THE SECOND DISPATCH.
Dardanelles, April 25.
Slowly through the night of April 24 our squadron, which was to land the covering force of the Australian contingent just north of Gaba Tepe, steamed toward its destination. The troops on board were the guests of the crews, and our generous sailors entertained them royally. At dusk all lights were extinguished, and very shortly afterward the troops retired for a last rest before their ordeal at dawn.
At 1 A.M. the ships arrived off their appointed rendezvous, five miles from the landing place, and stopped. The soldiers were aroused from their slumbers and were served with a last hot meal. A visit to the mess decks showed these Australians, the majority of whom were about to go into action for the first time under the most trying circumstances, possessed at 1 o'clock in the morning courage to be cheerful, quiet, and confident. There was no sign of nerves or undue excitement such as one might very reasonably have expected.
At 1:20 A.M. the signal was given from the flagship to lower the boats, which had been left swinging from the davits throughout the night. Our steam pinnaces were also lowered to take them in tow. The troops fell in in their assigned places on the quarterdeck, and the last rays of the waning moon lit up a scene which will ever be memorable in our history.
On the quarterdeck, backed by the great 12-inch guns, this splendid body of colonial troops were drawn up in serried ranks, fully equipped, and receiving their last instructions from their officers who, six months ago, like their men, were leading a peaceful civilian life in Australia and New Zealand 5,000 miles away. Now at the call of the empire they were about to disembark on a strange unknown shore, in a strange land, and attack an enemy of a different race. By the side of the soldiers the beach parties of our splendid bluejackets and marines were marshaled, arrayed in old white uniforms dyed khaki color and carrying the old rifle and old equipment.
These men were to take charge of the boats, steer them ashore, and row them to the beach when they were finally cast off by the towing pinnaces. Each boat was in charge of a young midshipman, many of whom have come straight from Dartmouth after a couple of terms and now found themselves called upon to play a most difficult and dangerous rôle like men. Commanders, Lieutenants, and special beach officers had charge of the whole of the towing parties and went ashore with the troops.
At 2:05 A.M. the signal was given for the troops to embark in the boats which were lying alongside, and this was carried out with great rapidity, in absolute silence, and without a hitch or an accident of any kind. Each one of the three ships which had embarked troops transferred them to four small boats apiece towed by a steam pinnace, and in this manner the men of the covering force were conveyed to the shore. More of the Australian Brigade were carried in destroyers, which were to go close in shore and land them from boats as soon as those towed by the pinnaces had reached the beach.
At 3 A.M. it was quite dark and all was ready for the start. The tows were cast off by the battleships and the ladders taken in and the decks cleared for action, the crews going to general quarters. Then we steamed slowly toward the shore, each of the battleships being closely followed by her tows, which looked exactly like huge snakes gliding relentlessly after their prey. I do not suppose the suppressed excitement of this last half hour will ever be forgotten by those who were present. No one could tell at the last minute what would happen. Would the enemy be surprised or would he be ready on the alert to pour a terrible fire on the boats as they approached the beach?
The whole operation had been timed to allow the pinnaces and boats to reach the beach just before daybreak so that the Turks, if they had been forewarned, would not be able to see to fire before the Australians had obtained a firm footing and, it was hoped, good cover on the foreshore.
Exactly at 4:10 A.M. the three battleships in line abreast four cables apart arrived about 2,500 yards from the shore, which was just discernible in the gloom. The engines were stopped, guns were manned, and the powerful searchlights made ready for use if required. The tows, which up to this time had followed astern, were ordered to advance to the shore. The battleships took up positions somewhat further out on either flank, for to them was assigned the duty of supporting the attack with their guns as soon as light allowed.
Very slowly the snakes of boats steamed past the battleships, the gunwales almost flush with the water, so crowded were they with khaki figures. Then each lot edged in toward one another so as to reach the beach four cables apart. So anxious were we on board the battleships that it seemed as if the loads were too heavy for the pinnaces, or that some mysterious power was holding them back, and that they would never reach the shore before daybreak and thus lose the chance of a surprise.
The distance between the battleships and the boats did not seem to diminish, but only for the reason that we steamed very slowly in after them until the water gradually shallowed. Every eye and every glass was fixed on that grim-looking line of hills in our front, so shapeless, yet so menacing, in the gloom.
At 4:50 A.M. the enemy suddenly showed an alarm light, which flashed for ten minutes and then disappeared. The next three minutes after its first appearance passed in breathless anxiety. We could just discern the dull outline of the boats which appeared to be almost on the beach. Just previously to this seven destroyers conveying the other men of the brigade glided noiselessly through the intervals between the battleships and followed the boats in shore.
At 4:53 A.M. there suddenly came a very sharp burst of rifle fire from the beach, and we knew our men were at last at grips with the enemy. This fire lasted only for a few minutes and then was drowned by a faint British cheer wafted to us over the waters. How comforting and inspiring was the sound at such a moment! It seemed like a message sent to tell us that the first position had been won and a firm hold obtained on the beach.
At 5:03 A.M. the fire intensified, and we could tell from the sound that our men were firing. It lasted until 5:28 and then died down somewhat. No one on board knew what was happening, although dawn was gradually breaking, because we were looking due east into the sun slowly rising behind the hills, which are almost flush with the foreshore, and there was also a haze. Astern at 5:26 we saw the outline of some of the transports, gradually growing bigger and bigger as they approached the coast. They were bringing up the remainder of the Austrians and New Zealanders.
The first authentic news we received came with the return of our boats. A steam pinnace came alongside with two recumbent forms on her deck and a small figure, pale but cheerful, and waving his hand astern. They were one of our midshipmen, just 16 years of age, shot through the stomach, but regarding his injury more as a fitting consummation to a glorious holiday ashore than a wound, and a chief stoker and petty officer, all three wounded by that first burst of musketry which caused many casualties in the boats just as they reached the beach.
From them we learned what had happened in those first wild moments. All the tows had almost reached the beach, when a party of Turks intrenched almost on the shore opened up a terrible fusillade from rifles and also from a Maxim. Fortunately most of the bullets went high, but, nevertheless, many men were hit as they sat huddled together 40 or 50 in a boat.
It was a trying moment, but the Australian volunteers rose as a man to the occasion. They waited neither for orders nor for the boats to reach the beach, but, springing out into the sea, they waded ashore and, forming some sort of a rough line, rushed straight on the flashes of the enemy's rifles. Their magazines were not even charged. So they just went in with cold steel, and I believe I am right in saying that the first Ottoman Turk since the last Crusade received an Anglo-Saxon bayonet in him at five minutes after 5 A.M. on April 25. It was over in a minute. The Turks in this first trench were bayoneted or ran away, and a Maxim gun was captured.
Then the Australians found themselves facing an almost perpendicular cliff of loose sandstone, covered with thick shrubbery, and somewhere half way up the enemy had a second trench strongly held, from which they poured a terrible fire on the troops below and the boats pulling back to the destroyers for the second landing party.
Here was a tough proposition to tackle in the darkness, but these colonials are practical above all else, and they went about it in a practical way. They stopped a few moments to pull themselves together and to get rid of their packs, which no troops should carry in an attack, and then charged their magazines. Then this race of athletes proceeded to scale the cliffs without responding to the enemy's fire. They lost some men, but did not worry, and in less than a quarter of an hour the Turks were out of their second position, either bayoneted or in full flight.