CHAPTER IX
SITTING TIGHT
May 16.—Went on sapping, this time at "Pope's Hill." Had a man killed here in rather curious way. He was in the act of throwing out a shovelful of dirt when a bullet struck the blade of the shovel as it appeared for an instant above the parapet, came right down the handle, and knocked the poor chap's brains over his tunic. Rough luck! Came off work at noon. Quiet evening; some artillery and machine-gun fire. Another of our officers killed by a sniper to-day. A smart sort he was, too, and popular with all in the corps. Rum and tobacco issued—always an event. But why do they give us "medium strength" when nine out of ten of our chaps have been used to hard tack? This soft stuffonly burns our tongues and makes us say our prayers backwards. Got to bed early and was lulled to sleep by the music of bursting bombs and heavy rifle fire in the neighbourhood of "Quinn's" and "Courtney's." Our camp is at the foot of the cliff to the left of "Dead Man's Ridge," only thirty yards behind the firing line; all day and night we hear the song of bullets and the scream of shells passing overhead. I expect we'll miss them when we retire into private life again—if any of us are left to do the retiring stunt. One of our cooks shot dead while bending over his pots. Oh, it's a sweet spot, is Anzac!
Weather growing much warmer. Seems to agree with the flies. Wonder what part in the scheme of Nature flies play?
May 17.—Very heavy rifle and machine-gun fire in early part of night, followed by bombs galore. It seems that a company of Australian infantry stormed an enemy trench, but had to retire from it later on with considerableloss. Queer that such small bodies should be sent to attack a strong position. Did a five-hour spell of sapping at "Pope's." Snipers active, but were well protected, suffering no loss. Fairly quiet day. Some artillery fire. One of our naval guns got on to the enemy's trenches and blew them about in fine style with lyddite. Rumoured that Italy has come in on Allies' side. Also that Bulgaria has taken off the gloves, but on which side no one seems to know. My own opinion is that she'll side with Germany, simply because sheseemsso friendly towards the Allies. I wouldn't trust one of those Balkan Staters farther than I could see him. Rumania will probably join the Allies—when it suits her. As for Greece, from what I saw of the Greeks in Lemnos and elsewhere, I reckon she doesn't count in the deal. Her men were born with deflated rubber tyres instead of backbones. Rumours fill the air. Stuck up the Q.M.S. for a shirt. He has promised to do his best. Hope I'll getone, as at present I don't possess such an article, and in this weather a knitted woollen cardigan impregnated with sweat and powdered clay isn't the most comfortable garment to wear next one's skin. Ordered to go on again on the old four-hour shifts at "Pope's," bossing up infantry at trench-digging. Would rather do a bigger spell right off the reel, as we get more sleep.
May 18.—Enemy throwing 10´´ or 12´´ shells (howitzers) right into the "Gully" among the thickly clustered dug-outs. The explosions are fine to watch (so long as your own home doesn't suffer), dirt, stones, etc. being hurled 200 yards around. I don't think they killed very many, but the Light Horse chaps are fair mad at the way their camp has been knocked about. One fellow whose dug-out had utterly vanished, its place being now occupied by a crater like a young volcano, wanted to know what the Government was thinking about.
Navy officers inspected our lines yesterday. Heard that they weren't much impressed with the work of our field batteries. This morning the troops were withdrawn from some of our trenches and the warships bombarded the Turks just in advance of our firing line, blowing trenches, sandbags, etc. up in fine style. The enemy kept pretty quiet afterwards; expect they were cleaning up things. Heard that the naval chaps are mounting 4·7´´ and 6´´ guns here; also that the Royal Artillery have arrived with two 12´´ howitzers. They are badly needed, as we don't seem able to silence the Turkish big guns.
