In his dispatch of 6th January 1916 Sir Ian Hamilton tells us that early in July 1915 he was fully aware that the Kilid Bahr plateau could not be reached from the south. Even if he could capture Krithia, which had so far defied him, he could make no further headway towards his goal. The Turks had made new and very strong works on the slopes of Achi Baba, and these works were so planned that, even if the enemy's western flank could be turned and he could be driven back from the coast, the central and eastern portions of the mountain could still be held as a bastion to the plateau. After considering every possible means of forcing a way to the Narrows, he decided to make an advance through the Anzac territory and the country to the north of it.
For three months Anzac had been an area of little more than a square mile of cliff top on the edge of the sea. Its defences consisted of a series of outposts, and these could only be reached by means of a deep ravine, Shrapnel Valley, or "the Valley of Death," as it was called, because it was enfiladed by Turkish fire, and a man took his life in his hand every time he attempted to pass through it. You have already heard of some of these outposts. Quinn's Post was named after Major Quinn, who died in defence of it during a desperate Turkish attack on 28th May. Courtney's Post, which was the scene of Corporal Jacka's famous exploit, was named after the Colonel who held it against terrible odds for seven weeks. Pope's Hill received its name from Colonel Pope of West Australia—Pope with the Pipe, as his men dubbed him, because on one occasion, when he was climbing the side of the hill, he just escaped a Turkish trap by leaping down thirty feet on to a soft spit of sand, where he landed safely, pipe and all. The path to the post of Pope's Hillwas so steep that the men had to help themselves up by means of a rope.
Sir Ian Hamilton now determined to make a new landing on Suvla Bay, which lies to the north of the Anzac region. Look at the diagram on page 278 and make out the chief features of the neighbourhood. You notice that the bay, which is about two miles wide, is like the crescent moon in shape, with capes forming the horns. Along the edge of the bay runs a narrow causeway of sand, and behind it is a salt lake, dry in summer, but overflowing in winter. Lining the coast north-eastwards from Cape Suvla is the ridge of Karakol Dagh, over 400 feet high. Between the southern end of the lake and the promontory which shuts in the bay on the south side is the low hill of Lala Baba, and about one and a half miles to the east of it is another elevation, afterwards called by our men Chocolate Hill, because it was burnt brown by the shells which burst upon it.
Find on the map (page275) Azmak Dere, a ravine which lies to the south of Chocolate Hill. From this ravine northwards stretches a series of hills and flats on which there are farms and patches of dwarf oaks, and, on the seaward fall of the hills, thick scrub. Everywhere the plain is cracked by water-courses, which are simply deep, dry gullies in summer. Just north of the upper course of the Azmak Dere is one of the two Anafarta villages; the other stands two miles farther north. Between the south village and the foothills of the Karakol Dagh lie the Anafarta Hills.
At the points markedA,B, andCon the diagram (page278), Sir Ian Hamilton proposed to make new landings; but, as a matter of fact, his troops were put ashore only atBandC. They were to try to carry the Anafarta Hills, and their right was to link up with the left of the Anzacs, who would advance at the same time. If this were done, the central crest of the spine of uplands which runs through the western end of the peninsula would be in our hands. We should then be able to command the one land route to Maidos on the Narrows; the communications of the Turks would be cut, Achi Baba would fall, and in due course we should reach the plateau on which all our hopes were centred. Such was the plan. It was a bold plan, and it had a very fair chance of succeeding.
Of course, if the Turks got wind of what we proposed to do they would make preparations to resist us, and the conditions in the south of the peninsula would be repeated. The landing on Suvla Bay was to be a surprise. We knew that the Turks had made no preparations in this region, and we hoped to take them unawares. If the landing could be made speedily, if the troops could push forward without delay, and if they and the Anzacs, working together, could join hands and gain the crest of the spine of uplands, all would be well; but if there were delays, if any of the various columns were not up to time, or failed to do the work assigned to them, the whole movement would end in failure.
