Now all was normal. Down at Helles the British had, during the afternoon, made a big demonstration. The warships had joined in the fray and the bombardment of the Turkish lines was terrific. But on this last night there was nothing untoward happening. General Birdwood during the day had gone the rounds of the trenches and the boys yarned with him as of old. It was a good thing for us to have had a General like that—one who understood the gay devil-may-care Australian character. That's why the boys called him the "idol of Anzac."
Away to the northward at Suvla on the shoulder of Chocolate Hills the British divisions are getting ready to retire. On Hill 60, which saw so much sanguinary fighting, the stolid Indians are awaiting orders. This way a bit the New Zealand and Australian Division has started its first parties towards North Beach. On the right above Anzac and opposite Gaba Tepe the Australians were streaming away; all but the rearguard and the final "die-hards." Before the morning Anzac will have seen a great tragedy, or else the greatest bluff in history.... There is the usual desultory interchange of musketry at odd places along the line, now and then punctuated with the rattle of a maxim ... nothing abnormal. Down at Helles there is a fierce fusillade. This will help us....
Since dusk the first contingents had been steadily streaming down towards the North Beach and Anzac Cove. Quickly and silently they embarked in the waiting flotilla of small craft and streaked out to the transports. Like guardian angels the warships hovered around seeing to the security of the army. Up at Suvla we knew similar scenes were being enacted. Along the line the musketry played its usual accompaniment to the intermittent bombing. But the whole plan was working beautifully. The tension was gradually relaxing. There would be no 20 per cent. casualties as the pessimists foretold. Already from Suvla and Anzac over 60,000 soldiers had re-embarked without a single casualty.
Now and then there was a round of shrapnel sent by Beachy Bill on to the southern depôt at Brighton Beach. This clearly showed that the enemy suspected nothing. Yet it is bright moonlight.... It is midnight, and nearly all the men have embarked save the thin khaki line of "die-hards" in the trenches. An odd bomb or two is thrown by the Turks. The "die-hards" with insolent imperturbability heave a few bombs back and invite Abdul to come on.
If Abdul had entered our trenches then he would have found only a skeleton army waiting to fight a forlorn hope rearguard action. But all along the trenches he would have found other things. Cigarettes and jam and tobacco; all sorts of presents and Christmas boxes. Scores of the boys before leaving wrote little farewell messages to the Turks. Typical examples were these:—"Au revoir, Abdul. See you later on"; "Good-bye, Mahomet. Better luck next time"; "Abdul, you're a good clean fighter and we bear you no ill-will"; "Merry Christmas, Abdul; you're a good sport anyhow, but the Hun is a fair cow"; "So long, Abdul." And having told Abdul what he thought of him, the irresponsible Australian sauntered down to the beach and embarked! But many a silent tear was shed for the pals they had left behind, the quiet dead sleeping on Gallipoli....
It didn't seem quite right to clear out and leave Australia's dead behind. Some of the boys voiced the thought of many, "Tread softly, boys, and don't let them hear us deserting them." Some of the padres planted wattle round about the graves on Shell Green and Shrapnel Valley and Hell Spit and Brown's Dip....
By half-past one all were away but the "die-hards." Then from the Apex, after a final volley, streaked the first batch of the skeleton rearguard. There is a breach in the brave Anzac line at last. But Abdul does not know it yet. Soon the dare-devils at Quinn's Post heave a few bombs, then silently slink back, down the precipitous hill-side, and along the gully to the beach. From Courtney's and the Neck and the Pimple and Ryrie's Post and Chatham's all along the line came the "die-hards," full lick to the beach. But to their unutterable surprise there is no attack. They are not followed. The trenches that for eight long months defied the Turkish attacks are now open, not a solitary soldier left. But Abdul does not know it. There is still an intermittent fire from the Turkish trenches. They think our silence is some trick....
At half-past three on the morning of December 20 there was a burst of red flame and a roar like distant thunder. This was repeated shortly afterwards, and our two big mines on the Neck blew up. It was our last slap at the Turk. We cannot say what harm it did, but thinking the explosions were a prelude to attack the Turkish line all round Anzac burst into spiteful protest. There was a wild fusillade at our empty trenches, and on the transports the Australians smiled grimly. Shortly afterwards the Light Horsemen on the extreme right—Ryrie's lucky Second Brigade rearguard—entered the waiting cutters on Brighton Beach. Then the stores—such as we could not take away—burst into flame. Only two men were wounded.
Before dawn word came that the whole force had been safely taken off, together with many of the mules and horses and guns which it was thought would have to be abandoned. At dawn the Turkish batteries opened a wild bombardment of our trenches, all along the line. Marvellous to relate the enemy had not yet ascertained what had happened. But the silence soon told them the truth. Then they charged in irregular lines over the skyline at our empty trenches. The warships fired a few salvoes at the enemy swarming over the hills, and they hurriedly took cover in our old trenches. These were the last shots fired over Anzac at the Turks. Then the flotilla turned its back on Gallipoli and swung slowly and sadly westward.
So ended the great "get-away"; a feat quite unparalleled in the annals of war. Historians will pay tribute to Sir Charles Munro and the Fleet. We only take our hats off to General Birdwood and his staff and the staffs of the Australasian divisions. But deep down we know the wonderful work our navy did during the eight months of the Gallipoli campaign. The army may make mistakes, but the navy is all right.