about to sink at every roll. Some of those bush boys could not swim, and to all of them boats and lifebelts were unfamiliar articles. But they stood in line and saw the sailor men go, waiting for orders.

Then they were set to launching boats and life rafts, and it cannot be said they made a very good job of it. The first boat was launched by one rope only, and turned all its occupants out as it struck the water. It was one of four boats overturned for some reason. In one of these was Colonel Linton, the Brigadier, who unfortunately died of heart shock in the water.

While this was happening destroyers were steaming to the spot at a rate of thirty knots, and did not arrive one moment too soon. The water was dotted with the floating rafts and coops and with the heads of swimming men. Remarkable gallantry was displayed by many, and one young officer who was a fine swimmer is mentioned as swimming about and helping the struggling men to places on the rafts and collapsible boats.

But before all had left the ship, the captain of the Southland made a call for volunteers to stay by the sinking ship, on the chance that she might be driven under her own steam to the beach. He had a response from three times as many men as he required, and the Australians, officers and men together, stripped for the stokehold.

Their bravery met with its just reward. The Southland held out long enough to be driven ashore at Lemnos, and all who had remained aboard got off her safely. In all there were some twenty men drowned, among them the Brigadier, and several were killed and about fifteen wounded by the explosion of the torpedo.

General Legge, who succeeded General Bridges.

The steadiness and grit displayed by the men on the deck of the shattered transport was matched by their behaviour in the water and on the crowded boats. Although some of the collapsible boats were loaded almost to sinking point, and although the heavy sea had made many of the men extremely seasick, they waited for the expected help to come with the utmost sang-froid.

An officer on another transport, which came up three hours later and took many of the men on board, tells of their coolness and unconcern:—

"We slowed down as we came up, but missed some of the boats, as no rope was thrown out to them. They drifted past us, calling out 'Don't you want us?' and another wag added, 'We've just been fishing.' In another boat they were singing 'Here We Are Again.' All were more or less merry, including the injured, for some had their hands torn with sliding down the ropes; others had got under the capsized boats, and had a struggle to get out, especially if they had the lifebelts on; others got cuts on the head."

"You couldn't get bustled," one of the 21st told me, "when the General and all the officers were taking it so coolly. And the skipper of the Southland too; talk about the spirit of a British sailor, he showed us what it was that day. And I think from what I heard him say he likes Australians. I was one of those who escaped a ducking, being lucky enough to be chosen for stokehold duty. So I never even got my feet wet."

The story of one of the men who had a swim of over a mile is eloquent of the spirit of the fellows, and of the dangers in which they found themselves:—

"Some of the sights I saw I'll never forget. A boat full was being let down and one of the ropes either broke or slipped, and one end dropped, and there it was hanging end on. Naturally its occupants all fell out all ways, and then the other end broke, and the whole boat dropped on them. There were yells, etc., but I didn't wait to see any more, and espied a boat some distance away and made for it.

"Eventually I reached it, about a mile or so from the ship, and got hauled in, although I don't remember that; I was feeling a bit goosed. However, after five minutes' spell, I got on to an oar and started to row. Not that we wanted to row anywhere, but just to keep head on to the waves and keep the water down. It was a collapsible boat, and lived up to its name admirably and collapsed frequently. After about an hour or so smoke appeared on the horizon, and it turned out to be a hospital ship, coming up fast. Then another appeared, and then another, and then a destroyer came in sight, and soon quite a collection had arrived, but all made for the ship herself, which was still hanging on to life.

"Then our boat went to the pack and started to sink. Oh! it was a lovely sensation—I don't think. Eventually after four and a half hours up to our knees in water, baling and rowing like fiends, we reached the hospital ship, and—talk about a relief to feel something solid again! As soon as we came up the ladder each man was handed a packet of cigarettes, and we were then bundled below, and had beef tea and dry clothes given us.

"I forgot to say that soon after we were hit our little 4.7 let fly. I don't know if she hit the submarine; at all events she scared it, or we'd have stopped another for a cert. And God only knows what would have happened if we hadn't had wireless to let every one know. However, it's all over now, and I'm safe and sound, bar a bang on the head and the ankle, but have only a pair of pants and singlet and my knife; no hat, or boots and socks."

Throughout their trying experiences not a man among the Australians showed a sign of panic or concern. Naturally their General was very proud of them, as they of him. General Legge, as soon as all were collected together, issued an order congratulating them upon their pluck and fine discipline at a critical time.

