August 23rd.—I ended my notes two days ago by remarking that we were all in good spirits over what seemed to us to be a victory. Soon after that some of us had to change our tune. Two officers were ordered up to Chocolate Hill, so Agassiz and I went across the north side of the Salt Lake which we found dry and caked hard. Towards the far end, as we neared the terrible hill, bullets were flying in hundreds—one struck the ground practically under my left foot, another passed between Agassiz and myself when we certainly were not a foot apart. A few more hundred yards, at the double, took us to that absolute inferno, Hill 53. (The hills were named according to their height, 53 meaning 53 metres high.) We got to the top through dead and dying men lined out everywhere. We at once looked up the A.D.M.S. who, along with the heads of the 29th Division, was in a deep and strongly protected dug-out. Now came the terrible and most unexpected news—theStaff were in a state of hysterics—Hill 72, which is separated from Hill 53 by a small dip, had been fought for all day and captured at immense cost, and was now about to be given up, it was impossible for us to hold it. The 11th Division had sent word that they were at a certain point which was their objective, but they were actually some distance behind that, and never did reach that point. But this piece of information, which the line had been eagerly waiting for, now allowed our centre to advance, thinking they had the 11th Division protecting their flank. They soon got too far forward and were at once enfiladed. This was the beginning of what was a catastrophe and which will cost us thousands of lives to rectify. "We are to give up Hill 72," said the A.D.M.S., "and if the Turks make a night attack, as they always do after an engagement, we'll be pushed off this Hill (53) into the valley, and it is hard to say where it will end. In that case we want every stretcher-bearer we can lay our hands on to work with might and main to get the wounded back from the trenches, or they will fall into the hands of the Turks." This sounded terrible, but we had to face it, so we sent back for all our men who could be spared, and many regimental men had to help to carry the wounded back, which was a most difficult piece of work.
In making communication trenches along which the wounded have to be carried from the firing trench, the carrying of stretchers is never considered. Traverses must be made certainly, and the narrower the trenches the better while fighting, but they should be made wide enough to let stretchers along, and the corners of the traverses should be rounded. As it was the stretchers could only be carried along the straight parts with the stretcher traverses "kicked in," and even then the backs of all the men's hands were peeled to the bone. Being impossible to get round the corners the stretchers had tobe raised above the top of the trench, and as a rule the bearers soon tired of doing this at every few yards, and got right over the parapets and carried in the open.
We had a terrible night, and next morning as soon as the day began to break, although we were on the opposite side of the Hill from the enemy, they knew the range so thoroughly that they dropped their shells at the exact angle of the Hill, which was but a gentle slope, and raked it from top to bottom time after time.
Those of us who escaped were lucky, but it was a bit trying to one's nerves. The Turks had made great preparations for this battle, which of course had to come off, and they fired as much ammunition as we did, and everything was to their advantage. Their snipers, often armed with machine-guns, played the very devil with our men. By good luck the Turks had had enough and did not attack at night, and we were glad when daylight came, although with it came again the terrible, raking fire.
Through the day our troops deliberately and slowly evacuated part of Hill 72, but most of it we unexpectedly managed to hold, and are likely now to stick to. Had we thoroughly defeated the Turks, as we should have done had there been no bungling, the end of this part of the campaign might have been in sight, but now we are held up, and how we are to get out of the fix will sadly baffle our Staff.
The men of the 89th F.A. behaved with admirable pluck, and worked hard, and up to evening we had eight men more or less badly wounded—one at least fatally, poor Adams. The 21st and 22nd were spent practically without food, and hardly a drop of water was to be had, and all suffered badly from thirst—more bungling.
In the afternoon of the second day it was rumoured that the whole of our Division was to be withdrawn to the reserve lines, and that our 86th Brigade, to whichwe had been again attached, were to march off as soon as it was dark, and we were to follow and take up our position behind the Infantry. Good news indeed! The G.O.C. in C. had done a wise thing in bringing two Brigades of the 29th Division round from Helles to stiffen Kitchener's Army. Our Royal Fusiliers were in reserve all the time, and although they never fired a shot were in such a position that they were badly exposed to shell fire, and were within view of snipers, and lost no fewer than 150 men.
