One aeroplane has been very busy going out and coming back after short trips over the enemy’s positions, followed by little puffs of bursting shrapnel when over their lines. The weather is perfect.
Swiftsure and Queen Bess are now up the coast off the gully, and are giving the left slope of Achi Baba and Krithia something to write home about. Torpedo destroyers are also joining in, and later the shore batteries take up the tune, and a bombardment similar to yesterday’s starts, preparatory to another battle.
French “75’s” are barking away incessantly, and the bombardment is increasing in ferocity.
New Zealanders are on the extreme left, then the 87th Brigade, next the 88th and 86th, or what is left of it, with the new Territorial Lancashire Fusiliers. Next come Australians, up on the hill by the White House; and on the extreme right down to the edge of the Straits, the French. The line forms the shape of a
, the extremes resting on ground on either side of the Peninsula.
Through glasses at six o’clock I can see little figures running here and there on the high ground to the extreme right beyond the White House—now taking cover, now running forward, now disappearing on the other side; ugly black shells rain amongst them and make a sickening sight. Turkish artillery appears to have increased considerably. Their shells rain all along our line, but none come on the beaches. All their artillery seems concentrated on our trenches. Again and again I see shells fall right in the middle of men who seem to be running. It is difficult to discern whether they are Turks or our men.
I watch till the sight sickens me, and then I come away and arrange the rations to go up to-night, seeing the boxes roped up on to the pack-mules or loaded on to the A.T. carts. Two shells come near the beach, bursting with a black explosion in the air. Rifle fire goes on all night, but artillery dies down to fitful shelling. I hear that the net result of to-day’s work is a gain of five hundred yards, but that we have had great casualties.
May 10th.
Another most perfect day. All day yesterday wounded were being evacuated as fast as possible. I now have to feed a Brigade of Australians as well as my own Brigade. I go up in the morning to their positions, and for the first time get amongst them at close quarters. They have honeycombed the land near the white pillars with dugouts and have their H.Q. at the White House on the hill. I see Captain Milne, their Supply Officer, and arrange matters with him.