Easy day on the whole. Still waiting for my shirt. Rumoured that the enemy has been strongly reinforced, and may try a big assault at any time. Also, that 20,000 well-armed Armenians have risen against the Turks. Also, that Italy has certainly joined in—not confirmed. Also, that Greece wants certain "guarantees" before coming in with theAllies. Turkish losses since war started reported as 60 per cent. Hard to credit. More "Jack Johnsons" this afternoon. An enemy big gun discovered to be using a tunnel; when about to fire she is run out on rails, being run back into the tunnel the instant the shot is discharged. One up for the Turks! They are as 'cute as a cageful of monkeys.
May 19.—Enemy attacked in force last night. The rifle and machine-gun fire was something to write home about! The Turks came on in their usual close formation, and were simply mown down. They just melted away in places like a snowball in hell. Mostly they failed to reach our trenches, being cut down and beaten back by the terrific fire. In some cases, however, they did actually get into our front fire trenches, but were immediately bayoneted to a man. In other places they reached our parapets—only to be pulled by the legsintothe trench by one man and bayoneted by another. It was a queer, mixed-upstyle of fighting, that suited our Australasian troops right down to the ground. The attack was repulsed all along the line, finally dying away at about 2 a.m. Two hours later they had another try to push us over the ridge, advancing under cover of the heaviest artillery fire we have so far experienced. Again they attacked our whole line, finally concentrating on our right flank. At one point a New Zealand crowd left their trenches and charged the advancing Turks with the bayonet. They drove the enemy back in fine style, but suffered considerably themselves. Otherwise, however, the attack was repulsed with heavy loss to the enemy, our own casualties I hear being slight. I should think the Turks must be getting fed up with these attempts to drive us into the sea.
Heavy firing going on at all points as I write—rifles, Maxims, and artillery. The row is something awful! Enemy using shrapnel chiefly, and sweeping the "Gully" right downto the beach. Heard that the "Jack Johnsons" yesterday killed only about six men and wounded a few more. It seems almost incredible considering the way they pumped them into our camps. The soil here is mostly clayey and fairly free from rock, and the big shells, like our own lyddite, simply blow a huge hole, or crater, in the ground; and although the effect is rather fearsome the damage, unless close in, doesn't amount to much. If they pitched in rocky country I should say there would be a very different yarn to spin. Heard that theLizziepitched a big shell slap into the tunnel in which a Turkish "Jack Johnson" was hiding and that she hasn't given tongue since. Also that the enemy tapped one of our field telephone wiresbehindour lines, and gave the General Staff twenty-four hours in which to clear us off the Peninsula, failing which he would blow us into the sea with big guns. Got my shirt at last, and feel a new man. If I could onlyraise a pair of trousers I'd be satisfied. I like plenty of fresh air and ventilation—but not in my nether garments.
Later.—A tremendous rifle and artillery fire took place this evening, continuing for an hour or so. Accounted for by New Zealand infantry attempting to capture some Turkish guns. They didn't go on with the venture, however, as the guns were too well guarded. Rather quiet evening afterwards. Been ordered to go on sapping at "Quinn's Post" to-morrow at 7 a.m.
Still Later.—Rather a funny thing happened to-night. We were ordered to rig up portable entanglements in front of our fire trenches at "Quinn's." Now as the enemy's trench and our own were separated by only a few yards it meant a quick death (and a verdict of "suicide while temporarily insane") to any one attempting to even mount the parapet, much less starting in to a job of the kind out in the open. You should have seen the chaps'faces (and heard their prayers) when the order came along. Of course they all realised it was a mistake, the order being cancelled later on. The entanglements were there, however, so our officer thought it would be a bright idea to shove them out in front by means of long spars. After a lot of trouble we managed this, and they looked real good standing heads and tails along the front of our trenches. But when the Turks threw out light grapnels attached to ropes and dragged the things back to do duty forthem, they didn't look half so good. And the infantry laughed some. We went to bed.