In the dark we set off over the N.W. corner of the lake making for a certain point at the foot of a ridge. It was difficult to strike the exact spot, the night being dark, but we got wonderfully near it, and after spending a bitterly cold and cheerless night at the back of a low stone wall, across which bullets whistled all night we rectified our position before the sun rose. As we came across the lake three more of our men were hit, bullets flying about for the first mile or so. To-day, after reaching our destination, and while in a shelter, a bullet hit another in the thigh, bringing our casualty list for this fight up to sixteen. All are agreed that it has been a very bloody affair, and the difficulty of seeing a way out of our present position has made all despondent, and a number of those in high positions are being torn to shreds. Our men are not grumbling, and look as if they could go through it again, but it was a very trying two days and nights.
Fires broke out in the thick scrub almost at the very start of the battle, and after a few hours many acres were ablaze, and as it was largely from such places the men of both sides were firing many wounded were burned to death.
August 24th.—Last night we got orders to move as we were certain to be shelled, lying as we were behind theInfantry of our Brigade. We accordingly moved after dark to a gully, which is really a dry watercourse entering the middle of the north side of the Salt Lake. Agassiz and I, followed at a short distance by a few men, had no difficulty in striking the desired spot, but the others, following in small lots, got lost, only one lot reaching its destination that night. Others lay behind bushes till daylight, while Stephen and his men returned for the night to their starting-point. It showed the difficulty of moving about in the dark in a strange country. The 86th Brigade, which left Chocolate Hill the same time as ourselves got lost and wandered about for six hours. Our new site is no safer than the last, we are beside a well where men congregate from the various battalions encamped near us, and this was shelled furiously on two occasions yesterday.
August 25th.—Four calendar months since we landed on Gallipoli. And not much progress made yet.
The Royal Fusiliers, who had watched our men at work in the "Battle of Chocolate Hill," are giving them great praise for their daring. Pirie, who was waiting for bearers for his wounded, on hearing that some men coming towards him belonged to the 89th F.A. replied, "Thank God, now we are all right". Several—two at least—high-placed officers also took note of them and promised that some would be mentioned in the next despatch.
Seeing some big black Arum lilies—known as the "Dead Turk" from its evil smell—with flowers about 2 feet long, I dug up two enormous bulbs this morning, one fully 6 inches in diameter. These, with other bulbs, I will send home. (They were not an acceptable gift, they were allowed to die owing to their horrible smell.) These were growing beside a well which was shelled a couple of hours ago, but I sneaked out in safetywhen this had finished. I heard this evening that I had been "mentioned" in Sir Ian Hamilton's first despatch. Two other medical men of our Division are also mentioned—Col. Yarr, our A.D.M.S. at Helles, and Major Lindsay of the 87th F.A.
August 26th.—Pottered about in the morning after seeing some batches of sick sent in by the Regimental M.O.'s, then walked to our base on Suvla Bay Beach. Fiddes and McKenzie, who joined our Ambulance two days ago, walked out with me. They dilated to Agassiz and myself about a great discovery they had made, namely, that excellent rissoles could be made of bully beef and ground biscuits. On their departure we decided to have rissoles for supper, so Agassiz prepared a frying pan and a tin of bully, while I with a pick-shaft ground up a couple of our flinty biscuits. We had them done to a turn, and felt much better for a decent feed. We then smoked and watched big, threatening clouds scurrying over the moon, and away in the S.W. constant flashes of lightning. The weather is changing, and the rainy season is not far off. Then what on earth is to come of us? We'll be washed out of the gullies, to be shot down in the open.
August 27th.—Agassiz and I returned to the base at 7.30 p.m. and were relieved by Fiddes and McKenzie. Plenty of firing by both sides, but nothing worth noting.
August 28th.—A day at the Beach—a weary place and I wish I was back in The Gully. Here we are encamped at the top of Suvla Bay, at the edge of a wide stretch of soft sand, which is dotted all over with men and their shallow dug-outs in the sand. We are protected by a number of Red Cross flags, several Ambulances and the C.C.S. These have never been shelled by the Turks,and one feels absolutely safe, but I miss the healthy excitement of our little Gully. As I watched the bearers and wagons being shelled during the last fight it struck me at the time that all the shrapnel might be coming from a single battery, and I now think there can be no doubt about this. It must have been a battery of four or five guns in command of a beastly German.
August 29th.—Sunday. Nothing doing—except that the usual artillery duel goes on, and a Taube crossed over us. These we occasionally fire at but never hit.