Before the great venture began Sir Ian Hamilton had to throw the enemy off the scent. It would never do to let him know where the new landing was to be made. At all costs he must be surprised. So on 6th August a general attack was made on the Turkish position at Achi Baba. This was done to make the enemy believe that we still hoped to carry the ridge from the south. In the early afternoon, after the guns had prepared the way, the 88th Brigade advanced across open ground against a part of the enemy's front, which so far we had been unable to win. The attack was boldly made, but our men were held up, and suffered heavy losses. East of the Krithia road the Lancashire Territorials fared better, and gained 200 yards. Next morning the Turks, with heavy reinforcements, began their counter-attacks, and fighting raged for two days round a vineyard west of the Krithia road, where, as you will learn later, Lieutenant Forshaw of the 1/9th Manchesters won the Victoria Cross. All this fighting, you must remember, was for the purpose of making the Turks believe that we were going to "carry on" in the old way.
Now we must turn to the Anzac territory, which, as we know, was to be the scene of a great effort. On the nights of the 4th, 5th, and 6th August reinforcements were slipped into Anzac very silently during the darkest hours, and were tucked away in prepared hiding-places, quite invisible to the aeroplanes or the telescopes of the Turks. Probably never before have so many men been landed under the very eyes of the enemy, and kept concealed for three days without being discovered.
On the afternoon of the 6th, while the fighting was in progress round Krithia, a frontal attack was made on the Lone Pine plateau.[50]It was a feint to cover the advance of a division which was to move up the coast and work up three ravines in order to assault Koja Chemen,[51]the commanding summit of the Sari Bair. As soon as the bombardment ceased the Australians—every man with a white band on his sleeve—leaped forward with that magnificent dash which has given them a leading place amongst the finest soldiers of the world, and flung themselves on the deep and roofed-intrenches at Lone Pine, which you see to the south-east of Shrapnel Valley. After a deadly struggle in the dim galleries they won the whole position. It was a magnificent feat of arms, and Sir Ian Hamilton thus sums it up: "One weak Australian brigade, numbering at the outset but 2,000 rifles, and supported only by two weak battalions, carried the work under the eyes of a whole enemy division, and maintained their grip upon it like a vice during six days of counter-attacks. . . . After the first violence of the counter-attacks had abated, 1,100 corpses—our own and Turkish—were dragged out of the trenches." Seven Victoria Crosses were awarded to the victors of Lone Pine.
Meanwhile the columns on the left had occupied the ridge named Bauchop's Hill, and had climbed and seized Big Table Top, a mushroom-shaped mountain with such steep sides that it was believed no infantry could scale them. "But just as faith moves mountains, so valour can carry them." The heights were scaled, and the plateau was carried by midnight. The attacks were made with bayonet and bomb only; hardly a rifle shot was fired. Meanwhile the ridge which you see just south of Azmak Dere had also been captured, and the whole left rear of the Anzac position had been safeguarded. The grand attack on Koja Chemen could now proceed.
I must break off my story for a moment to tell you that, at dawn on the 7th, the 3rd Australian Light Horse and the 1st Light Horse Brigade pushed forward against the Turkish trenches in their front. These magnificent troopers, men of great physical strength and of the highest courage, advanced only to be mown down. Line after line of them left their parapets, but were met by a storm of fire which no mortal could face and live. For a few moments the flag of the Light Horse fluttered from a corner of the Turkish position. Soon, however, it disappeared, and of the 750 men who attacked that morning only about 100 returned. The sacrifice, however, was not in vain. The Turks in this part of the line were penned to their trenches while the great attack which I am now about to describe went forward.
If you look at the map on page275, you will see that, in order to get from Big Table Top to Koja Chemen, our troops had to cross Rhododendron Ridge. All night the left column struggled up the two "deres" which you see to the east of Bauchop's Hill, and by a quarter to six in themorning it was on the lower slopes of Rhododendron Ridge. It then moved up the hill, and gained touch by means of the 10th Gurkhas with a column on the right, which had worked up the ravines between Rhododendron Ridge and Chunuk Bair in the face of very heavy fire and by means of frequent bayonet charges. Before nightfall our men were entrenched on the top of Rhododendron Ridge, "a quarter of a mile short of Chunuk Bair—that is, of victory!"