May 20.—Quiet morning. No enemy artillery fire and only a little of our own. Later some shelling by both sides. Worked at erecting overhead cover on the support trenches at "Quinn's"—originally the fire trenches, the outcome of the line of holes dug after the landing. Funny kind of job: every time you showed a hand above the parapet the Turkshad a shot at it. From 6.30 till about 7.30 all firing ceased on both sides. It was the first time we had experienced absolute quiet since our arrival here, and the sensation was a strange one. It was still stranger to hear the song of the lark; I reckon the birds sized it up as the end of the Great War, for they seemed to all slip out of their dug-outs at once. Heard it was a truce to allow the Turks to bring in their wounded. When the firing began again it was something to listen to! Big guns and little guns, they all seemed to be working overtime. They kept it up most of the night, too.
May 21.—On overhead cover same as yesterday. Fairly quiet all round. More rumours! Another truce talked of. Heard that quite a lot of prisoners surrendered to-day. Orders sent round that everything possible was to be done to encourage enemy to desert. Which reminds me——
A few nights ago three Turks were capturedby a patrol and brought into camp. They said in broken English that they'd been trying to surrender. They were taken down to headquarters to be questioned, and later on sent back to our camp, the O.C. receiving orders to feed them up well, then give the beggars a chance to escape. The idea was that they would return to their own lines, tell their chums of the fine time they'd had in our camp, and thus cause a lot of deserting from the enemy. Nothing of this was to be said to them, of course.
Well, we took our prisoners down to the cook's quarters and gave them the time of their lives. They ate about a tin of jam each, ditto of condensed milk, showed a marked appreciation for the army biscuits, and (they couldn't have been true believers—or else they were just as much in the dark as ourselves regarding the contents) tackled the bully beef with gusto, finishing up with Woodbine cigarettes. They weren't game to sample therum, however, but it wasn't wasted. When they were full up to the back teeth we asked them if they knew where there was any firewood to be got, as most of the big stuff had been cut out of the "Gully." Yes, they did know of some, but to get it they would have to crawl up close to their own lines. Things couldn't be better, we thought; they were told to clear out and get some. Away they went, up a deep nullah that bisected our lines—and returned a couple of hours later loaded up with brushwood like walking Christmas Trees! At their own request we led them back to the cookhouse, saw them started on a fresh supply of jam and condensed milk, and gave the thing up as a bad job. Catch them letting their mates into the secret of all those good things!
Indeed, most of our prisoners were only too pleased to remain with us once we'd caught them. We set them to various jobs, and, to do them justice, they worked away quite cheerfully, never, so far as I know, attemptingto escape from a place where they were so well fed and got free smokes. The Australians installed one as camp barber, and the blue-jackets from the fleet used to grin at the spectacle of a big husky Turk going round his enemy's throat with a keen-edged razor.
About this time most of us had grown full beards. I don't know who originated the style, but it got to be the fashion to trim our beards to a pointà laHis Majesty. Then our slouch hats underwent the trimming process, the result being a far-fetched jockey's cap. Then nearly every chap cut his slacks or breeches off well above the knee, and a great many discarded puttees. Others shore their shirt-sleeves off shoulder high. Still others went without their shirts altogether in the daytime, going naked from the waist up. So you can guess what the Anzac Army looked like! No wonder the Turks did a bolt when our ragtime mob of toughs rushed them with the bayonet! They looked like a crowd of sundowners who hadstruck an out-back trail and got badly bushed in a dry season.
May 22.—Went up to "Quinn's" at 7 a.m. to go on with sticking up overhead cover. Rather rainy morning. Mud—and such mud!—everywhere. Work of art climbing hill owing to feet caking inches deep with the sticky clay soil. Just got started to work when taken off to make loopholes in a new front fire trench—enemy's trench being only about fifteen yards away. Trench badly exposed to cross-fire from machine-guns well placed on rising ground. All around were splashes of blood. Australian officer informed us that a number of his men had been shot while lying at thebottomof this trench. Did what we could, but as fast as we stuck the sandbags up they were cut to pieces and blown down by Maxim fire. Bombed out many times. Had many narrow shaves. Forced to give it best and wait till dark, when we'll have another try. All these dirty jobs seem to fall to the engineers. Rain clearedoff in afternoon. Mail came in to-day. Got four letters—very satisfactory. "Jack Johnsons" at work again. Snipers also busy; bagged quite a lot of our chaps to-day.Oursnipers are beginning to thin them down, however. Our trench mortars emptied bombs finely into enemy's trenches lately. Fairly quiet night, with rifle fire going off in bursts now and then.