August 30th.—Feeling bored to death I took a pleasure walk out to our dressing station in The Gully, where Stephen and Thomson are at present on duty. After dark I returned alone, trudging first down The Gully almost to the Salt Lake, then cutting off to the right towards our base. It is very different from the great Gully at Helles (The Gully), being but a watercourse, averaging 8 to 10 yards in width and most of it not over 6 feet deep. It has huge clumps of rushes and lofty, graceful reeds which give it a tropical appearance, and in a few places are pools of dirty, green water that has not dried up since the last rainy season, and in these water tortoises and big green frogs live in hundreds. To-night it was rather weird as I came along, with the bull frogs croaking, and several other nocturnal animals making loud cries, down past the "Turk's grave," where a pile of dead had been collected in The Gully and a little earth thrown over them, and now the odour is so strong that one has to pass at the double, holding one's breath. The very earth over them looks wet and greasy as I noticed to-day. The whole Gully is full of dug-outs from end to end. These had been made on the first days of the landing and are now untenanted. Lying about unheeded is equipment of all sorts, which had belonged to our dead and wounded.
A Taube dropped two bombs at our ships to-day, but missed as usual. And our not firing at the marauder showed that we had not much faith in our own shooting. The warships and a monitor were busy towards evening battering some unseen object away beyond the mountains—perhaps the forts of "The Narrows".
We have two Welsh Ambulances beside us. The men move very smartly and are evidently well drilled. They are great psalm singers, and always at it.
August 31st.—The Australians over at Anzac seem very busy to-day. So also are the Turks whose shells are falling thick on land and sea, and our ships are firing at some target beyond Sari Bair (Hill 972).
We had a curious plague of midges last night: they attacked the lamp and table in our mess in thousands, and made things so unpleasant that we had to hurry from the table. These have never bothered us before, and I doubt if I ever saw a midge on Gallipoli before.
September 1st.—Agassiz and I came out to the dressing station as it was getting dark last night.
Two new officers and twenty men joined us yesterday—Captains Wilson and Tawse.
Wiseley, M.O. to the Lancs., passed through our station this forenoon, badly wounded in the head by a sniper. It looks as if it was all up with him. (He died before he reached the C.C.S.) Tawse followed from our base to take his place. Pirie of the Royals looked us up, and told us he was down for "mention" in the next despatch. We have all admired, and often spoken about, the good work and earnest devotion of Pirie, and are delighted these are to be recognised, even in this small way. We were talking about the huge bungle of the landing at Suvla. It seems agreed had it not been that two Territorial Battalions turned tail when faced by ahandful of Turks things here would have been totally different, and the ridges which are not yet ours should have been taken and held the first day. A distinguished General is said to have remarked: "Had there been more sweat on the part of the men there would have been less blood". We have one excellent General here now who pokes his nose into everything, says what he thinks, whether polite or otherwise, and swears at large. He says that without a good backing of swears people will never believe you are in earnest. Only men of blood and iron are of any use at the present moment for filling our high places.
Pirie was telling us that they had two Australian snipers attached to the Royals, and one of their own men who had done a good deal of jungle shooting was an excellent sniper. One night he was out and had crawled to within 30 yards of the Turks' trenches trying to get as much information as possible, when lo, and behold! he found by his watch it was 5.30 and broad daylight. He had fallen asleep. However, by careful crawling he succeeded in gaining his own lines in safety. It is always by night these men work, and the Australian snipers get two days off every week to go to the base for a rest. This time is usually spent in their going somewhere else to snipe. Fighting to the Australians is great sport and nothing else.
In the afternoon an East Kent officer paid us a visit. He tells us that rumours of peace with Turkey are again afloat. We have heard this sort of stuff before and don't believe it.
September 2nd.—Agassiz and I had attended the sick of our Brigade during the day, and spent a quiet time about the dressing station, gathering enough brambles to make an excellent dish for supper, when suddenly at 7.30 the scene changed. First two cannon shots, thewell-known signal for a Turkish attack, a short pause then a general cannonade from the Turks which was fast and furious. I do not suppose anyone could have guessed they had so many guns in position, but for half an hour—twenty-three minutes to be exact—they simply deluged with shrapnel our trenches on the hill on our extreme left (Hizlar Dagh), and rifle fire from both sides was equally furious. The part of The Gully we occupy as a dressing station runs north and south, and I could not have believed it could possibly have been enfiladed, but bullets, after the first few minutes, got diverted our way, and came right along our position in a most alarming way. All lay low at once, except our servant, Wallace, who had just removed our supper things and was sitting on the edge of a low trench leading into our dug-out when he called out, "Oh!" I turned round and said, "What's up?" "I am struck," he said, and fell into my arms. We laid him down on the floor of the dug-out, and in a few minutes he breathed his last. So ended the days of an excellent fellow. Formerly a ship's steward he had seen the world, and was a splendid servant and much liked by the whole Ambulance. This only added to the alarm that had seized us all, which was due to the very insufficient protection we had on the side the bullets were coming from. Agassiz and I lay hard up against the north side of our dug-out—little more than a few dry lumps of clay—while Wallace's body was stretched alongside us. As I have said, this attack ended in twenty-three minutes, but at 8.30 there was a second and similar one. We had all made up our minds that the Turks were to break through and would be down on us, and all had secretly decided what they were to do, and how much of their equipment they would take in case we were forced to retreat. All this fighting was but a very short way to our left.
