Captain Richardson of the 1st Brigade, who was awarded the Military Cross for his fine work at the landing.
[CHAPTER XIX]
THE BAND OF BROTHERS
An Australian officer had been telling me of the remarkable bravery of two men of his company, and I asked the natural question: "Did you report them for recognition?" "No," was the answer. "They did no more than their duty; no more than any other two of my men would have done in similar circumstances."
The feeling that underlay that reply cuts far deeper than the award of crosses and orders. It proclaims the Australasians for what they are, a band of devoted brothers, fighting for something far dearer to them than public recognition. I will allow the same officer to tell what kind of men they were, and to describe the mutual love and respect that animated them as a band in the worst of their days in Gallipoli. He said:—
"The Australian soldier is often said to be lacking in discipline. Well, it all depends what you call discipline. Let me give you an example. When we landed the men were ordered to advance with fixed bayonets and do the work with the cold steel. They were not to fire unless it was absolutely necessary. Days afterwards we found some of our men out in the bad country around Quinn's Post dead with their rifles beside them; the bayonets fixed and not a round fired. They had obeyed orders until the last, because they were good orders. They must have had innumerable temptations to loose off their rifles, but they died like soldiers with red-tipped bayonets and clean barrels. I call that discipline.
"On August 7 our fellows were relieved in the firing line by a draft of Kitchener's men. The scrub around was stiff with snipers, all eager to pick off an officer or two for choice. Yet here were these chaps saluting every officer who looked at them; saluting like clockwork. Our major is a peppery chap who rose from the ranks in the African war. 'What the blue fire do you mean by it?' he roared at one of the 'Kitchener's.' 'Do you want to have me killed?' They simply couldn't understand him. Now you may call that discipline, but I do not. I call it rank foolishness, and worse.
"The reputation of the major was that he never threw away a life and never risked his own unnecessarily. Yet he was always risking his own, and the men would follow him anywhere. He had only to speak to get the most implicit obedience. One day he said, 'Look here, men! Some English staff officers are coming to see you this afternoon. Shave yourselves and try to look smart if you can. And, for Heaven's sake, don't call me Alf.' My word, they did him proud that day.