May 23.—Went on at "Quinn's" again, loopholing and strengthening fire trenches. Curious state of affairs here:wesapped out towards enemy's lines some time ago—and met the Turks doing the same towards us. Result:a communicating trench from our lines into his, which is guarded night and day at either end by each party respectively, the intervening distance being about ten yards! Didn't dare to expose ourselves, as sharp-shooters were sniping all the time from two sides, a cross-fire at a range of about forty yards. Got back to camp and found issue ofrum awaiting me, also ration offreshbeef. Cooked it on a grill made of twisted fencing wire and had an A1 blow-out. More letters to-day. Wonder what the navy is doing at the Dardanelles? Rumours; the air is full of them. Here are three: (a) Turkey has demanded either £40,000,000 or £50,000,000 from Germany, otherwise she will join the Allies; (b) we are going to be relieved and sent home to England on the 25th instant, to refit; (c) submarines are cruising about quite close.
To-day the warships bombarded the enemy's trenches just in front of our own, first giving us warning to keep our heads well down. Didn't need the warning, as shells simply skimmed our parapets. One plumpedintoa trench full of Australians. Didn't do much damage luckily, but upset the harmony of a nice little card-party playing poker. Result: the loss of some money and several tempers. Got a blanket served out to-day. Could havedone with it a long time ago. Still waiting for trousers; the pair I own now on their last legs.
Talking of legs, I bumped into one to-day sticking out into one of our support trenches. You had to duck to pass it. Seems that our chaps when building the cover found a dead Turk badly in their way, and as they would have had some difficulty in removing him they decided to build him upinthe roof; his leg slipped through, however, so they just let it hang. Quiet night; hardly any firing at any part of the line.
May 24.—Just finishing breakfast when rain started. The worst of it is that even a slight fall turns this country into a kind of clay bog, owing to the top soil clogging on one's boots and then slipping over the subsoil. It is like climbing a greased egg to scale the hills—and our position here is on top of a high ridge running round a deep gully. Coming down one generally does a joy slide on one's hindquarters.Have been ordered to stand by, pending a rumoured armistice supposed to take place at 7.30 a.m. Heard that Italy has come in on Allies' side: this time it seems to be credited. Hope it is true.
Later.—Armistice did take place, lasting till 4.30 p.m., for the purpose of burying the dead—or "planting stiffs," to give the occupation its local name. It was about time this was done. I never saw so many bodies crowded into the same space before; there were literally thousands of them. And the condition they were in! I dare not describe the sights I saw. We scraped out shallow holes, edged the things gingerly in and covered them up as quickly as possible. It paid to smoke hard all the time. I picked up a German officer's sword (broken off at the hilt), a Turkish ditto, and dozens of other war curios. I noticed a magnificent diamond ring on a Turkish officer's finger, but he was in such a state of putrefaction that I allowed him toretain it. One cannot be too careful when working with decomposed bodies; if a cut finger happens to get into contact with putrid human flesh you'll know all about it. We mixed together, the enemy "undertakers" and our own. Some of the Turkish officers handed us cigarettes and spoke in fluent English. They were a fine, jolly-looking lot of fellows dressed in swagger uniforms. The Germans, however, stood at a distance and scowled. Our fellows returned their scowls with interest. They also favoured them with a salute (understood of all men) in which the thumb and fingers of one hand act in conjunction with the nose. The Huns didn't seem to appreciate the honour. A quiet night followed.