This morning we sent Wallace's body back to ourbase, where it lay till the return of C Section at 7.30 p.m., as we wished to be present at the last rites, and we could only turn out in a body after dark. The moon was not due for hours, but in the dark, with only the stars for light, and a brilliant planet in the east, we listened to Padre Campion's short service. He, being an Episcopal clergyman, had to accommodate himself to us Presbyterians, and he recited "Abide with me," then read the piece, "I am the Resurrection," and ended with "The Lord's Prayer". Then back again to camp, supper, and general conversation.
Rumours reach us that the Germans are still being pressed back about Warsaw, that the Austrians have been defeated in Galicia, and the Turks in the Caucasus.
The Australians at Anzac are making steady, though slow, progress, which appears to be the only point where we can press on at all. The Marquis of Tullibardine arrived here to-day with a body of Scottish Horse—unmounted of course. Padre Campion says he was at Eton with this brilliant soldier.
September 4th.—A very moderate S.W. breeze is blowing to-day, and our pontoon pier of about thirty boats has gone all to pieces and lies on the sand. Its sole use was to get patients away from the C.C.S. to the hospital ships. This shows us the difficulties we will have to face in winter with our patients and stores—if we are to be here, which heaven forbid! Padre Dennis Jones has just told me that the betting is that the war in Turkey will be over in a fortnight. He also says he was in the trenches last night when word was passed round to prepare to meet a big Turkish attack after dark. This did not come off, last night was quiet except for an occasional spurt of rifle fire.
September 5th.—Sir Ian Hamilton is reported to have said that the war will be over in ten days.
This morning we have been notified that we go to Imbros, probably for a week, on the night of the 8/9th. This does not seem to give pleasure to many. It means a night spent in crossing, and being tired all next day when we will have to work hard to provide shelter, then returning before we get really settled down. If this order takes effect we will besides miss the "grand finale" which will be held among the forts of "The Narrows" (!!!)
There was much artillery fire by both sides yesterday, and this morning they have been very busy—they even managed to send two shells after a Taube, these bursting many hundred yards behind their objective. But it let the Taube see that we were not asleep at 7.30 a.m.
My friend Pirie, M.O. to the Royals, passed through this in the afternoon, having been wounded in the back while he was holding his Sick Parade—only a "couchy wound," such as the Irish pray to the Virgin Mary to send them at the beginning of a fight, so that they might escape something worse. Pirie walked in with his usual smile, and pleaded with us, before we knew there was anything wrong, "not to make him laugh as it was sore". (To everyone's sorrow, Pirie was afterwards killed in France.)
September 7th.—It was the duty of Agassiz and myself to take over the dressing station last night, and there we now are. After the experience we had last time when we did not feel over comfortable after dark and the bullets began to fly, we were glad to occupy the same dug-out during the night, for the sake of company. It is a most unpleasant feeling to find you are fired at when alone. I have noticed this especially when out a walk just as it is getting dark. You ask yourself how long you may have to lie, if you get wounded, before anyonecomes your way. But even in daylight if shells are dropping about they are doubly terrifying if you are alone.
This Gully has been a most uncomfortable place all along, its banks afford little protection from rifle fire; they are too low for cross-fire, and a few days ago we found it could be enfiladed. At ordinary times we have only occasional bullets during the day, but as soon as the shades of night begin to fall they come in a constant stream, and we are only safe when we retire to the depths of our dug-outs—if our shallow pits are worthy of the name.
We keep wondering what sort of a holiday we are to have in Imbros. Are there to be plagues of flies and dust as in Lemnos? However, it will break the monotony which is getting very oppressive, and some of ours keep up a constant grumble at everybody and everything.
The nights are now very cold, but the heat by day seems about as intense as ever.