Now for the last push. The attack on Koja Chemen was timed to begin at 4.15 on the morning of the 8th. The right column was to climb up the Chunuk Bair ridge, while the left was to make for the ridge directly south-east of Koja Chemen. "At the first faint glimmer of dawn observers saw figures moving against the sky-line of Chunuk Bair. Were they our own men, or were they the Turks? Telescopes were anxiously adjusted; the light grew stronger; men were seen climbing up from our side of the ridge; theywereour own fellows—the topmost summit was ours!" Yes, it was true—New Zealanders and Maoris had fixed themselves firmly on the main knoll of Chunuk Bair, and victory was in sight. The position, however, had not been won without great losses. The 7th Gloucesters, for example, lost every single officer; yet they fought on from midday to sunset, commanded only by corporals and privates.
Next morning, the 9th, the attack was renewed by three columns. The whole of Chunuk Bair was to be gained, and while No. 1 column held the ground, Nos. 2 and 3 columns were to carry Hill Q. It was a day of pitiless heat, and the men suffered torments of thirst. The 6th Gurkhas of the second column scaled the summit of the ridge between Chunuk Bair and Hill Q, and for half an hour looked down upon the gleaming waters of the straits. Not only did they and some of the 6th South Lancashires reach the crest, but they began to attack down the far side of it, firing as they went at the fast-retreating enemy. But at this supreme moment, when the last obstacle had been passed and the Promised Land was in sight, the fortune of war deserted us. No. 3 column should by this time have been sweeping out towards Hill Q along the whole ridge of the mountain, but it was nowhere to be seen. It had lost its way in the darkness. There was no support for the men on the summit, who were now suddenlyassailed by a salvo of heavy shells. The Gurkhas and South Lancashires were forced back from the crest and on to the lower slopes from which they had started. When at last No. 3 column appeared, the Turks had come up in overwhelming numbers, and all hope of regaining the summit had vanished.
That evening our line ran along Rhododendron Ridge up to the crest of Chunuk Bair, where some 800 New Zealanders and Maoris were holding about two hundred yards of shallow trenches unprotected by wire. During the night of the 9th-10th these troops were relieved, after they had been fighting without pause for three days and three nights. Two battalions of the New Army took the place of these devoted men, who were now half dead with fatigue. Early on the morning of the 10th the Turks made a furious attack upon them. They came on again and again, calling upon the name of God, determined to drive our men into the sea. Desperate fighting followed. The men of the New Army were simply overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers, and were driven from the crest. At the foot of the hill they were rallied, and plunged into a deadly fray in which "generals fought in the ranks, and men caught each other by the throat. . . . Our men stood to it, and maintained, by many a deed of daring, the old traditions of their race. There was no flinching.They died in the ranks where they stood."
But where were the men from Suvla? Where were they at this supreme crisis, when they were so desperately needed? The New Zealanders on the crest of Chunuk Bair had seen them landing, but had lost sight of them. What had happened? Something must have gone seriously wrong.
The landing at Suvla Bay was made on the night of 6th August, under very favourable conditions. The moon did not rise until 2 a.m., and by this time our men were ashore. Except for a little rifle fire, they were quite unopposed. As you know, the Turks had their hands full elsewhere, and had no inkling of what was afoot. The men who landed at the pointsBandCcarried Lala Baba with the bayonet during the night, and also an outpost to the north of the Salt Lake. By the time the moon rose two divisions were ashore, and were holding a line east of the lake running from Karakol Dagh to near Chocolate Hill. So far everything had gone well; but then came a fatal delay. It was essential that we should push on if we were to surprise the Turks, but no attempt was made to proceed. The men, most of whom had never been in action before, were very weary, and were tormented by thirst. The transports, containing water, stores, mules, and carts, were still sixty miles away, and no doubt the general in command of the expedition hesitated to send men forward in an arid land without a proper water supply. Further, he had but little artillery. Late that night the right carried Chocolate Hill. The New Zealanders, as you know, were now struggling to maintain their foothold on Chunuk Bair, and every moment was priceless. Unhappily, the general at Suvla Bay does not seem to have realized that the whole success of the movement depended on pushing his men forward at all costs. By this time Sir Ian Hamilton had arrived. He tried to persuade the general to advance, but in vain. By the morning of Monday, 9th August, our chance of success had almost vanished. Ever-growing numbers of the enemy had come up, and no surprise was now possible.