Later General Birdwood, the officer commanding at Anzac, issued an order commending them in the eyes of the whole forces in the Anzac zone. It was worded in the following terms:—

"On behalf of all the comrades now serving on the peninsula, I wish to convey to the Australian unit concerned our general feeling of admiration for the gallant behaviour of all ranks on the transport Southland. All the troops of the army corps have heard with pride of the courage and discipline shown at the moment when the nerves of the bravest are liable to be so highly tried. Not only was there not the slightest confusion on the part of the troops, who quietly fell in and prepared to meet whatever fate might be in store, but later, when there was prospect of the Southland being able to make way under her own steam and stokers were called for, the men at once came forward and successfully helped in getting the Southland into port."

The episode of the Southland confirmed the impression created by the gallant behaviour of the 18th Battalion at Hill 60, when they were thrown into the thick of the fight within a few hours of their landing on Gallipoli, and behaved like veterans. It was established that the Second Division was composed of the same splendid fighting material as the First. They had a thankless task before them, as the reader will learn from the last two chapters of this book. But they carried it through in the fine spirit displayed by the men of the Southland and of Hill 60.

THE V.C.'s OF ANZAC

[CHAPTER XVII]
THE V.C.'S OF ANZAC

In all records of bravery, and in all chronicles of devoted deeds, there occur some acts that stand out even against the brilliant background on which they are set. It was so at Anzac. The immortal story of the landing is set with such resplendent actions, but in many cases there was no responsible officer at hand to report the amazing daring of the Australasians on those first days. Afterwards it was possible to keep a closer record of individual actions, and the result was that a number of the men of Anzac received the supreme award for valour in the British army, the Victoria Cross.

The first of these distinctions fell to a non-commissioned officer of the 14th Battalion of Australian Infantry, for a remarkable exploit performed on the night that followed the attempt made by Liman von Sanders to drive the Anzacs into the sea on May 19. Sergeant Jacka, then a Lance-Corporal, was the hero of this feat of daring.

On the night of May 19 a body of Turks suddenly delivered so fierce a bomb attack upon a section of advanced trench held by ten men and a sergeant of the 14th Battalion that every man in the trench was either killed or wounded. The Turks followed up this success by jumping into the trench, and Captain Boyle, who entered this section of trench by a communication trench, was wounded by a shot fired by them, but was able to give the alarm.

Jacka immediately jumped from the communication trench up to the step or bench behind the last traverse of the section of the trench in which the Turks were, and with fixed bayonet held them at the traverse, round which they feared to come. Meanwhile Lieutenant Hamilton, a gallant young officer of the 14th, went to the other end of the captured trench, and began firing at the Turks with his revolver. He appears to have accounted for three of them before he was shot by them through the head.

At his end Jacka, single-handed, kept the Turks at bay. The cry of officer wanted brought up Lieutenant Crabbe with a platoon, three men of which, Howard, De Gruchy and another, were all friends and fellow-townsmen of Jacka. Howard sprang forward, followed by the other two, but when he put his head round the traverse he fell, wounded in three places. At this moment Jacka rushed around to the other end of the trench, and took the Turks in the rear. Five he killed in succession with rifle shots and two more he caught and bayoneted as they were trying to escape by climbing out of the trench.

At the same time the party at the other end of the trench advanced and accounted for four more Turks, thus clearing the trench effectually.

Jacka has a remarkable record, as he was at the original landing, and fought through the whole of the Anzac battle. When the final withdrawal took place he was one among five of the original members of the 14th still remaining.

No more V.C.'s were awarded until the August fighting, when this distinction was awarded to a number of the men of Anzac. Foremost among them was Captain Shout, of the 1st Battalion, who died at the post of duty after earning deathless glory for himself and the country that will be for ever proud to number such men among her sons.

On April 27 Lieutenant Alfred John Shout won the Military Cross and his promotion for conspicuous bravery and ability as a leader. From that time forward he was a shining example of cheerful courage to those associated with him. His name crops up in countless letters of Australian soldiers; his coolness, his audacity and his good cheer were on the lips of all.

His battalion was the reserve of the 1st Brigade when the Lone Pine position was taken by assault, and was soon called to take part in repelling the fierce counter-attacks delivered by the enemy. A feature of the position was a long communication trench, one end of which was held by the Turks, while the other led almost directly to the Brigadier-General's head-quarters.