September 9th.—We had orders yesterday to embark at Little West Beach, at the north point of Suvla Bay. We were there at 7.30 p.m. and were to embark at 8. It was a weary trudge, for we were heavily laden, along the very edge of the bay to take advantage of the narrow strip of firm sand that gets washed by the "tideless Mediterranean". Our four Battalions were present, and after some delay over our baggage, all which was finally got on board, the great lumbering barge, which had 400 men and all the regimental baggage on board, refused to budge. She was fast on the rocks where the water was very shallow. At last she moved, going out a few yards then returning and taking all the Dublins and so many Royals on board. Then she again stuck fast. It was now getting late; the ship this barge was taking us out to was booked to sail at 3.30 a.m., and this time hadto be kept regardless of our convenience. As she was still aground at that hour the order was given to disembark. All this time we had been lying shivering on the dust and stones, waiting for our turn, and now, with our spirits at zero, we marched back to our base, reaching it at 4.45 as light was showing in the east, so that we got back none too soon. The long wait we had put in, with a cold wind blowing, had chilled us all thoroughly. All had some brandy on our return, we got to bed at 5.30, and I for one slept like a top and rose refreshed at 8.30, as also did Agassiz. He and I felt so famished that we ground up some ration biscuits and made porridge, which we enjoyed. None of the others got off their stretchers before mid-day, when they did not know whether to order breakfast or dinner. It ended in high tea.
A wagon with six mules passed behind us this afternoon, and drew a hot shrapnel fire on all the Ambulances on the Beach. We had one man wounded, the 1st Welsh one killed (Capt. Clark) and three wounded, and the 3rd Welsh four wounded.
We again have orders to embark at 7.30.
September 10th.—The hour for embarking was afterwards changed to 8.30. Owing to the shelling we had just been subjected to this pleased us, as we could march down in the dark at this later hour. We got on board without any adventures and were taken out by two tow boats to our old friend, the "Abbassieh". The sea was choppy and our boat bumped unmercifully against the ship's side and ladder. We had supper on board, tea, bread and butter with cheese making a right royal feast, these articles never tasting half so good in all our lives before. Never till then did I fully appreciate how much we had roughed it since we came to Suvla Bay. Our bread has usually been vile, and often was not to be hadat all, and everything has been unusually filthy and smelly. This was often due to our being unable to spare a drop of water to wash out our cooking utensils.
No doubt what has really taken it out of us most is the constant danger we are in from bullets and shells, and especially the former at our Advanced Dressing Station in The Gully (Azmac Dere). After supper and a glass of beer we went to bed, and found genuine spring mattresses, a tremendous luxury. The very ground at Suvla seems to be harder than at Helles, and I often get up in the morning feeling stiff and sore. However, I much prefer living on chunks of anything out at the dressing station, and sleeping on a few rushes spread on the bottom of a shallow hole, to the comforts and safety of our base in the sandbank of Suvla Bay.
When the anchor was raised, with the usual amount of rattle, it roused one of our men who was asleep on deck; he sprang to his feet and dashed over the ship's rail, and really never woke up till he found himself in the water. Cries of "man overboard" were raised, and with much scurrying the ladder was let down, and being a strong swimmer he was got on board none the worse for his early bath. He was sent down to the engine room to dry.
We landed at Imbros about 9 a.m.
Imbros is a busy place, and has a big natural harbour facing the north, dotted over with warships and transports, and a considerable number of monitors each armed with one or two huge guns, all 14-inch I believe.
Our camp is in a dusty spot, and the wind makes it disagreeable and ruffles our tempers. There are about a dozen canteens, run by Greeks whose prices I am glad to see are fixed for all articles. I bought two kilos (4½ lbs.) of grapes and a few tomatoes, intending them for our mess, but I could not resist the grapes, I had an overpowering longing for fruit, and ate most of them,skins, stones and all, on my way back. I have tried to take up a bet to eat 2 lbs. against every lb. eaten by anyone in the mess.
The hills and valleys I have not yet visited, but these look inviting. We are encamped on an extensive dead level between the sea and the hills.
