From the evening of August 8 to the evening of August 9.
BALDWIN’S COLUMN ON AUGUST 9
For the renewed attack next morning, a third assaulting column was organised out of the 10th and 13th Divisions in the Army Corps reserve. Brigadier-General A. H. Baldwin (38th Brigade) was instructed to take two battalions of his own brigade (6th East Lancashire and 6th Loyal North Lancashire) together with two from the 29th Brigade (10th Hampshire and 6th Royal Irish Rifles) and one from the 40th Brigade (5th Wiltshire), and assemble in the evening of August 8 in the Chailak Dere. Advancing thence through the night, he was to follow up Rhododendron Ridge, and co-operating with the Right Assaulting Column (General Johnston’s) was to move in successive lines to the summit, and thence to the left towards “Hill Q.” This was to form the main attack of the day. General Baldwin sent the Loyal North Lancashires forward in advance, and with the remaining four battalions began the long and toilsome march upward. The track was by this time fairly well trodden, and every precaution was taken to keep it clear of wounded and “empties” coming down. Guides for the column were also provided. It is true, the night was pitch dark, the ascent rough and, towards the end, very steep. The column moved slowly, and was behind the appointed time; but it is difficult to imagine that, in Sir Ian’s words, “in plain English, Baldwin lost his way—through no fault of his own.” It was sunrise by the time the main ascent was reached. His column would be perfectly visible to the enemy’s artillery, and the fire was very heavy. Perhaps the officers were attracted by the Farm as a sheltered place in which to pause and reorganise. At all events, the column did not reach its appointed destination, but found itself at 5.15 a.m. down in the deep hollow of the Farm on the left of the ridge which it should have climbed to the Apex. The Farm, being a definite point visible for miles around owing to its patch of yellow stubble, and affording also a certain amount of cover against fire from the height, probably tended to attract or mislead guides and troops from their proper direction.
SUMMIT NEAR HILL Q STORMED
Just at the very time when General Baldwin’s brigade began at last to emerge upon the Farm, a tragic and much disputed scene was being enacted upon the summit far above them. On the previous day, as we have noticed, part of General Cox’s column had worked their way up the spurs on the left (north-east) of the Farm. During the night they pushed still farther up the height, which, as noticed, appears almost precipitous. The 6th Gurkhas were leading, under command of Major Cecil G. L. Allanson. The 6th South Lancashires (38th Brigade) were close behind, supported by the 9th Warwicks and 7th North Staffords (39th Brigade), sent up to reinforce this column on the night of August 7–8, as above mentioned. The Gurkhas climbed during the darkness to a line about 150 yards below the crest. Here they dug what trench or shelter was possible upon such an angle of slope, and two companies of the South Lancashires joined them. At early dawn, about 4.30, the warships, monitors, and guns along the shore began a terrible bombardment of the whole crest along Chunuk Bair, “Hill Q,” and the saddle between. The enormous shells burst upon the edge just above the small assaulting party which crouched below, almost deafened but unharmed. A monitor’s shell striking the sky-line flings up a spout of black smoke, huge fragments, and dust which spreads fan-shape like the explosion of a sudden volcano. With such explosions the whole mountain edge smoked and shook. All parapets and shallow trenches lining the top were torn to pieces, uprooted, and flattened out. It seemed impossible for any human being to endure so overwhelming a visitation or to remain alive. Yet Turks remained.
According to orders, this terrific bombardment was to be switched off on to the flanks and reverse slopes at 5.16 a.m.[168] The moment came. Suddenly the guns were silent. It was the signal for the storming party. The little Gurkha mountaineers crawled up the precipice like flies. The South Lancashire crawled, mixed up among them. They reached the topmost edge. Hand to hand the Turks rushed upon them as they rose. The struggle was for life or death. Major Allanson was wounded. Men and officers fell together. But the fight was brief. Shaken by the bombardment, overcome in daring and activity by some 400 startling Gurkhas and solid Lancastrians, the surviving Turks suddenly turned and ran for life down the steep slope to the refuge of the steeper gullies below.
For a moment Major Allanson and his men paused to draw breath. They were standing on the saddle between Chunuk Bair and “Hill Q.” The dead lay thick around them. But below, straight in front, lit by the risen sun, like a white serpent sliding between the purple shores, ran the sea, the Narrows, the Dardanelles, the aim and object of all these battles and sudden deaths. Never since Xenophon’s Ten Thousand cried “The sea! the sea!” had sight been more welcome to a soldier’s eyes. There went the ships. There were the transports bringing new troops over from Asia. There ran the road to Maidos, though the town of Maidos was just hidden by the hill before it. There was the Krithia road. Motor-lorries moved along it carrying shells and supplies to Achi Baba. So Sir Ian had been right. General Birdwood had been right. This was the path to victory. Only hold that summit and victory is ours. The Straits are opened. A conquered Turkey and a friendly Bulgaria will bar the German path to the East. Peace will come back again, and the most brilliant strategic conception in the war will be justified.
In triumphant enthusiasm, Gurkhas and Lancastrians raced and leapt down the reverse slope, pursuing the Turks as they scattered and ran. Major Allanson, though wounded, himself raced with them. They fired as they went. It was a moment of supreme exultation. Suddenly, before they had gone a hundred yards, crash into the midst of them fell five or six large shells and exploded. In the words of Sir Ian’s dispatch: “Instead of Baldwin’s support came suddenly a salvo of heavy shell.”
WHENCE CAME THE DISASTROUS SHELLS?
Where those fatal shells came from was at the time, and still remains, a cause of bitter controversy. All on the summit believed them British. This may have been a mistake. It is a common error for an advance line to suppose it is being shelled by its own side. But probably the shells were British. Outside the navy, nearly every one at the time believed them to be naval,[169] and though the range must have been some four or five miles, the accuracy of the naval shooting at a visible mark had been proved by that morning’s bombardment, over the same distance. But the general belief may have been founded on a mere suspicion constantly repeated. It has long appeared to me that two sentences in Sir Ian’s dispatch suggest a more probable explanation. As quoted above, he says the orders were for the bombardment to be switched on to the flanks and reverse slopes of the heights at 5.16 a.m. He further says that the Gurkhas and South Lancashires, after reaching the crest, “began to attack down the far side of it,” i.e. down the reverse slopes of the hill. It would be natural for our gunners to wait some minutes before bombarding the reverse slope, so as to catch the enemy retreating or reinforcements coming up. In any case, they were under orders to bombard the reverse slope, and they obeyed. But what guns could bombard a reverse slope? As was proved throughout the campaign, the trajectory of naval guns was so flat that either they hit the top of the mountain (as they almost invariably did) or their shells skimmed across the top to burst miles away in Asia. A reverse slope would be exactly the thing they could never hit. For a reverse slope, mortars or howitzers are wanted. There were howitzers near No. 2 Post and along the flats beside the shore, and their orders were to bombard the reverse slope after 5.16 a.m. This explanation is suggested, but the controversy will be forgotten before settled.