While General Smythe was standing outside his dug-out on the morning of August 9, the Turks made a very desperate attack by way of this trench, coming round the last traverse in full view of the General, and only separated from him by a barricade breast high. They were driven back behind this barricade, and then Captain Sass, with three men, determined to drive them farther back with bombs and rifle shots. In this he was joined by Captain Shout.

They started together, Captain Sass with his rifle and Captain Shout with bombs. Captain Shout had a good look round to see the position and then pushed the barricade down. They went forward two abreast, Captain Sass shooting and Captain Shout bombing. As Captain Shout's bombs fell those following could hear the bustle of accoutrements and scrambling cries round the next corner. They finally reached the point where it was decided that it would be suitable to build the last barricade. Captain Shout all the time was laughing and joking and cheering the men immensely by his example. He resolved to make a big throw before the final dash. He tried to light three bombs at once, so that they might be quickly thrown, and the Turks prevented from hindering the building of the barricade. He ignited all the three and threw one, then either the second or the third burst as it was leaving his hand, shattered one hand and most of the other, destroyed one eye and laid open his cheek, and scored his breast and leg. Captain Shout was nevertheless conscious and talked cheerfully. He drank tea and sent a message to his wife. Since the day of his arrival he had been the heart and soul of his section of the firing line. His invincible buoyancy and cheerfulness was a great help to the men. He succumbed to his injuries.

Captain Tubb of the 7th Battalion also won the Victoria Cross in the defence of Lone Pine, and associated with him were Sergeant William Dunstan, and Corporal Alexander Stuart Burton of the same battalion, both of whom were similarly honoured. In the early morning of August 9 Captain Tubb, then a lieutenant, was holding with his company a section of newly-captured trench of the utmost importance to the defence of the whole position. A fierce bomb attack was delivered upon the centre of the trench and maintained for hours with the utmost fury.

Every man worked like a hero, the officer setting a shining example. The bombs were fielded as they came over the barricade and returned before they had time to explode. Dunstan himself returned over twenty bombs in this fashion, and his work was equalled by Burton and others. One nameless and devoted soldier, seeing a bomb about to explode at the feet of Captain Tubb, threw himself upon it and saved his officer's life at the cost of his own.

Three times the enemy blew in the barricade which separated them from the brave Anzacs, and as often Captain Tubb led his men forward, drove them off, and rebuilt the barricade. Once again they came forward, and in rebuilding the barricade under a perfect hail of bombs the gallant Burton lost his life. The Captain was wounded in the head and the arm, but he still cheered his men on, and eventually the enemy were beaten off.

Sergeant Dunstan, who came from my own native city of Ballarat, is further the hero of an act of self-denial which it is pleasant to record. The Mayor of the city, proud of his gallantry, promoted a testimonial which had already grown to a very substantial sum when the knowledge of it came to Dunstan. He at once wrote a letter, couched in terms of modest dignity, refusing to be the recipient of any testimonial for the mere performance of his duty.

On the preceding night, not far from the spot where these gallant actions were performed, Lieutenant William John Symons, also of the 7th Battalion, was similarly hard pressed by the Turks. With a gallant little band of this brave battalion he was holding a section of the freshly-captured trench somewhat to the right of that held by Captain Tubb. The enemy came in force, and rained bombs into the trench. He repelled a number of furious attacks, and early in the morning was called to a sap-end where six officers in succession had been killed or wounded, and a portion of the sap retaken by the enemy.

The lieutenant led a charge which resulted in the recapture of the whole sap, and in the charge he shot two Turks with his revolver. He then withdrew for fifteen yards and ordered the construction of a barricade across the sap. His part in this work was to hold up an iron shield which covered the men at work with the sandbags, while he was exposed. The enemy succeeded in setting fire to the woodwork and fascines of the head cover, but Lieutenant Symons put the fire out, and continued the work of building the barricade. His coolness and determination finally compelled the enemy to discontinue their attacks.

Lance-Corporal Leonard Keyzor, of the 1st Battalion, obtained his V.C. chiefly for his actions in the south-eastern corner of the Lone Pine, where the situation was so difficult on August 7 that a section of the outer trench had to be abandoned, and which has not since been held by ourselves or the Turks, and in personally superintending the retirement from which the gallant Colonel Scobie was killed. Keyzor was one of the best bomb-throwers in the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. During these fierce attacks he was throwing for fifty hours almost continuously. He was sent to first one corner of the trenches and then to another, but mainly to this warm corner, not only throwing bombs but constantly smothering with his coat or sandbag the enemy's bombs which had fallen in the trench. He often threw them back. Finally, when the enemy cut down the time of the fuses, he caught several bombs in the air like a cricket ball and threw them back before bursting.