On the morning of the 9th a gallant endeavour was made to carry the main Anafarta ridge; but though the crest was won, the effort was too late. The Turks had now arrived in full force. About midday they fired the scrub on the hills, and the flames which were swept across our front by the wind drove us back. Nothing more of importance was done that day, and next morning our chance of succeeding had gone for ever.
During the next ten days we tried to push forward, and the famous 29th Division was brought up; but even it could not snatch victory out of defeat. On 21st August repeated but unavailing efforts were made to carry a hill to the north and another to the south of Chocolate Hill. About five o'clock the mounted division, which had been held in reserve below Lala Baba, made a splendid advance. For two miles the gallant yeomen moved forward as if on parade through country where there was not enough cover to conceal a mouse, and amidst a rain of Turkish shrapnel. These men, from Bucks, Berks, and Dorset, charged the hill to the south of Chocolate Hill and leaped into the Turkish trenches. The Turks, however, on a higher hill brought machine guns to bear on them, and by daylight they were forced back to their old lines.
The same day the Anzacs, under their famous leader, General Birdwood, brilliantly carried one side of the topmost knoll of Hill 60, which you see by the side of the upper course of Azma Dere, the southern fork of Azmak Dere.[52]After desperate hand-to-hand fighting, nine-tenths of the summit was won. Some 250 men of the 5th Connaught Rangers distinguished themselves that day by a superb charge, and finally the whole hill passed into our hands. With this success our efforts to make headway on the peninsula practically came to an end.
"Thus was a likely plan turned into a tragedy of missed opportunity." We failed for the same reason that we failed in the whole campaign—we were "too late," and we gave time for strong forces of the enemy to take up positions of such strength that all the valour of our men could not carry them. The whole enterprise was wrecked when our troops were held in check for a whole day on the flats of Suvla Bay.
"Last scene of all, that ends this strange eventful history," on 11th October Sir Ian Hamilton was asked to say what he supposed would be the extent of our losses if we tried to get off the peninsula. He cabled back that he could not even think of such a thing. On the 16th he was recalled, and another general, Sir Charles Monro, who had already advised that we should withdraw from Gallipoli, was appointed in his place. The task of the new general was to carry out the delicate and difficult operation of withdrawal. During the next two months he was busily engaged in making his preparations.
Of course, it was all-important that the Turks should be kept in ignorance of what we proposed to do. Our losses in getting on to the peninsula were very heavy, but they would be as nothing compared with those which we might suffer in getting off should the Turks be enabled to attack us while men, guns, horses, and stores were being transferred to the ships. Some generals gloomily told us that we should lose half, or at least one-third, of our troops in the process. We therefore made no sign, but carried on as though we had no thought of leaving the peninsula at all.
Local fighting still went on; mines were laid and exploded, and a trench warfare similar to that in North France and Flanders was in full swing. The storms of November broke over our men, and torrents roared down the gullies. Sickness was rife, but still "carry on" was the order of the day. On 21st December Lord Kitchener visited Anzac, and satisfied himself that the men could be withdrawn without undue loss. The hour of departure was drawing very near.
Everything depended on the weather. The small boats in which the troops were to be conveyed to the transports could not work in a rough sea, nor could the guns and animals be got off during storms. Happily, when the work of withdrawal began on 29th December a spell of light wind and smooth seas set in.
Before the men could depart the Turks had to be attacked, so as to keep them at a distance. On 29th December a British division advanced against the enemy with as much dash as if the campaign was only beginning, and next day the Turkish lines were fiercely bombarded. Meanwhile the first troops had got away. All sorts of ruses were invented to deceive the Turks. It is said, for example, that while 2,000 men were silently embarked at night, 500 were landed with great show the next morning, in order to make the Turks believe that we were actually being reinforced. For weeks guides were trained to bring down companies of men from the trenches to the beaches during the night, and so well was everything planned that every man, every animal, and every gun, with the exception of six, was safely embarked. The landing was a feat; the departure was a miracle.
