A great convoy of transports, guarded by destroyers, ploughed silently through the waters which lap the European side of the Gallipoli Peninsula. The ships had the Australian force on board, and the destroyers were there to assist them in one of the most daring missions in modern war.
All lights were out and strict silence was observed. Each man had, therefore, time to commune with the spirits of those nine thousand miles away. It was not a time for the buffoon; they were faced with all the dread perils of war.
Nearer and nearer the ships drew to their objective. At last they reached the point assigned them by the Staff. A quiet signal was given. Destroyers, pinnaces, and row boats were placed at the sides of the transports, rough gangways thrown out, and the command to move quietly was passed along. Noiselessly they stepped from the transports; but all the while there was an electric-like feeling around the heart—that peculiar something which only the soldier knows. However, there wasn't time to romance or moralise. War rules out sentiment and fears. There was a job to be done.
When each boat was packed with its human freight, the gangways were slipped, cables thrown off, and all were quietly towed to the shore. It was still dark—one hour, in fact, before the dawn. When close inshore, the hand of Providence proved kind. This took the form of a strong current—so strong, in fact, that it pressed the boats away from the point previously assigned for the landing and washed them into a safer part for the historic encounter.
That current saved thousands of Australian lives; indeed, it may have ensured the success of the mission. Had the Australians landed at the point decided on, it is doubtful whether the landing would have been so thoroughly effective as it proved on the other beach.
"Not much doing—eh?" said Colonel Killem to his adjutant as he peered through the darkness to the shore. Indeed, it seemed that the enemy had left this shore unguarded. But the Turks are wily soldiers. They allowed the boats to near the shore, then opened up a murderous rifle and machine-gun fire.
"Gad! Boys, I'm hit!" said a subaltern, falling, his blood spurting in a stream all over his clothes.
"So'm I!" said another youngster with a ping in his arm.
"Holy Father, preserve us!" muttered Doolan, crossing himself, as they grated on the shore.
"Jump, boys, jump!" shouted the colonel. There was no need to tell them, no need to show the lead. They leaped pluckily from their boats and dashed up the beach. There was a pause while a few collected.