This happens after every battle. One makes friends—such fine friends!—and one is always suddenly losing them, leaving such gaps as sometimes make one wish that one could follow them.
But it is against the tradition of the service to be morbid about it, and so we “carry on,” knowing that those who have gone West would, if they were still with us, be cheery, brave, cool, and efficient at their respective jobs.
4 p.m.
Go up to Brigade H.Q. with O’Hara—leave the horses at Pink Farm and walk to H.Q. Find them all up at an observation post, just behind the firing-line, which has moved forward after yesterday’s battle.
The C.R.E. 29th Division joins us. A most unconcerned individual. He goes on up across country. O’Hara waits a bit to give some instructions and then goes on, and I follow. After a bit across the country, with a few “overs” flying about (“overs” are bullets which have missed their target, but which are still travelling at a high velocity), we dip down into a gully and follow its winding path for about ten minutes to the observation post, where C.R.E. and the rest of the Staff have already arrived. Bullets fairly whizzing overhead. Usher tells me to step closer to the side, which I promptly do, on account of a few bullets which are on the descent. Very interesting there. Telephone and signallers busy, and orderlies arriving and departing. A few shells scream overhead. We all have tea, and chat. Thompson looks rather ill and worried. All the time we are having tea there is a constant “ping” of bullets over the dugout. Look through observation hole and have a perfect view of yesterday’s battlefield. The Worcesters advanced and are holding their position. They are exposed to enfilading fire as well as frontal fire from the Turks, but are digging in to protect themselves. They are very near Krithia, digging on that green patch of land which we call the cricket pitch. Krithia looks very formidable the closer one gets to it. Turkish trenches are very deep, with good dugouts for sleeping and very deep, wide communication trenches. Hence we hardly ever see a Turk. Their firing-line and the sleeping dugouts are actually boarded.
11.30 p.m.
As I turn into bed there is firing all along the line. Turkish counter-attack going on. Our casualties yesterday very heavy, but Turks’ colossal. The Goeben fired over to us to-day with not much damage; shells did not reach the beach.
I hear that Colonel Williams, or General, as I have up to now been calling him on account of his having acted as Brigadier of the 88th, up to the arrival of General Doran, was wounded in yesterday’s battle. On General Doran’s arrival he went to the 2nd Hampshires, his regiment, and took command. When the moment for the infantry attack arrived, they leapt over, and in an incredibly short space of time had taken their first objective. Colonel Williams, with his Adjutant, then followed over to make his H.Q. in the newly won trench.
On inspecting it and making arrangements for the attack on the second objective, he came back to his old H.Q. to telephone the result, an orderly accompanying him. Half-way back a Turk leapt up from behind a bush, ten yards away from him, and fired his rifle, the bullet instantly killing Colonel Williams’s orderly. Colonel Williams drew his revolver, took deliberate aim, and the Turk, also taking deliberate aim, levelled his rifle at the same time. For a second an old-time duel might have been taking place, in the middle of an historic battleground, which was lately No-man’s-land. Both fire; the Turk falls dead, and Colonel Williams is wounded in the left arm. That Turk was a brave man, but I think Colonel Williams is a braver.