May 25.—Working at same job as before—loopholing trenches and generally strengthening position at "Quinn's Post." It wouldn't be difficult to get laid out at this game, for there is an almost continuous cross-fire playing a few inches above your head, and as fast asyou stick up sandbags the machine-guns cut them into shreds.
Saw theTriumphtorpedoed. She had been acting the part of dry nurse to our crowd off Anzac Cove, and it was like a death in the family when she went to the bottom. I was sitting in my dug-out at the time it happened, eating the mid-day meal, and had a first-class view of the whole thing at a distance of about two and a half miles. From the height of our camp above sea-level we could even see the submarine, like a shadowy fish, below the water. She was reported to have been struck by two torpedoes; I saw only one, however—or its wake, rather. The projectile seemed to hit the warship right amidships, going through her nets as if they were made of paper. A tremendous cloud of dense brown smoke mixed with steam sprang aloft like a geyser, and the big ship listed over at once in the direction from which the torpedo had come. At the same time she seemed to settle down in thewater with a jump. The submarine couldn't have been more than 200 yards away when she launched the torpedo, which appeared to cut the water at a great bat. A destroyer was cruising about close handy, and she at once backed in against the battleship, the crew jumping and tumbling on board like rats. Meantime she (the destroyer) opened fire every time the submarine shoved her periscope above the surface. One shot was fired at a distance of only about fifty yards. The sea was soon alive with all kinds of small craft hastening to the work of rescue. In ten minutes theTriumphturned completely over, showing her bottom for all the world like a big whale, finally disappearing in about twenty minutes from the time of the explosion. She didn't dive—just slowly subsided. Many of the crew jumped overboard; through glasses we could see them struggling in the water. Almost immediately a whole flotilla of torpedo boats and destroyers seemed to spring fromnowhere, and started to hunt down the submarine. As I write they are steaming round and round in a big circle, an aeroplane hovering overhead and evidently directing operations; at the same time the enemy is pumping shrapnel into the bay from long range for all he is worth, evidently in the hope of bagging those engaged in the work of rescue. I have since seen it stated in the papers that the enemy's artillery was directed against the destroyers, and that the drowning men and those assisting them had to take their chance. Then why in the name of common sense did he use shrapnel? The contention is absurd. The Turks on the whole were clean fighters, but when the poor oldTriumphwent down they put a dirty blot on their record. I hope never to see another ship torpedoed; it was one of the saddest sights I ever witnessed.
Later.—Reported that the submarine was bagged after a long chase. Heavy rain this afternoon, and the whole place a bog. Hotsun afterwards which turned the bog into a glue deposit. Things fairly quiet, as they have been for the last two or three days. Enemy doesn't seem to like our bombs thrown from trench mortars. They are a Japanese invention, and when they pitch into the Turkish trenches they fairly raise hell—and human remains! Heard that over 400 were lost in theTriumph: hope it isn't true. Finding enemy was mining towards our trenches we put in a counter mine. Enemy exploded his—and ours at the same time.W-o-o-o-o-uf!she went. So did the writer—bringing up waist deep in a heap of soft sticky clay, hard jam tins, and discarded accoutrements at the foot of the ridge. Felt a bit "rocky" after being dug out. Left ear gone. Head queer. Hope it will come all right again. Had another issue of fresh beef this evening, the second, I fancy, since we landed. Cooked it on my own home-made grill and found itkapai. More rain.
Still Later.—Heard that losses onTriumphwere very slight: about twenty or thirty. Rain cleared off and ground now drying fast. Fairly quiet night, except for some bombing. You get queer things in bombs sometimes, especially Turkish bombs. For instance: I was working in one of the advanced saps. There was a good deal of bombing going on a bit to my right. In the traverse next to where I was sapping a captured Turkish gramophone was being made to work overtime inThe Turkish Patrol, for the edification of an Australian audience. Presently—Bang!It was a bomb, thrown slap into the concert party. The music ceased. Followed the customary volley of blasphemy in back-blocks Australian. Then, to my surprise, a roar of laughter echoed round the traverse. Naturally I waltzed along to see what had happened—and found a very profane Australian seated in the bottom of the trench nursing his wounds. He looked for all the world as ifhe had been scrapping with a whole colony of porcupines, and was bleeding from a score or two of wounds.
