After a few months on Gallipoli the Padre was transferred to the hospital at Lemnos. We all sympathized with him, stuck at the base, and missing all the fun of the fighting. Then we heard that the M.O. at the hospital was a great chess-player, and we knew that the Padre never deserved our sympathy.
CHAPTER XVIII
"STUNTS"
AN INCONVENIENT COUGH—"IMSHI"—AN EMPTY NEST AND A DASH FOR COVER—A CLOSE SHAVE—SNIPER SING—MIDGLEY'S MYRMIDONS—A GOOD "BAG"—A WAR OF TROGLODYTES—BEATING THE TURK AT HIS OWN GAME
They are not battles or fights; they are hardly skirmishes even. They are just "stunts."
I don't like the word "stunt"; it sounds like an American vaudeville turn. But somehow it attained a general vogue on Gallipoli, and it meant any of the little incidents, episodes, and brushes with the enemy which served to relieve the monotony of trench warfare.
Having been ousted from their "impregnable" positions on the coast, the Turks dug in deep to block the advance of the Australians on the west and the Allies on the south. Slowly they were being shifted; more by the pick and shovel than the rifle. The trenches were only a few yards apart in some places; several hundred yards apart in others. And it was in the neutral zone between the hostile armies that these "stunts" took place.
Mostly they were planned and executed under cover of darkness, for a head couldn't be shown above the trenches in daylight without getting a score of bullets. Our chaps were far more enterprising and venturesome than the Turks, but the latter were better patrols. The reason was that the Turks know the country, wear a kind of moccasin on their feet, and move about quite noiselessly. With our heavy service-boots silence is impossible. So we got out early—just after dark—waited in ambush, and caught Tommy Turk when he came poking his nose into our business.
One fine "stunt" was spoilt by a cough. Lieutenant Chatham, of the 5th Light Horse, had a troop out in ambush near the Balkan gun pits, where the Turks were working each night. Just when the enemy's patrol approached, one of our troopers felt a tickling in the throat. He tried to swallow the tickle and couldn't. He gulped, but the tickling continued aggravating. At last he stuffed his handkerchief in his mouth and coughed. It was only an insignificant little cough; but it sufficed. The Turkish patrol halted and the leader investigated. Stealthily he crept up till he could almost touch the crouching Australian. Bang! Finish Turk. Patrol "imshi." That was one to us. But for the unfortunate cough we might have got half a dozen.