"Reinforce! For God's sake reinforce! They're into No. 8! Christ! boys, get a move on!"
At this time we had neither support trenches nor communications— just one thin line, which, if broken, meant the loss of the ridge with all that that meant. We were also so clogged up with dead in our trenches that to make room for the living we had to throw the bodies out over the back. In many cases where our line was cut on the edge of the ridge these bodies rolled right down to the foot of the cliff. At "Quinn's Post" things were about as bad as they could be. There was only the merest apology for a track from the "Gully" up to the trenches situated on the very lip of the crest, and at one time when reinforcements were making their way in single file up this track they had to scramble in and out through and over dead men lying tossed about anyhow, while all the way, right down to the valley the wounded were lying "heads and tails" awaiting transport to the beach. It wasn't the most encouraging sight in the world for the fellows coming up straight off the transports.
In one place quite a little stack of bodies had been huddled together to one side of the track; there might have been eighteen or twenty in the lot. Owing to the water running down this stack began to move, and kept on moving till it blocked the track up altogether. I don't know how many chaps tumbled into that heap and got tied up in it, but eventually a fatigue party had to be told off to build up the bodies as you would build sheaves on a wagon. We had no time to bury our dead for the first few days—and in that climate you don't want to keep them above ground for many hours.
As the day wore on it became evident that the Turks had shot their bolt. The attack died down, then ceased altogether, and save for the heavy rifle and artillery fire they kept up on our trenches, we weren't troubled by them for some time. They had lost tremendously; the ground along our front looked like a heavy crop of wheat after the binder had been through it—either 4000 or 7000 dead lay there. (And they lay there unburied for three weeks.) At last we were able to get a little sorely needed rest. We had been pushed to the extremest limit of human endurance.
CHAPTER VIII
THREE WEEKS
April 28 (Wednesday).—I am writing this in the shelter of my little dug-out, with the big guns roaring away like billy-o and the rifle, maxim, and shrapnel bullets pitching all round. One is comparatively safe in a deeply cut dug-out; if you shove only your head up some sniper lets go at it. And this behind our own trenches. We aren't likely to die of ennui here, anyway—nor old age.
Heard that the Turks are mutilating our dead and wounded, but haven't seen anything of it myself. Strange yarns going the rounds that some of our chaps have been indulging in reprisals. "An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth" is the motto of the men from Australia and New Zealand, so if the enemy has been playing up in a way of that kind he'll get his own back—with interest. Wounded coming in steadily. Tried to get a few hours' sleep last night. Got one. Spent the night trenching, or sapping, rather. Engineers don't need rest seemingly.
Infantry holding the enemy all right now. Very big Turkish gun shelling the warships at long range. Doesn't seem to be making much of it. Heard that the Lizzie sank a Turkish transport yesterday. Rifle fire not quite so heavy just now. Heard that the British Tommies were advancing strongly, driving the enemy down on us. Just had orders to go on trenching at "Quinn's Post" to-night, advancing new saps and making a new advanced fire trench. Raining hard, a cold rain. No coat or blanket. Sure to be pretty miserable.
29th.—Came back to dug-out at 1.30 a.m., very wet, very cold, very miserable. All sticky with mud. Got some sleep.