One of our men had a letter from a friend who is with the 2nd Highland F.A. in France. He spoke about them retiring out of shell fire for a rest, and after pitching camp a shell fell in the next field. They then struck camp and went back another 5 miles. "Good God," some one heard him declare, "an' here's his, we could na gang five inches."
July 18th.—Last night about 11 o'clock seventeen shells came over from Asia, and one hit a huge pile of cartridge boxes and set it ablaze. It burned furiously, with a very alarming sputter, bullets flying everywhere, although their velocity was not great. They were flying over our heads and we had to go underground. Several about the fire got rather badly wounded. When fully alight the noise was the most earsplitting I ever heard, not that it was so very loud, but there was something painful about it. This pile was composed of cartridges taken off our own dead and wounded, and those picked up about the trenches, where a sinful waste goes on, although I believe the big half was captured Turkish ammunition. Many millions were burned.
In the morning I was asked to spend the day at H.Q. to relieve Col. Yarr's successor. Major-General Stopford (afterwards in command at the Sulva landing) was acting as G.O.C. Everything seems very quiet at present, as if we were to be in no hurry to make another attack—a pity, I think.
At 9.30 p.m. I went over to the "River Clyde" to guide an ambulance that was coming out from England. They landed at midnight, and are to encamp with us—we fondly hope and believe for the purpose of relieving us. Asiatic shells were flying as they landed, and for some hours afterwards, an unfortunate and alarming experience as all were raw to warfare.
July 19th.—For some days we have been looking for orders to go somewhere for a rest. The order came suddenly to-day at 8 p.m. and we were ordered to be on board at 10 at V. Beach. A tall order indeed, all had to pack up and stow away what we were leaving behind. The most of B Section was at Aberdeen Gully, 4 miles away. Word was sent to these, but the note miscarried, and by the time they were able to come in it was long past midnight.
July 20th.—Last night C Section was sent off in advance, A following about 11 o'clock. We hoped to get off quickly, the object of the rest being to take us out of shell fire. We had to pass along the road at the top of the lighthouse cliff, and C Section, as they waited for us beside the "River Clyde," observed a signal about the time we had been passing that point. The Kum Kale guns gave us what they considered a fair time to cover the remaining piece of ground, and just as we were coming up to the "River Clyde," under whose shelter we were to embark, we heard the whistle of an approaching shell. We lay flat but there was no time for shelter. Instead of one shell, as we thought, four (some say six) burst simultaneously about us, all high explosives. Not a man was hit, which was an absolute miracle; all had burst beside us, and actually among us, as I thought. I rushed back through the dense smoke and dust, expecting to find terrible havoc in our ranks, and found the men had bolted to shelter, leaving their packs in the middle of the road. I shouted but got no reply, but in twos and threes they collected near the pier, and rushed along to the side of the boat. Other men had been passing along this pier when the shells burst, and a number were killed and mangled, one of the barges being simply splashed with blood. All this was most unfortunate, but it did not end until we got sixteen shells in all. The officers after the first salvo sheltered at the entrance of a deep dugout owned by a Frenchman. Whenever he saw the flash of a gun over the water he shouted "Kum Kale" and pointed to his dugout, when we dived down in beautiful style, tumbling over each other down the dark steps. At last our mine-sweeper came in and we boarded her about 1.30 a.m. to-day. She took us beyond the reach of the guns to the "Osmanieh," a fine boat of the Khedivial mail line. I had had practically no sleep for the last three nights, and I was soon on the top of my bed half undressed and fast asleep.
We breakfasted at 8 as we were entering the outer roads of Lemnos. Here we had two more transfers before we landed on the most inhospitable looking shore we had ever seen. We soon wished ourselves back in Gallipoli with its shells. The wind blew, and such a dust. All the land round the harbour, and far inland is one large camp. The harbour is covered with battleships and transports, most of the former flying the tricolour flag, and among the others are many of the largest liners in the world, the "Mauretania" with her four funnels being one of them. We trudged on for 1½ miles through the most terrible dust, underfoot and in the air, and took possession of a rushy piece of ground, the only natural piece we could find, all the rest being under cultivation of vines, French beans, maize, and other crops. It is a god-forsaken place in the meantime. We could get nothing to eat or drink, but finally, after 4 o'clock, we managed to "borrow" sufficient water to make tea. After a meal of bread, and a small tin of salmon between us all, we felt a bit revived, and the desire to return to the shells of Gallipoli lessened. But we are ordered to strike camp, we are interfering with the privacy of some fellows who have the honour to belong to H.Q. of the 87th Division, and we must be off to-night.
July 21st.—I expected to have to go to bed hungry last night, but Pirie of the Lancs. called and asked Kellas and myself to dine with him, so that I finally went to rest under the stars feeling quite comfortable. I spread my two coats on the ground, thought twice about undressing, but, wishing to have a good sleep, got into my pyjamas, and with a single blanket over me slept till about 3 a.m. when I woke up feeling bitterly cold. We are now encamped in the midst of vineyards, where there is an excellent crop of grapes, but they are sour and unripe. I got hold of a Greek yesterday and asked him if he could bring a supply of fruit to us in the evening. He did a big trade among the men with oranges and lemons, and when he saw me produced a special sack with some really fine pears and oranges, and a huge red-fleshed water melon which we had for breakfast, in spite of the warning that we were to guard against all sorts of fruit, but melons in particular. This morning I gathered a supply of French beans and think a good dish of green food will benefit our health. Except at H.Q. I have never had an opportunity of anything of the kind.
The 29th Division, which left Gallipoli less than a week ago, are ordered back already, before they have time to benefit much by the change. An officer of the Dublins was lamenting about this to me, and compared his men with Kitchener's army, which is largely represented here, being on their way to the Front for the first time. All the old campaigners are thin, hollow-eyed and haggard. I know I myself have lost over a stone weight, and feel very tired—to do anything is an exertion.
Here the heat is intense, and we have not a particle of shade, there being no trees where we are, but this morning we are arranging about tents, and in a few hours we may be able to escape from the sun's perpendicular rays. I hope within the next day or two to explore part of the island and its villages. The natives are inclined to be very friendly, the Greek who brought me the fruit absolutely refused payment, saying, "It's for the commander, he take Constantinople and me give him this". I promised to take it in less than no time. If I could fulfil my promise the Greek would have the best of the bargain, but this has been characteristic of the race from all time.