September 11th.—I had a walk with Stephen last night, just before dark, to a hill about a mile off. From the top we were able to get a good idea of the beauties of Imbros. Except for the stretch where we are encamped, the whole island is one mass of rough, volcanic mountains, with narrow, fertile flats, carefully cultivated and bearing healthy, looking fig, olive, and other trees. A large herd of goats, wending their way home down a narrow track between rugged hills, away down below us, all with their bells tinkling, made a fine picture of a peaceful evening scene. As we sat and smoked beside a towering pinnacle of volcanic rock a raven went sailing past us, with his croak, croak. I remember Professor McGillivray, in his "Natural History of Deeside," describes what was perhaps a not altogether dissimilar scene among the Cairngorms, and addressing a raven on a rock beside him calls him "poor fellow".
September 12th.—Did nothing in particular to-day. We had church parade in the afternoon, Padre Campion officiating, and a mail consisting almost entirely of parcels, every second one smashed up till it could not be delivered. Stephen and I have arranged to go to Panagheia to-morrow, and we walked out to a spot at the foot of the hills to order ponies, donkeys, or whatever they had, for our trip. When there an old Greek came riding in on a donkey with two panniers full of grapes, to which he asked us to help ourselves, they cost him nothing and he would make us welcome to as many as we liked at thesame price. I ate a pound at least and still felt hungry. He said when this island was Turkish the taxes were very heavy, then the Greeks came along and they became worse, but he had been a sailor and a good deal in England, so he always swore to the tax collector that he was an Englishman and exempt from all taxes, so he has never paid a penny. We got more grapes from him, by purchase this time, big, luscious ones at 6d per kilo. We ate at our hardest while the Greek looked out big bunches that could be tied together, and for these he wanted, in Greek fashion, to charge an extra 3d. "Damn you for a greedy devil," says Stephen, we dived into his pannier and each had another big bunch, paid him, and returned to camp where we had a really good dinner—roast chicken stuffed with oatmeal and onions, beans, stewed pears, Vermouth, and three half bottles of champagne (from the Medical Comforts pannier!), then port and nuts (the former from ditto), and ended with cigars and Egyptian cigarettes. We had not dined so well since we left Alexandria.
I believe to-day is the first day since we left England on March 18 that we have not seen the sun. As we were leaving the pony depot we fell in with Atlee of the Munsters who had been at Panagheia, and he says a pony is no use except for a bit of "swank," you have to walk practically the whole way beside your animal.
Thomson went into hospital to-day. He has been ailing for some weeks, and looks thin and far from well.
September 13th.—A red letter day. Last night we had a few showers, and in the morning as the sky was overcast we at first decided not to go to Panagheia, but as the blue sky began to break through by 9 we set off and were mounted on our shelties by 10. These we picked up at the edge of the mountains, beyond the camping ground. A dozen or two of animals—ponies,donkeys, and mules—were ready saddled, the owner of each pushing his way forward when he saw a likely customer coming along, eager to display the good points of his animal. I got astride a pack saddle, a wonderful structure of substantial sticks and raw hide, with a big, comfortable cushion on the top, for stirrups a piece of rope, and bridle the same, without bit, the rope being merely twisted and knotted round the lower jaw.
We at once dipped into a deep valley, clothed on all sides in thick shrubbery, with plenty of trees in the lowest part, along which there was a tiny stream with occasional beautiful rocky pools. The trees here and all along were principally olives, figs, mulberry, and a few walnuts. The road was the merest track, littered with stones, and wound up hill and down dale. At first it was so bad that I thought it must surely lead soon to a better path, but little did I think what we were in for; we were soon among huge boulders, and nothing but boulders, up and down shelving rock, often 2 feet higher than the path, slithering over stretches of hard, bare rock, and all the time without a single stumble on the part of any one of our mounts. There were four of us—Stephen, Agassiz, Padre Campion, and myself—each with a guide dressed in blue material, and all sorts of head gear, and with the usual fold upon fold of cloth round the waist, shoes of raw hide with the hair outside, held on by twists of hide from the ankle to the knee, in proper brigand style.
The scenery soon became simply glorious, and my three companions, who all knew Switzerland, said it was exactly like that country, except for the absence of chalets. The hills rose on all sides, some to a height of 5000 feet, rough as possible, all volcanic of course, some looking as if they had belched out flames and smoke not so very long ago. One reminded me of Ben Sleoch as it rises out of Loch Maree, the same mass of rock atop, buthere more rugged. Each mountain top and side was studded with enormous needle-like pinnacles and rough warty masses. It is strange how fertile these volcanic earths are, these high mountains were clothed with trees below, and had thick shrubbery almost to the top—mostly hollyoak, I fancy. The colouring of the rocks is very fine, the colours being warm reds, browns, purples, and yellows in one mingled mass.