On August 8, at the same place, Private Keyzor bombed the enemy out of a position, from which a temporary mastery over his own trench had been obtained, and was again wounded. Although marked for hospital, he declined to leave, and volunteered to throw bombs for another company which had lost its bomb-throwers.

Private John Hamilton, of the 1st Battalion, won his V.C. on August 9, also at the Lone Pine. About daybreak, when the Turks were beginning to creep up the communication trenches to attack the captured trenches with bombs, Hamilton climbed up on to the top of the parapet and waited there in the open overlooking the trench up which the enemy came, and making a little position behind the sandbags, told the officer below whenever the Turks were coming up to attack. Several other men were up beside him a portion of the time, doing the same, but Hamilton stayed up there, under the open sky and entirely unprotected from shrapnel or snipers, five or six hours, shooting the approaching Turks and passing down the word of their advance.

Corporal Cyril Royston Guyton Bassett, New Zealand Divisional Signal Company, received the Victoria Cross for most conspicuous bravery and devotion to duty on the Chunuk Bair ridge in the Gallipoli Peninsula on August 7.

After the New Zealand Infantry Brigade had attacked and established itself on the ridge, Corporal Bassett, in full daylight and under a continuous and heavy fire, succeeded in laying a telephone line from the old position to the new one on Chunuk Bair. He has subsequently been brought to notice for further excellent and most gallant work.

The last V.C. awarded at Anzac was that won by the gallantry displayed at Hill 60 on August 29 and 30 by Lieutenant Hugo Vivian Hope Throssell of the 10th Australian Light Horse. Lieutenant Throssell was second in command to Captain Fry, who led a charge to retake a section of trench captured from the enemy and retaken by them. The section of trench was successfully stormed and the enemy driven out. A barricade was then built, and the Turks returned and delivered a fierce bomb attack, in the course of which Captain Fry was killed.

Lieutenant Throssell then took charge, and with Sergeant Ferrier, Corporal McNee and Private McMahon maintained a resolute defence of the barricade. The Turks repeatedly renewed their attacks, which Throssell and his men withstood, returning the bombs that were thrown and replying energetically in kind. With them was associated Private Renton, who like his comrades did excellent work in fielding and returning bombs.

The attacks were continued all the night of the 29th and through the morning of the 30th. Ferrier sustained a wound from which he subsequently died, and Renton was so badly wounded that his leg has since had to be amputated. Lieutenant Throssell was himself twice wounded, but he continued a vigorous defence of the trench until he was relieved. He then had his wounds dressed, and returned to the position to see that all was right there.

The holding of that section of the trench meant the subsequent capture of the hill itself. By his personal courage and example Lieutenant Throssell kept up the spirits of his party, and was largely instrumental in saving the situation at a critical period.

During the course of the war at least three other Australians, attached to the British army, have been awarded the V.C. for deeds of great courage. Foremost among these is the well-known airman, Captain Lance George Hawker, of the Royal Engineers and Flying Corps, who was decorated with the V.C. and D.S.O. He was awarded the D.S.O. for a bomb-dropping exploit, and the V.C. for an extraordinarily valiant fight against three German aeroplanes on July 25. The first managed to escape, the second was badly damaged and compelled to descend, while the third, which was assailed at a height of 10,000 feet, was not only badly damaged, but was driven to ground in the British lines, both the pilot and the observer being killed. The personal bravery shown by the young officer was exceptional, as each of the enemy aeroplanes carried machines-guns, a pilot and observer.

Corporal William Cosgrove, of the 1st Battalion of the Royal Munster Fusiliers, is an Australian, and was awarded the Victoria Cross for displaying most conspicuous bravery in the leading of his section with great dash during the attack from the beach to the east of Cape Helles, on the Turkish position on April 26, 1915.

Corporal Cosgrove, on this occasion, pulled down the posts of the enemy's high wire entanglements single-handed, notwithstanding a terrific fire from both the front and flank, thereby greatly contributing to the successful clearing of the heights.