A correspondent tells us that the Anzacs came down the hillside with steady, slouching gait. Except for the moonlight shimmering on the Salt Lake and the smooth waters of the bay, and the fires burning in the deserted camps, all was dark. Suddenly, four great fires sprang up, leaped into flames, and grew into one mighty bonfire. The deserted stores of the Anzacs were blazing furiously. Then, as a finale, a giant mine was exploded by electricity under the Turkish trenches. It was the Australians' "Good-bye" to the Turks. An Anzac corporal thus described the departure:—
"On the last night we kept up the usual firing, until finally there were only sixty men from each battalion scattered along the firing-line, and through a ruse—due to the inventive faculties of Corporal Scurry, of our battalion—these last men were able to get away."Scurry invented an apparatus by fixing a kerosene can full of water, which was allowed to drip into a large jam tin. This latter was tied on to the trigger of a rifle fully cocked and in position on the parapet. When a sufficient amount of water was in the jam tin off went the gun."Hundreds of these were fixed all along the line, timed to go off at different intervals, so that the usual firing was kept up for two hours after the last man had left the trenches."Some ruse—eh, what?"
"On the last night we kept up the usual firing, until finally there were only sixty men from each battalion scattered along the firing-line, and through a ruse—due to the inventive faculties of Corporal Scurry, of our battalion—these last men were able to get away.
"Scurry invented an apparatus by fixing a kerosene can full of water, which was allowed to drip into a large jam tin. This latter was tied on to the trigger of a rifle fully cocked and in position on the parapet. When a sufficient amount of water was in the jam tin off went the gun.
"Hundreds of these were fixed all along the line, timed to go off at different intervals, so that the usual firing was kept up for two hours after the last man had left the trenches.
"Some ruse—eh, what?"
"I hope, sir," said a New Zealander to his officer, as he crept down Shrapnel Gully for the last time, "that those fellows who lie buried along the 'Dere' will be soundly sleeping and not hear us as we march away." Many of his comrades, however, put aside such sad thoughts.
As the last transport steamed away early on the morning of 9th January 1916, the enemy's guns began to pour shells on our deserted trenches and on our burning beaches. A day or two later the Turks announced that they had driven the British into the sea. Constantinople blazed with illuminations, and Germany broke forth into loud rejoicings. So ended the ill-starred adventure. For more than nine months we had fought not only the Turks and the Germans in their strongholds, but disease and thirst, the droughts of summer, and the blizzards of winter. We had been foiled, and the British Empire was the poorer by the loss of tens of thousands of bright and gallant lives; yet there was no murmuring. The nation set its teeth and turned to the next task. It recognized that there must be failures in every great war, and that one set-back does not spell defeat.
The following officers and men were awarded the Victoria Cross during the fighting in Gallipoli between 7th August and 22nd December 1915:
Lieutenant William Thomas Forshaw, 1/9th Battalion, Manchester Regiment, Territorial Force.
On page276I mentioned the heavy fighting which took place from 17th to 19th August around a vineyard to the west of the Krithia road. Lieutenant Forshaw and his detachment held the north-west angle of the vineyard. The Turks advanced upon them time after time by way of three trenches which all met at this point, but they could make no headway. For forty-one hours Lieutenant Forshaw not only directed and encouraged his men, but continued to fling bombs on the enemy. Eye-witnesses say that he treated bomb-throwing as though it were snowballing, and that he was happy all the time, though every moment he was in the direst peril. When his detachment was relieved he volunteered to stay on and direct operations. Three times during the night of 8th-9th August he was again heavily attacked, and once the Turks got over his barricade; but after shooting three of them with his revolver, he led his men forward and drove the enemy out. When at last he rejoined his battalion he was choked and sickened by bomb fumes, badly bruised by fragments of shrapnel, and could scarcely lift his arm, which was stiff with continuous bomb-throwing. Thanks to his inspiring example and splendid tenacity, an important position was held. Before joining the army he was a teacher in a Manchester Secondary school.
Private Leonard Keysor,Private John Hamilton,Captain Alfred John Stout, 1st Battalion, Australian Imperial Force;Lieutenant W. J. Symons,Lieutenant F. H. Tubb,Corporal Alexander Stewart Burton,Corporal William Dunstan, 7th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force.
The seven gallant men whose names appear above were the outstanding heroes of the Lone Pine plateau. (See pages 276-7.) It is impossible to describe the fearless gallantry with which they charged and captured the roofed-in trenches of the enemy and beat off countless attacks. Keysor did miracles of bombing, and frequently caught live grenades as they fell into his trench and flung them back on the enemy. During the fierce encounters Corporal Burton was killed and Lieutenant Tubb was wounded.
