Yet the touch of mercy and humanity was not absent. Doctors and bearers, disdaining death, tended the wounded and dying. Under a ruthless fire orderlies carried the sufferers down to the beach below. Many were killed at the job. Nobly they stuck to it. The heroism of these Red Cross men is one of the finest things in the Gaba Tepe show.
The attack had now developed into a galloping pursuit. Turks were demoralised, and after them went the Australians like whippets on the course. There was no regular line. Little units were here and there. It was the day for the born leader. Having no precise information as to where the pursuit should end and a defensive line made, many pushed right on with a courage that was amazing.
One group was caught in a gully and decimated; others, who pushed almost across the Peninsula, were either killed, wounded, or captured. The remainder, realising the need of consolidating into a general line, came back to the main body. With their entrenching tools they dug holes in the ground, and from behind these little mounds of earth they kept up a steady fire. Without rations, without water—and, at times, without ammunition—they patiently hung on.
All this, too, in a sweltering heat and in the centre of a terrific bombardment. It was the greatest trial any force could have experienced. The Australians exceeded all expectations.
"They're coming back again," said an officer late that afternoon.
Sure enough, there was the Turkish host. Rapid fire wiped many out; still on they came right up to the line. The Australians charged. And all day it was charge and counter-charge. Officers have seldom displayed the tenacity and courage of these Australians' leaders. They played the game as well as the scions of Eton and other historic schools. And then God, in His mercy, sent down the fall of night. This hid the shambles, gave ease to the wounded and dying, and allowed the living to snatch a drink and bite.
But none were idle. On their knees, on their backs, on their sides, they had to dig in, for the fire was still deadly and many were being killed and wounded. The sailors worked like Trojans, bringing rations, ammunition, and reserves ashore. Thanks to them, the gunners, and the untiring zeal of the Staff, the line next day was fairly well established.
The landing was complete; they had achieved what the Germans had advertised as the impossible. Australians have, therefore, every right to feel proud. And all Britishers ought to feel proud of them too.
"Well, boys—how's things?" asked Colonel Killem, one day, when visiting his men in the trenches.