The hill was not taken, but so important was the position considered that Major-General Cox was instructed to attack once more on August 27, three weeks after the beginning of the great battle of Suvla-Sari Bair. The fighting round Hill 60 had, in fact, been almost continuous since the 21st. The battalions were now worn so thin by losses and sickness (especially by dysentery) that definite numbers of men were allotted for action instead of units. On the right, 350 men were chosen from the 4th Australian Brigade; in the centre, 100 Maoris and 300 New Zealanders from the Mounted Rifles Brigade (Auckland, Canterbury, Wellington, and Otago), together with 100 of the new 18th Australian Battalion; on the left, 250 of the Connaught Rangers—only 1100 men in all.[213] This attacking party was under the direct command of Brigadier-General Russell.
The action began at 4 p.m. with the usual, as it was the last, bombardment. Sir Ian describes it as “the heaviest we could afford,” and certainly it appeared sufficient to flatten out any trenches. None the less, as was usual from first to last in this campaign, its terrors were deceptive, and the moment that the assaulting parties advanced they were met by overwhelming fire. The Australians on the right were swept back by a whole battery of machine-guns. The Connaught Rangers on the left, though much enfeebled by dysentery, charged upon the northern trenches with their accustomed enthusiasm. Torn by accurate shrapnel as they ran forward, they still fought their way into the first narrow trench, and occupied it by 6 p.m. But all that evening and night, by the light of the crescent moon, the Turks stormed down upon them in successive waves, shouting their battle-cry of “Allah! Allah!” At 10.30 p.m. they bombed and shot the Rangers out of the northern extremity, and drove them along the trench upon the centre. It was in vain that their own reserves (forty-four sick men!) came up to reinforce, and the 9th Light Horse (3rd Australian Light Horse Brigade) attempted about midnight to recapture the position. Only in the centre were the New Zealanders able to cling tight to the 150 yards they had by this time already won.
THE LAST BATTLE
All next day (August 28) the Turkish attacks upon that position continued with repeated violence. The shattered remnants of the Connaught Rangers were withdrawn, but still the New Zealanders held on through the long hours and the next night, until at 1 a.m. on the 29th all that remained of the 10th Light Horse, after their wild assault upon the Nek three weeks before, formed up in the trenches occupied by the New Zealanders, and stormed across the centre of the fortified hill, driving the enemy sheer off the circumference of the western semicircle. The eastern side of the hill was never taken, but our line was advanced till it ran across the summit, and there consolidated. Our loss was about 1000. The Turkish loss was roughly estimated at 5000, and we captured 46 prisoners and a considerable quantity of rifles and ammunition, besides three trench-mortars and three machine-guns. It was not a great action judged by the standard of the battles in the war elsewhere. But it was an action worthy of the persistence, courage, and endurance displayed throughout by Anzacs, Irish, and British upon the Peninsula; and it was the last.
The whole of the Anzac force, which had never left the fighting zone since the landing in April, was now gradually withdrawn by battalions (only 200 or 300 men in each) to rest in Mudros, their places being filled in turn by the newly arrived 2nd Australian Division, which, however, was not completely settled upon that hard-won ground till after the first week in September.[214] The 54th (East Anglian) Division was also brought round from Suvla, Major-General Inglefield’s headquarters being dug upon the Aghyl Dere, and his Division extended north over the ravines of Damakjelik up to the confines of Hill 60 itself. But the 13th Division, now under Major-General F. Stanley Maude, was returned to the IXth Corps at Suvla, so that Anzac did not gain.
CHAPTER XIV
SIR IAN’S RECALL
Upon the Peninsula, it was difficult to estimate the general spirit of the army during the six weeks which followed the valiant but only partially successful efforts of August. They were a period of enforced inactivity seldom interrupted, and the usual effect of inactivity upon an army, as upon civilians, is depression. During the campaign it was often observed that in most Divisions the prospect of action, however perilous, at once reduced the sickness, as though to prove tedium more unwholesome than death. But in September tedium supervened, and the diseases of dysentery and diarrhœa, always prevalent since June, spread like a plague. The average of serious cases rose to 1000 a day, and though by far the greater number of the patients returned to duty, the percentage of “casualties” from sickness alone was in some weeks calculated at 300 per annum of the total force, so that large drafts were required to maintain the army even at its shrunken strength. It must also be remembered that both these diseases have a peculiarly depressing effect upon the spirit, weakening the will equally with the bodily powers. Certainly it was expected that the approach of winter would compel the perilous germs to hibernate in torpor, and would reduce the multitude of flies which now enjoyed a livelihood so rich and unexpected upon that desert land. But in other respects the prospect of a winter campaign was not exhilarating.
SICKNESS AND MONOTONOUS FOOD
The Indians stood the climate far better than the British or Australians, either as vegetarians or as habituated to the sun and protected by their colour, whereas the Australians and many of the British sought to avoid heat by going naked, and so exposed their white skins to the unaccustomed and baleful rays. Life in the bazaar or jungle had also rendered Indians immune to diseases against which our civilisation stands unprotected, and flies did not pursue the cleanly food of Hindus and Sikhs with the same persistent avidity. If some of the British troops upon the Peninsula had been exchanged for the Indian troops serving in France and Flanders, both armies would have gained in health. But perhaps a greater cause of disease than sun or flies or infection was the monotony of the diet, as mentioned before. Sir Ian’s appeals for canteens remained unheard till August 30, when a canteen-ship actually appeared at Anzac. Deputed purchasers from every unit hurried down to buy. Bursting with money, they stood in queues, but none received more than one-sixth of what he asked, and, as in a starving town, scarcity laughed at cash. But after the arrival of that one shipload of variety, the numbers of sick suddenly fell, and ultimately ten shiploads came. Allowance must also be made for the arrival of the 2nd Australian Division, which raised the average of health, until the infection spread among its members also; and that was soon.
But more disheartening even than inactivity or disease was the disappearance of the dead and wounded. During August some 40,000—about one-third of the whole force—had gone. Entirely sufficient provision had now been made for the wounded alike in the largely increased number of hospital ships running to Alexandria, and in the hospital camps established near Suvla A Beach (too near the Hill 10 batteries) and on two positions along the Suvla promontory (also disturbed by shells owing to the proximity of store depôts, landing-places, and Corps Headquarters); at well-sheltered points along the Ocean Beach, near Anzac; upon the flats at the end of Kephalos Bay, in Imbros; and especially on the breezy rising ground overlooking Mudros harbour on the opposite side to Mudros town. The dead either lay beyond reach, gradually shrinking to dust on “No Man’s Land,” or were buried in carefully tended little cemeteries, their graves marked with wooden crosses and decorated with shell-cases or white stones arranged in patterns. Brief as regret and lamentation must be in war, it is melancholy to return to familiar dug-outs and find that the familiar occupants have gone, leaving possessions which they will not need again, and perhaps a written notice to warn off intruders from the deserted habitation. The sense of loss was especially poignant at Anzac, where, united by the bonds of adventure and nationality, the men had lived as in a crowded community of fellowship.