By 11.30 we had crossed the highest part of our path, and a wide valley came in sight a mile or two off, great masses of olive trees, with a large village away ahead on a hillside, and after a little time our destination hove in sight, round the shoulder of a mountain on our right, nestling among trees of deep green colour. These turned out to be mostly mulberry which has a very luscious and cool looking leaf; no fruit unfortunately, its season was over. We passed along the picturesque streets of Panagheia, with their projecting windows and vine entwined balconies, to a place proudly labelled "Hotel Britannic, J. Christie, proprietor, a British subject". The Hotel London we had been warned to pass by, as the catering was not so good, and strange to say, when we returned to camp and the orders of the day were being read at supper, it was there announced that this hotel was out of bounds for the time being, the proprietor being of suspected nationality.
Stephen was at his best, and was the life of the party and of everyone we came across, and greatly amused our guides. One of the guides had his little son with him who was named Georgo by Stephen, who told the little chap that his own name was Stephanos. He mounted him behind his saddle, and when lifting him down at the first halt, he said, "You've done damnedo wello, Georgo". Georgo showed by a broad grin that he felt flattered.
Lunch was ordered in the fine hotel of J. Christie,which was upstairs over a cobbler's shop, and consisted of one very small room which we filled, with a larger one off it, and behind was the kitchen, only half of which was floored, and through the great gaping part you looked down to the back of the cobbler's premises, a place full of empty bottles and the abode of J. Christie's poultry. That was the whole establishment, but they could cook. J. Christie, being an Italian and not a Britisher, was an excellentchef, and soon prepared for us first-rate soup, then boiled partridge which was likely a chicken from the hole I have mentioned. Then came the dish of the day—honey omelettes, which were brought in one at a time, glorious creations over which we poured delicious drained honey. They were so good that Stephen gave the order that they were to go on turning them out till he told them to stop. Each had two big ones, and after each you felt hungrier than ever. The wine of the country we of course also had, one called Morea not unlike champagne. Then cheese and Turkish coffee, after which we set off to view the village. We landed at the school when it chanced to be play time, but we went through the rooms followed by all the scholars, fine bright boys and girls, and Stephen with a piece of chalk showed them some new method of multiplication, which was far more complicated than the old way we all know. In a hall they had two large pictures, one of Venezelos, who they declared was good, the other of Gunariz who was bad. One little chap was the son of the local doctor and spoke French well. He said his father was a graduate of Paris University.
It was altogether a most enjoyable day, the padre saying it was the day of his life. He was a good fellow the padre, and nothing delighted him more, he remarked, than to hear Stephen saying "damn," he put so much expression into the word.
We commenced the return journey at 4.45 when thecolouring of the mountains was perfect, and the padre always insisted on dismounting to take a sketch of some particularly fine scene. He got ahead of us one time when we came upon him seated on a big stone in a rough watercourse, surrounded with oleanders and sketching a peep of a grand mountain between two nearer ridges.
When we returned we found Sir Ian Hamilton had inspected our Ambulance, and made himself pleasant all round.
September 14th.—A cold wind blew all day—from the north of course. Saw the sun only occasionally.
I took the Lancashire Fusiliers Sick Parade this morning, when 215 presented themselves as sick—every fourth man. I expect the order of the day had included a route march. There is nothing Tommy hates more than a route march.
September 15th.—The nights get still colder, and this forenoon was like an October day at home, but later it was bright and warm without a breath of wind. Our airmen made the most of the calm spell and took out the only airship we have here and circled about for at least two hours, with a fast monoplane scouting in case of reprisals. The sun is at present sinking in the west and the evening colouring among the mountains makes one long for everlasting peace, there is too much discord between such scenes and our errand out here.
September 16th.—Just as I got out of bed at 7 am some one called out that a Taube was dropping bombs. It dropped four a short way from us. It was at a great height and got a good peppering from our ships in the harbour. In about fifteen minutes it returned, or it may have been another aeroplane, and let loose five or six bombs at the G.O.C. in C.'s H.Q. where, I afterwardsheard, five men were wounded. It was heading straight over us, but the fire again got too hot for it and it made off to the south, but it was most daring and persistent and put in a third appearance, when one of our monoplanes, a very fast machine, went up and we expected some fun. After ascending in large spirals they got on the same level when the Taube turned round and faced our machine, both now at a very great height, and both evidently firing at each other, when suddenly our machine dived down at a tremendous speed. We of course thought the airman or his plane had been disabled. We heard in the evening that his gun jammed, and being helpless he wisely cleared out.