Corporal C. R. G. Bassett, New Zealand Divisional Signal Company.
You will remember how the New Zealanders, on 7th August, won the Chunuk Bair ridge and came within an ace of victory. While they struggled to maintain themselves against fierce and constant counter-attacks, Corporal Bassett in full daylight and under a heavy fire laid a telephone wire from the old position to the new one. More than once afterwards he repeated the same exploit.
Captain Percy Howard Hansen, 8/4 Battalion, the Lincolnshire Regiment.
On the 9th August the Lincolnshires captured the "Green Knoll" on Chocolate Hill (see page281); but when the enemy set the scrub on fire they were forced to retire, leaving wounded behind them. Captain Hansen, with three or four volunteers, dashed forward several times into the burning scrub under a terrible fire, and rescued six of his wounded comrades.
Private Alfred Potts, 1/1 Berkshire Yeomanry, T.F.
On page281I told you how the Bucks, Berks, and Dorset Yeomanry made a heroic advance on 21st August. In the course of that attack Private Potts was wounded in the thigh, but not entirely disabled. He might have returned to his trench in safety; but he preferred to remain with a comrade who had been stricken down and was unable to move. For forty-eight hours he lay by his friend, and then fixed a shovel to the man's equipment, and, using it as a sledge, dragged the poor fellow back over 600 yards to his own lines, which he reached about half-past nine on the evening of 23rd August.
Second Lieutenant H. V. H. Throssell, 10th Light Horse Regiment, Australian Imperial Force.
This gallant officer held the end of a trench on Hill 60 (29th and 30th August) practically by himself. He killed six or seven Turks with his rifle, and was hit several times; but he refused to leave his post, and went on fighting until late in the evening, when the doctor ordered him out of the trenches. A comrade said, "I can see him now, the very best type of the best Australian manhood. . . . The man I want to follow, the man to lead me in a big fight—that is Throssell, V.C."
Second Lieutenant A. V. Smith, 1/5 Battalion East Lancashire Regiment, Territorial Force.
On 22nd December, during the trench fighting that preceded our withdrawal from Gallipoli, Lieutenant Smith, when in the act of throwing a lighted bomb, slipped on the wet ground and fell. The bomb dropped into the trench. He immediately shouted a warning to his men and jumped clear into safety; but seeing that his comrades were unable to get away, and knowing that the explosion of the bomb would kill many of them, he ran back, and without a moment's hesitation flung himself upon the bursting grenade. It exploded, and he was instantly killed; but he died knowing full well that by the sacrifice of himself he had saved the lives of many of his friends. Lieutenant Smith might have saved himself; he preferred to follow the Divine example and die for the salvation of others.
In the basin of the great American river Mississippi one may go forth on a spring morning with the sun brightly shining and a blue sky overhead, yet within a single hour all may be terribly changed. The wind suddenly begins to roar, and in a few minutes a storm bursts in awful fury. Whole forests are laid low; houses, villages, and towns are swept into ruin; men, women, and children lie dead beneath the stone and timber that sheltered them; the pride and labour of years are destroyed in a moment, and terror and desolation stalk the land. The terrible blast sweeps on, but gradually abates its ruthless might, and by nightfall all is calm again. The stars gleam brightly from the storm-swept sky, and the moon shines with a message of cheer to the survivors, who with the morning light begin to repair the ravages which they have suffered, and to go about their business once more, inspired by that hope which "springs eternal in the human breast."