The latest case is that of Lieutenant Dartnell, of the Regiment of Frontiersmen, who lost his life and won the V.C. at the same time, by a singularly devoted action in East Africa. Himself wounded, Lieutenant Dartnell returned to a body of wounded men to endeavour to save them from the advancing black troops of the enemy. His dead body was found surrounded by a number of the enemy whom he had slain, showing that he had sold his life dearly when it came to the last.

Lieutenant Dartnell was a well-known actor in Australia and a great public favourite. He is said to be the first actor who has been awarded the supreme honour for valour.

SAID AN AUSTRALIAN OFFICER

[CHAPTER XVIII]
SAID AN AUSTRALIAN OFFICER

"Fraternizing with the Indians!" chuckled the Australian officer, as he laid down a London evening paper which had been expressing satisfaction at the fact that Australasians and Indians were fighting side by side before Sari Bair. "The last fraternizing I saw was being done by a young officer of the A.S.C. He was brandishing something that looked like a pick handle (of course he never used it), and demanding a lost transport mule in a fervid mixture of Arabic, Turkish, and Never-Never talk from the Back of Nowhere.

"You see, these Indians are fatalists to a man; they think that if they are to be hit, they must be, and there's an end of it. The consequence is, they take no care of themselves; and that wouldn't matter so much, if they'd only take reasonable care of the mules. Mules are precious, but they take their mules anywhere, and lose them. Hence the fraternizing. 'Where's my mule, son of Belial?' this chap was shouting; and the other things he was saying made even a little middie look shocked.

"We never got tired of those middies. You'd see a pinnace coming up to the beach under shellfire, and a little chap of fourteen talking to the boat's crew like a Yanko bullock driver. The big sailor men were all grinning with sheer delight at the snap of the boys, who didn't seem to know what fear was. I tried some middy's talk on my men once, and startled them down to their bones. They thought about it for half a minute, and then one fellow asked me where I was hit.

"When we go back to Australia, the Australian language will be richer for a word or two of Arabic, that will go there to stay. We have made a regular battle cry of 'Imshi Yalla,' which means 'Get on with it' as far as we can make out. Then there's 'Mafish,' meaning 'Finished.' It was the last word on the lips of many a good man in those days at the end of last April. The ordinary camp greeting is 'Sayeeda'—'Good day,' or 'How d'ye do?' as I take it. There's a word or two more, but there is no need to translate them. They are useful words.

Colonel Sir Newton Moore, in charge of the Australasian Depôt at Weymouth.

"The Turks are fine fellows. People ask me if they were not very cruel; and I hear all sorts of rumours about mutilations, and so on. There is not one word of truth in it. The story went round that one well-known Australian officer had been found hideously mutilated; and I happen to be in a position to contradict that story point-blank. When the armistice was declared at the end of the battle of Quinn's Post, it was my sorrowful duty to identify and bury the body of that officer. He had not a mark on him, except the honourable wound that caused his death. Dr. Springthorpe, who is the chief Australian medical officer in Egypt, has assured me that no case of mutilation has been treated in the hospitals there; which contradicts some very circumstantial stories that have found their way into print, both here and in Australia.

"That armistice was a funny business. Of course, the only people with any business between the lines were the Red Cross people, but no sooner had the armistice begun than a whole lot of German officers in Turkish uniforms stepped out, and began to make the best use of their opportunities for taking observations. The only counter for that was that we should go out too, and we did so. The Germans were as grumpy as pigs about it, but the Turkish officers turned out to be fine gentlemen. Soon I was swopping cigarettes with them, and we were carrying on a conversation in bad French, eked out with scraps of all other tongues. They were quite jolly fellows, and brave fighters into the bargain.

"It was during that armistice that I saw a German officer talking to some Turkish soldiers with a shovel. They did not move quickly enough to suit him, I suppose, and he laid into them with it. He was not particular whether the flat or the edge of it struck them, so long as he did not miss altogether. I said to my fellows, 'How should we get on, if I did that to you?' and they only scowled. Two of them went out a night or two afterwards, and came back with some buttons they said were his. I don't know.

"Yes, the Turks are brave men, and brave women, too. I saw with my own eyes one sniper brought in, all covered with twigs and painted green in the face. This sniper was smoking a cigarette presented by one of our fellows, and when a couple more added a pat on the back, and said 'Cheero,' the sniper burst into tears. It was a young Turkish girl. Upon my word, I saw the thing happen. She had provisions for three weeks and a thousand rounds, and as nice a little cubby-hole as you ever saw to hide in. I don't know what became of her, but I can vouch for what I am telling you being true.

