May 13.—Came in at midnight after a spell of sapping—or, rather, watching others sap. Went on camp fatigue carrying water, fetching firewood for the cooks, etc. Can do this all right with one good arm. Otherwise had a light day. Australian Light Horse Brigade arrived from Egypt (minus horses), and now manning trenches as infantrymen. Employed my spare time in deepening my dug-out and fixing things up generally in my camp. Tremendous firing by ships last night; something doing. Fairly quiet day, with occasional bursts of rifle fire by both sides; also a little shelling. Noticed the following painted on some of our shells: "Turkish Delight: distributed free!" Went out at 8 p.m. to dig communication trench from "Shrapnel Gully" up to firing line on "Pope's Hill."
The position was a very exposed one, as we had to carry the trench up over a ridge open to enemy fire at fairly close range. It couldn't possibly have been done in daylight, so we were sent out to get a hustle on and complete the job before morning. Even as it was the Turks must have taken a tumble to our game, for they kept up a hot fire on the crest of the ridge all night long. As I couldn't use my arm I was put on sentry-go, and spent hour after hour lying in the scrub with the bullets hissing and spitting in the air round my head or knocking sparks out of the flinty soil. It wasn't a bit jolly. We ran into a dead man while we were working—a Ceylon chap—who must have lain there since the landing. One of our chaps went down to camp and fetched up a padre—a fine old sort—who stood up and read the Burial Service under fire, and remained on the ridge until we had buried the corpse. I forget the parson's name, but I fancy he was the same man who worked at stretcher-bearing all through the first night in company with a Roman Catholic priest. There was a yarn going the rounds about this priest having taken part in a bayonet charge near "Quinn's": he denied it, but—well, from what I saw of him, I feel more than half inclined to believe it. We also found a dead Turkish officer. He had evidently been sketching round about these parts, his sketching wallet containing many drawings lying beside him. I wasn't lucky enough to get away with a specimen.
May 14.—Quiet morning for this locality. A little shelling plus some bombing. Enemy now taking to writing messages on pieces of paper, wrapping a stone in the paper and chucking the things into our trenches. They seem to imagine we have lost touch altogether with the world at large, and have taken it on themselves to furnish us with news. We are surprised to learn that fourteen British battleships have been sunk by the forts at the Narrows, that Egypt is in a state of revolt, and that the Germans are preparing to invade England. They asked us to treat our prisoners well, and they would do likewise with theirs. In a further message (an ultimatum) they called on us to surrender with our whole bag of tricks inside sixteen hours, and on receiving our reply—more forcible than elegant—some merry dog chucked back the following: "Well, if you won't surrender we will. Suppose we both surrender!"
Were served out with a new kind of biscuit to-day. It looks and tastes like stale bread, but when soaked in water and fried in fat it goes down well. I now save all the fat I can from my morning rasher of bacon, storing it in a jam-tin. I find it useful for cooking "chips" (when there happens to be any "spuds" about); also for greasing the bolt of my rifle. Speaking of bacon reminds me of a little picnic that happened a few nights ago. Two of us were passing the A.S.C. stores down in the "Gully." There was much store of jam, bacon, cheese, etc., piled in boxes on one side of the track. Now the back of this lordly stack of cases rested against a high but slender bank. In front was the camp of the attendant satellites. The thought seemed to strike us both at the same time. We acted on it right away. Putting in a short drive through the bank we struck oil—spelled, in this case, J-A-M. Since then I have done another little bit of prospecting round about that claim. I feel like having ham for breakfast; therefore I shall pay another visit to our drive, remove the bush that secures its entrance, and——!
Our stores are mostly brought up from the beach by mules, Indian drivers having charge of the stubborn animals. I am bound to say, however, these Indians seem able to do anything with their charges. They are very fond of them, too, and they (the mules) look fat and well cared for. I believe the drivers would almost as soon die as see such a fate overtake their beasts. Here is a case in point which I witnessed myself: a shell exploded bang above the track on which a transport team was making its way beachward. A mule staggered and came down on one knee, then righted itself. The driver examined the limb carefully, and finding the damage only amounted to the loss of a bit of skin, he threw his arms round the animal's neck and kissed it on the nose. I couldn't help wondering if he'd have kissed his wife in a like case.
Weather growing hotter daily. Flies increasing all the time. Flowers coming into bloom fast. Eased my feet by changing socks from left to right—the only change I could manage. Rockets thrown up by the Turks last night. Wonder what the game is? Fancy homing pigeons are being used by the enemy, as I have noticed quite a lot flying about lately. May be wild ones, of course. Went on trenching same as yesterday.
May 15.—Heavy firing during night. New Zealanders stormed enemy's trenches to the left of our position last night and held them against strong counter attacks. Reported loss 500. A good bit of work well carried out. Antwerp and Ostend reported to be recaptured. Submarines said to be cruising off Anzac Cove, and all transports have left in consequence. H.M.S. Lion said to have been torpedoed; didn't know she was nearer than the North Sea. Went up to "Quinn's" at noon to go on sapping, etc. Some sniping, but little damage. Wish we could get the dead buried: the stench takes a lot of getting used to. Fairly quiet night.
Three weeks to-morrow since we landed! As lively a three weeks as any man could wish for. It seems like three months. But it's got to be done. And if I am lucky enough to get through this slather-up I mean to live a man of peace for the rest of my natural: get on to a tidy little place, grow spuds and cabbages, and raise early chickens—and kiddies!
CHAPTER IX
SITTING TIGHT