Stephen and I were to take the whole Ambulance to Panagheia, and I went early to the Lancs. to get their Sick Parade over. Stephen promised to assist and was to be up early too, but he turned up last for breakfast, and I had inspected two companies before he arrived.
Nothing eventful happened on our 6 or 7 mile march across the mountains. Big, threatening thunderclouds, with rain on the high peaks before us, rather detracted from our enjoyment, and the Greeks we met pointed to the clouds and with a descending motion of their hands prophesied rain. However, it never did rain and the afternoon was perfect. The Greeks followed us with pony loads of grapes (Staphila, they call them), pomegranates, and figs, and we fared well. A pony in front of us tumbled down a steep incline and we straightway wished to buy its load which was scattered everywhere. I picked up a lot of figs which were dead ripe and delicious. The black grapes of these parts would be difficult to beat, and I must have eaten 3 lbs. of these on our way.
After halting the men beyond the village, and having lunch to which they were allowed beer, a luxury which few of them had tasted for many months, Stephen and Iwent to a small village half a mile further on. Many go from Panagheia to Castro, a fishing village, but our little place was off the beaten track and quite unspoiled. We entered a primitive café where we had a cup of good coffee, served as usual in a very tiny cup with a big tumbler of water. Two Greek policemen were sipping their coffee and playing cards, and we managed to enter into conversation with them and some other loafers. Many of the old women were spinning about their doors, and we saw some of their work. Their wool (goat's) when carded is very fine and fluffy, but the material when woven is hard and looks as if it would wear for ever.
Next we sat down in front of what we thought was a school and made a sketch of it. It turned out to be the church of Sainte Varvara. The school is alongside, and the dominie had eyed us and came over and took us through the church. We thought he was a verger, and Stephen wished to purchase every holy relic in it. Then we tipped him a few coppers, and tapers were accordingly lit and planted in a basin of sand. All the Greek churches we have seen are very ornate and tawdry, with a multitude of pictures and tall candlesticks. The pulpit towered till it almost touched the low ceiling. The centre of the churches is always vacant, and round this space there is always a row of high-backed seats. I fancy the difference between the Greek and Roman churches is not great. Both give much prominence to the Virgin and Child, but I am told that one of the differences is that the former does not regard the Virgin as a Saint. A number of saints were pictured here, including Sainte Varvara, to whom the building is dedicated.
We next looked into the school, a tumble down place, but clean and tidy, and with about forty bright, neatly dressed children. Stephen was delighted at the sightand beamed on them all, and yelled and laughed, gave a little chap a sum of multiplication on the blackboard which he did correctly, then he had to show him his new and more complicated way of getting the answer. This new method is very peculiar, but the two answers were identical, to the astonishment of the dominie, who was apparently able to follow the steps. "Now," says Stephen, "I want all the children to say 'Venezelos good' and to give him a cheer." This was done most heartily. "Now, say Gunariz bad." This time, I think, they did not understand what was wanted of them; however, with a little persuasion from Stephen and the dominie they got through it in a mild way. There was something refreshing and homelike in our visit to the kiddies. They all jumped smartly to their feet as we were leaving. The dominie accompanied us up the street, where we admired the trees laden with clusters of beautiful red-cheeked pomegranates. I had never seen this fruit growing before, but here every garden was full of it.
We next stopped to watch a woman spinning inside a doorway, with an instrument like a fiddle bow—either that or she was carding the wool with it, this being in fluffy billows about her on the floor. She asked us to enter—all by signs of course. We had a look round her kitchen which was very clean, the fireplace and articles about being mostly not unlike what one could see at home. In a corner was a broad, low divan on which she threw some cushions, on which we sat with our legs tucked under us, which we supposed was the correct fashion, and what was expected of us. She next got us two small glasses of brandy, a saucer with a few small biscuits and two tumblers of water, and placed all neatly on a small table with a cover. The brandy was strong and scented, and not much to my liking; however, I drank it and felt grateful to this good soul for her hospitality and showingus a little Grecian home life. At one side of the room there was a part shut off by a curtain which we concluded was a box-bed, but Stephen had a look in and found it full of shelves with blankets and articles of clothing. "But where do the devils sleep?" Stephen kept on saying, and by resting his head on his hands and snoring he tried to get the woman to understand that he was curious as to this point. Her demeanour at once changed, her temper was up, and we cleared off down the street.