Somewhat thus may we picture the Eastern arena of battle during the year 1915. A mighty tornado suddenly burst upon the Russian armies, and the whole aspect of the war was changed. The smiling sky of early April was a fierce rack of roaring thunder clouds by the middle of May. The onward sweep of the whirlwind could not be resisted; the Russians reeled beneath the shock; hundreds of thousands of their soldiers were swept into eternity, and for months hopeless ruin stared the survivors in the face. They recoiled before the terrible blast, and fell back into the vastnesses of their land, leaving behind them all the gains of nine months' hard battling. Whole provinces were yielded; great cities fell into the hands of their foes, yet with sublime resolution they still plodded eastwards until the fury of the storm began to abate. By this time they had knitted up their strength anew, and were strong enough not merely to resist the failing onset, but to make headway against it. And so it came about that the dire gloom of early summer brightened into new hope by autumn, and Russia's foes, though they had reft from her enormous tracts of territory, knew in their hearts that they had failed. They had aimed at utterly destroying their enemy, but they had done nothing of the kind, and the new territory which they had won was likely to become a Pandora's[53]chest of troubles. By the end of the year they were strung out on a line of nine hundred miles, across the marshes and plains of Russia.
On page125of this volume I told you that with the fall of Przemysl on 22nd March the Allies were full of hope that before the close of the summer Cracow would fall, Silesia would be entered, the Russians would be sweeping through Hungary, and the end of the war would be in sight. But at the very moment when they were cherishing these rosy hopes, there was much weakness in the Russian armies. They were holding far too long a line for the number of men and guns which they could put into the field; their forces were not joined up, but were divided by gaps, and they had not sufficient railway lines to enable them to move troops and supplies to any point which might be threatened.
Their greatest weakness, however, was their shortage of artillery, machine guns, rifles, and ammunition. They had multitudes of men, but they could not arm them properly. Large numbers of their recruits were without rifles, and had to wait in the trenches, often under heavy fire, until they could take up the arms and ammunition of the wounded. This grave shortage of munitions was guessed at the time, but the truth was only fully known in February 1916, when the Russian Minister of War lifted the veil. He told us that prior to the outbreak of hostilities the Russians had relied on Germany for most of their war material, and for all the chemicals which enabled them to manufacture high-explosive shells. The consequence was that when the German supply was cut off, the Russians had to build munition factories, and make the necessary chemicals for themselves. It is more than likely, too, that there was serious wrongdoing in high quarters, for in March 1916 the general who was Minister of War in the early months of 1915 was brought to trial. For these reasons the Russians could not for a considerable time properly munition their armies, and this led to the great misfortune which I am about to describe.
Despite their weaknesses, the Russians were too near success for the German High Command to feel comfortable. The Russian armies in Galicia were only fifty miles from Cracow; they had won fifty miles or more of the Carpathian watershed, and in some places they commanded the southern ends of the passes. Unless they were checked, and checked speedily, they would sweep down upon the great granary of Hungary, and Germany would lose her greatest source of wheat supplies. There was no time to be lost. A gigantic effort must begin immediately, and the Russians must be cleared out of Galicia altogether.
Preparations were at once made with the utmost secrecy and dispatch, and before the Russians had more than an inkling of what was on foot, Germany was ready to strike. Never before in the history of the world have so many guns and men been so silently and swiftly brought up to an enemy's front. The secret was wonderfully kept. Train after train heavily laden with hundreds of big guns and three-quarters of all the shells that had been made in the busy munition factories of Germany during the winter was hurried to Galicia, and soon the new depots erected near the Donajetz were full to overflowing. Then followed many pontoons and much bridging material, for many rivers would have to be crossed on the line of the proposed advance. New hospital stations were established, a network of telegraph lines was erected, and great herds of cattle for feeding the armies were penned behind the German lines. Then, with the same speed and secrecy, masses of troops were hurried into Galicia, and before long there were two millions of men between Bukovina and Cracow. Not until everything was ready did Dmitrieff discover his danger.
The plan of campaign was as follows. Von Mackensen was to be provided with not less than 1,500 guns and ten army corps, and with these he was to batter his way through the Russian lines. He meant to overwhelm the Russian trenches by means of a hurricane of artillery fire, and then thrust forward his men in close order, wave after wave, and drive the broken and dazed enemy before him. He was going to do what we had done at Neuve Chapelle, but he had far better prospects of success, for the Russians had neglected to prepare second and third lines of defence, and they were woefully deficient in artillery, rifles, and ammunition. Once he could get the Russians on the run he might envelop and utterly destroy them. At any rate, he would hurl them back to the river San.
This map shows you the Russian line on 28th April. By this time Dmitrieff was aware that a mighty force of Germans was in front of him. He sent an urgent message to Ivanov, begging for two corps as reinforcements; but by some mistake the message never reached headquarters, and he was forced to meet the terrible thrust of the enemy with only his winter strength.