"We will always remember the Turks kindly for one thing. We lost General Bridges, our chief; who fell to a sniper's bullet in Monash Gully (The Valley of Death), when on his round of inspection. He refused to be carried down to the sea-front, because of the danger his bearers would have to risk. Of course, no one would hear of such nonsense; and he was carried. He was taken slowly through all the most dangerous windings of the valley; yet not a single Turk fired a shot. That stands to their credit with every Australian on the peninsula.

"There are lots of funny things I could tell you, but you might think I was qualifying for the post of 'First Man.' The First Man? Oh, that's a title any fellow gets in the trenches who begins to tell tall yarns. You see, in the first days there was a lot of talk about who was the first man ashore. He turned up here, there, and everywhere; everybody knew him. I believe there were some fights about it. Then some fellows out at Courtney's had a big tin medal made, and whenever any one began boasting, he would be presented with this medal, inscribed, 'For the First Man Ashore.' Nearly every battalion has one of those medals now.

"There were three brothers in my company, all as brave as lions. Fred, the youngest of the three, was reckless with it; and his two brothers were always worrying about him. One day he was hit on the shoulder, and when they saw him go down one brother shouted to the other, 'Thank Heaven, young Fred's got it!' Of course, we all knew what he meant—he was pleased the boy had got off with a light wound—but it made the fellows laugh. After that, whenever one of them was hit, he'd shout, 'Thank Heaven, young Fred's got it!' and then lie down and curse.

"This brother was the coolest customer in the trench, and that was saying something. He was a crack shot, and a great hand at destroying Turkish periscopes. Smashing the business end of a periscope with a rifle bullet, even at short range, is not so easy as it sounds; for the observers keep them moving about erratically, so that it is something like a very small disappearing target. But Bill nailed one nearly every time he shot, and the Turks used to chatter with rage at each loss. I don't think they had too many of them.

"They broke a good many of our periscopes in the same fashion; and the broken glass used to fly about in a very nasty way. I had five men cut about the face and head on one day, through their periscopes being broken at observation work. Then we improvised a sort of safety helmet out of half a kerosene tin, and put an end to that trouble. We tried the new steel embrasures at Quinn's Post, but I consider them sheer death traps, where the trenches are so close to those of the enemy as twenty yards. The fellows who used them at a distance of 150 or 200 yards spoke most highly of them; but where I was, a gap in the sandbags served much better.

"The Turk is a punctual beast. We used to time our watches every evening by the first shell of the evening bombardment, which invariably came along at ten minutes past six. On the night of May 18, that first shell was followed by 170 others before it had gone seven o'clock, which was pretty good going. The armistice of the 20th May was supposed to end at four o'clock in the afternoon, and at one minute past, along came the first shell, just to show us that our friend Abdul had his eye on the clock.

"It came from an entirely new direction, too, which showed that the opportunity for observation afforded by the armistice had not been wasted. But I think we were able to show that we had not shut our eyes to things that were easily noticeable. They certainly did not gain much in the exchanges over that armistice. It's all in the game, after all. There has been little said about the work of the Australasian artillery, and for the very best of reasons. But the gunners, and especially the New Zealanders, will get their due later on.

"There is one New Zealander who is a perfect marvel with a machine-gun—Captain Wallingford, a champion shot. He got the Military Cross for his great work on the opening days, so one can speak about him. A machine-gun soon draws fire, and it was no uncommon thing for the whole of a section to go down soon after a machine-gun opened fire. The way he shifted his gun about in unfamiliar, broken country, through thick scrub and in the dark, was something to dream about. He had a sharpshooting section, too, that was death on snipers, and cleared a whole section of the front in very quick time.

"Colonel Owen's men (the 3rd Battalion) always call him 'Old Never-Retire.' I asked one of them the reason, and he said that on the morning of the first landing the Colonel had to take his fellows up a very steep bit of cliff, almost inaccessible. His position worried the Admiral so much that he signalled that he had better retire, and try farther to the right. The Colonel turned on the chap who brought the message and said, 'My compliments to the Admiral, and tell him I'll see him damned first.' I don't know whether that is true, for I never had the chance of testing it. But his men swear to it.

