It was altogether in the fitness of things that this Homeric conflict should have its setting within sight of the classic Plains of Troy.
Who will be the modern Homer to immortalise the deeds done this day—deeds beside which those performed by Achilles, Hector and the other heroes of Greece and Troy pale into utter insignificance? Certainly a far greater feat of arms was enacted in Gallipoli on this 25th of April, 1915, than was ever performed by those ancient heroes on the Plains of Ilium, which lay calm, green and smiling just across the sparkling Hellespont.
Up the Dardanelles, as far as the Narrows, we could see our ships of war, principally destroyers, blazing away merrily and indiscriminately at the guns, both on the European and Asiatic shores. The sea was as calm as a mill-pond round Cape Helles—the most southerly point of the Peninsula; the only ripple to be seen was that made by the strong current shot out through the Straits. All round the men-of-war Turkish shells were dropping, sending up veritable waterspouts as they struck the sea, for, luckily, very few of them hit the ships. It was altogether the most imposing and awe-inspiring sight that I have ever seen or am likely to see again.
We were under orders to disembark, when our turn came, at V Beach, a little cove to the east of Cape Helles. As we approached near to our landing-place, we could see through the haze, smoke and dust, the gleam of bayonets, as men swayed and moved hither and thither in the course of the fight, while the roar of cannon and the rattle of the machine-guns and rifles were absolutely deafening. We could well imagine what a veritable hell our brave fellows who were attacking this formidable position must be facing, for, in addition to rifle and machine-gun fire from the surrounding cliffs, they were also at times under a deadly cannonade from the Turkish batteries established on the Asiatic shore.
The warships were slowly moving up and down the coast blazing away fiercely at the Turkish strongholds, battering such of them as were left into unrecognisable ruins.
We in the transports lay off the shore in four parallel lines, each successive line going forward methodically and disembarking the units on board as the ground was made good by the landing parties.
We watched the fight from our position in the line for the whole of that day, and never was excitement so intense and long-sustained as during those hours; nor was it lessened when night fell upon us, for the roll of battle still continued—made all the grander by the vivid flashes from the guns which, every few moments, shot forth great spurts of flame, brilliantly illuminating the inky darkness. Sedd-el-Bahr Castle and the village nestling behind it were fiercely ablaze, and cast a ruddy glare on the sky.
The next day, from a position much closer inshore, we watched again the terrible struggle of the landing-parties to obtain a grip on the coast. We were one and all feverish with anxiety to land and do something—no matter how little—to help the gallant fellows who were striving so heroically to drive the Turk from the strong positions which he had carefully fortified and strengthened in every possible way.
A most bloody battle was taking place, staged in a perfect natural amphitheatre, but never had Imperial Rome, even in the days of Nero himself, gazed upon such a corpse-strewn, blood-drenched arena.
This arena was formed partly by the sea, which has here taken a semicircular bite out of the rocky coast, and partly by a narrow strip of beach which extended back for about a dozen yards to a low rampart formed of sand, some three or four feet high, which ran round the bay. Behind this rampart the ground rose steeply upwards, in tier after tier of grassy slopes, to a height of about 100 feet, where it was crowned by some ruined Turkish barracks. On the right, this natural theatre was flanked by the old castle of Sedd-el-Bahr, whose battlements and towers were even then crumbling down from the effects of the recent bombardment by the Fleet. To the left of the arena, high cliffs rose sheer from the sea, crowned by a modern redoubt. Barbed wire zig-zagged and criss-crossed through arena and amphitheatre—and such barbed wire! It was twice as thick, strong and formidable as any I had ever seen.