Von Mackensen began the action by an advance on Gorlice, and Dmitrieff was forced to weaken his centre in order to strengthen his left wing. Meanwhile the real attack was beginning farther north. Midway between Gorlice and Tarnow you will see a break on the Russian front. It was against this point that von Mackensen made his great effort. On the morning of 1st May hundreds of his big guns began to roar, and soon shells were falling fast and thick on the Russian trenches. It is said that no less than 700,000 shells were hurled against the Russian positions on that day. Nothing could live in the whirlwind of death, and speedily the Russian trenches were wiped out, and thousands of Russians with them.
Meanwhile pontoons were pushed across the river, and as soon as the bombardment ceased wave after wave of Germans in close order surged forward. By the next day they had broken through the Russian line, and the whole of the front was turned. There was nothing for it but swift retreat. Nor were the Russians able to make a stand until they were twenty miles from the position which they had occupied all winter.
On the little river Wisloka they halted, and turned their faces to the foe. The line of the river gave them but a poor defence; but it was necessary that they should hold back the enemy if Brussilov's army, which lay along the foothills of the Carpathians, was to escape. By this time the famous Caucasian corps had been hurried up to stem the German torrent. These devoted men, though they had no heavy guns, defied the terrible artillery fire of the enemy, and at length managed to get to grips with him. They fought with supreme valour; they captured one of the German batteries, took 7,000 prisoners, and slew many thousands more. Not until they had lost 10,000 men did they perceive that no human valour could avail against Mackensen's merciless guns. For five priceless days they held out, and then were forced to retreat towards the little river Wistok.
Soon the retreat became something like a rout, and Brussilov's army was in deadly peril. For a moment it looked as if von Mackensen was about to roll up the two halves of Dmitrieff's army and achieve another Sedan. But the Russians managed to push out strong forces towards Sanok and check the advancing enemy. The five days' stand on the Wisloka and this new movement enabled Brussilov, after much desperate fighting, to withdraw his troops from the foothills, and to retreat eastwards. Many of his men who were south of the Dukla and Lupkow Passes were cut off and made prisoners.
This check enabled the Russian armies to withdraw towards the San and take up the position shown upon the map (page293). There was now no fear of a rout, andthey reached the new position in perfect order. So far all von Mackensen's efforts to roll them up had failed. He had won a great victory, it is true; in a fortnight he had pushed back Dmitrieff some eighty-five miles, and had taken large numbers of prisoners and much war material. He had loosed upon the Russians such a storm of fire as had never been known before in the history of the world, and, blasted and scorched, they had fallen back hurriedly with overwhelming numbers hard on their heels. They had suffered awful losses, but they had not been destroyed. Most armies under such terrible punishment would have broken into flying fragments, but the Russians showed all the dourness and fortitude of their race and managed to hold together. Their rearguards freely sacrificed themselves, that the army might make good its escape. It was unbroken and undefeated at the Wistok, and the latter part of its retreat to the San was slow and orderly. The German victory was thus matched by an equally great Russian achievement. On 12th May the Russian army, after passing through an agony that seemed to promise its total destruction, lay along the San with its face still to the foe.
While the Russians were retreating from the Wistok to the San, the Grand Duke Nicholas and his staff looked the facts fairly in the face. They knew that they were hopelessly outclassed by the Germans both in guns and in number of men, and it was idle to suppose that they could resist von Mackensen's terrible thunderstorm of shell until they were equally well supplied. If they gave battle to the foe they would be utterly wiped out. As a Russian soldier put it, "We have only one weapon, the living breast of the soldier." The Grand Duke finally decided to retreat, not for leagues, but for hundreds of miles. He would draw the Germans on and on until he led them into the very heart of Russia if need be. As the Germans followed him eastwards they would leave the railways behind them and be forced to move their monster guns and heavy loads of shell over country without railways and without good roads. Thousands of square miles of territory would have to be given up to the invader, but as he pushed eastward his strength would grow less and less, and the time would be gained for Russia to supply herself with the guns and munitions which she so sorely lacked. Then, at last, her hour would strike. She would be able to turn and rend the weakened foe.