"The loudest cheer I heard from the trenches was given to a sergeant [1] whose name I never found out; but I heard he was a Western Australian. Two sharpshooters had crawled out about thirty yards for a better shot, and had gone down together; one with a broken arm, and the other with a shot through the thigh. They lay there, with bullets kicking up the dust around them, when this sergeant went out with a rope. He tied it round the waist of the man with the broken arm, who was dragged to the trench, yelling with pain. Then he picked the other fellow up on his back, and brought him in through a perfect rain of bullets. He never had a scratch. It was away to the left of me, and below me, and I saw it all through my glasses, and heard the cheers, as if I were sitting in the circle at a theatre. We found by signal he was unhurt, but could not get his name.

"There were two platoons away on the right who distinguished themselves by getting farther inland than any one else. Not many of them returned to tell the tale, but it was a queer story. They lost all their officers and most of the non-coms. quite early on. The rest only knew they were there to take a hill, and so they took one. Then, for fear that might be the wrong hill, they took another. That set them off taking all the hills in sight, a pretty tall order. They only stopped when they blundered on to the Turkish camp; the wonder is that any of them ever got back.

"I wish the Turks were as cleanly as they are brave and punctual. They keep their trenches in a filthy condition. I know, because I occupied one for half a day. We were told to take it; and that was all right, with the help of the bayonet. We stayed there half a day, and were quite glad when we were ordered back again. It was dangerous enough there; but, for the moment, the danger was nothing compared to the stench and vermin. We lost a lot of men getting out; but were told the tactical purpose had been achieved. So that was all right.

"Shortage of water was one of the chief hardships of the place. If one wanted a wash, he had to go down and wash in the sea; and that was only safe at night time, up to the time I left. I got my bullet down on the beach; it had come from Dead Man's Ridge, right at the top of the Valley of Death—or Monash Gully, as it is now called. I understand the Turks have been cleared from that ridge now, and that a trip down the valley is safe enough. But for two months after the landing it was asking for death to walk down it in the daylight. The water? Oh, the allowance is a quart a day to each man for drinking, and as much for cooking; and all fare alike. We saved for three days for a comfortable shave, and had to go short of a drink to do it.

The Valley of Death.

"The grimmest experience I encountered was in the early days, when I had to decide in a second to order my men to shoot on unarmed Turks. They came forward with their hands up, and I fancied I saw the flash of a bayonet or two in the scrub behind. So I gave the order to shoot; and five seconds later I knew I was right, for we were busy repelling the determined attack of a considerable force. If we had tried to make prisoners of their pioneers, we would have been in a nice fix. Incidents like that explain why the number of prisoners taken is not large; there is so much cover there that it is a risky game making prisoners.

"There are plenty of Germans there; the artillery officers and the whole of the machine-gun sections are Germans. They wear Turkish uniforms, and are what we call 'Pointers' in Australia. During the armistice, they were trying very hard to get their rifles away with bolts and all, back to the Turkish lines. They were supposed to take the rifle and leave the bolt, thus making the weapon useless. I had to stop quite a number who were sneaking off with complete rifles; there was a bit of a row about one man, because I happened to hit him with my fist. I could not make him understand what I wanted by any other means. But there are fewer Germans now than when we first landed."

GLORIOUS DEEDSOF AUSTRALASIANS IN THEGREAT WAR

[PREFACE]

[PREFACE TO THE FIFTH EDITION]

[CONTENTS]

[LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS]

[CHAPTER I]THE LONG BLACK SHIPS

[CHAPTER II]THE END OF THE RAIDER "EMDEN"

[CHAPTER III]IN THE LAND OF PHARAOH

[CHAPTER IV]THE BATTLE OF BRIGHTON BEACH

[CHAPTER V]OCCUPYING THE LAND

[CHAPTER VI]POPE'S HILL AND GABA TEPE

[CHAPTER VII]THE CHARGE AT KRITHIA

[CHAPTER VIII]THE BATTLE OF QUINN'S POST

[CHAPTER IX]A THORN IN THE FLESH

[CHAPTER X]THE SOUL OF ANZAC

[CHAPTER XI]THE STORY OF LONE PINE

[CHAPTER XII]THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT HORSE

[CHAPTER XIII]THE MIGHTY NEW ZEALANDERS

[CHAPTER XIV]THE VALLEY OF TORMENT

[CHAPTER XV]THE GREAT NIGHT MARCH

[CHAPTER XVI]THE STORY OF THE "SOUTHLAND"

[CHAPTER XVII]THE V.C.'S OF ANZAC

[CHAPTER XVIII]SAID AN AUSTRALIAN OFFICER