"It's needles from the bomb," laughed one of his mates, in answer to my astonished look. "The poor devil's that full up of gramophone needles, if we only had asomethingrecord we could play asomethingtune on him!"
But we weren't a bit slow at faking up bombs ourselves. I have known rusty nails, bits of shells, flints, cartridge cases, fragments of broken periscopes—anything, in fact, that came along shoved into a home-made jam-tin bomb. Once some of the chaps heaved over a 7-lb. jam-can filled with ham and bacon bones. You ought to have heard the jamboree in the Turkish trench when the unclean animal's mortal remains blew round their ears! They didn't half like being shot by pig. On another occasion some Australians informed me that they wanted "a hell of a knock-out bomb," as they had located a Turkish listening post closeup to our front line trenches. I manufactured one of the "hair-brush" variety, usingtwo 15-oz. slabs of guncotton, and packing round the explosive about three pounds of assorted projectiles; the whole thing I wrapped up in a whole sandbag and wound it round and round with barbed wire. When completed it looked a pretty little toy about the size of a respectable ham. I own I had some misgivings about being able to throw it the required length. However, the distance was only a matter of a few yards, and I got it fair into the desired spot. When she went off bang there wasn't much of that listening post left, while as for the Turks who manned it—well, I guess they're going still!
"Quinn's Post" was always a rotten shop for bombs. At first the Turks had things pretty much their own way in that line. Time after time they cleared our front trenches by bomb-throwing, and then rushed the position; and I can tell you it called for some hardhand-to-hand fighting on our part to get them out again. But we always did it; good soldiers as they are they couldn't live in the same township with our chaps when cold steel was the order of the day. There isn't much fun left in life once you've had eighteen inches of rusty bayonet shoved through your gizzard. The Turks don't fear death; if killed in action they believe they go straight to Paradise and have a high old time with the girls. But you can't blame a man if he wished to have a little more practice on earth—nor for being a bit particular about the manner in which he started on the long trail. I reckon that's how it was with them. I don't blame them, either; it's a sloppy kind of death, the bayonet one.
After a time we got top-dog in the bombing line. Our system was a simple one: for every bomb the enemy threw into us we gave him at leasttwoin return. He didn't like it a little bit. At first we used to throw the bombsback again as fast as they came in, the fuses being timed a bit too long; afterwards, however, that game didn't pay, quite a lot of poor chaps getting laid out through the things exploding in their hands. Dropping a sandbag or an overcoat on them took most of the sting out of the beggars, and it wasn't long till every third man's greatcoat looked as if it had been in a railway accident—or a cyclone.
One night I shan't forget in a hurry. It simply rained bombs. Man after man went down. The trench was a shambles. On came the Turks, carrying our fire trench with ease; there was really nothing to stop them. They got right into our support trench. Then our chaps got to work. We bombed them back. They came again. Again we cleared them out. The position was carried and re-carried four separate times, eventually remaining in our hands. Reader, I wish you had seen those trenches when the picnic was finished. It took us a long time cleaning them up. There wereall kinds of queer things sticking to the sides and to the overhead cover. One of our chaps put the thing in a nutshell. "I don't give asomethingwhat the padre says," he observed, "there'll be an all-fired mix-up when they go aloft!"
"Quinn's" was in truth the limit. I reckon you could get killed there a dashed sight easier than anywhere in the whole line. It was just fair hell with all the doors open. It was the place where V.C.'s were earned—but not given! Come to think of it, it would have taken a sackful to go round. Yes, that must have been the reason.