CHAPTER XVIII"STUNTS"

BERGIN—ROBERTSON—MILLER—GOOD AND BRAVE CHRISTIAN DIVINES—TURKISH IMAMS—A CHESS-PLAYING CLERIC—POCKET TESTAMENTS AND SUNDAY SERVICES—HILL-SIDE WORSHIP—HYMNS AND THE CANNONS' ROAR

In the training camps in Australia the chaplains conducted services, helped at the concerts, and generally made themselves useful and agreeable. On the transports they did pretty much the same thing; but somehow we never seemed to know them, and they, in turn, knew very few of us by name. It was when we settled down in Egypt that we first began to know them, and to appreciate their work. And since Cairo has the reputation of being the wickedest city in the world, there was ample scope for the operations of the chaplains.

But one of the chaplains had adamantine ideason theological subjects. He was a great scholar, and had other virtues, but his conscience would not let him participate in the combined services with the other ministers. So when we came away to thrash the Turk we left him behind in Egypt.

In his stead we took an Irishman—Father Bergin. He was a good sport, a good priest, brave as a lion, and with wounded soldiers gentle as a nurse. His only fault was that he always wanted to be right up in the firing line, for he dearly loved a "scrap"—being Irish. When the 5th Light Horse Regiment had their fight near Gaba Tepe, Father "Mike" was everywhere tending the wounded, and as a water-carrier he rivalled Gunga Din. Those of us who were not of the "faithful" learned to like him more and more, and if the campaign had lasted much longer I fear we would have all been "Romans."

Then there was Captain Robertson, young and quiet, and kind of heart. I don't think any of us ever saw him in a pulpit. Mostly he had to preach in tents or in the open air. I have heard him hold forth in an Anzac gully, with the shells bursting overhead. Again, I have sat at his feet right in the support trenches, just behind thefiring-line, while his sentences were punctuated by the report of snipers' rifles. He used to dwell on "historic associations." He told us that our feet had trod the same streets and fields as Moses and Aaron and Pharaoh, Joseph and Mary, the Apostle Paul, Antony and Cleopatra, Helen of Troy, Mahomet Ali, Napoleon and Byron, and a host of others. His forte, however, was not preaching, but practising. He practised most of the Christian virtues. He was the soldiers' friend, and when we'd sit and smoke and yarn round the camp fire at night, and some one swore inadvertently, he was not righteous overmuch.

Our third padre, the Senior Chaplain of the Brigade, was Captain Keith Miller. As the Americans say, he was "some preacher." At Ma'adi we used to have the big tent packed with 2,000 soldiers. Visitors from Cairo and beyond used to go from our services as much impressed with the preacher as with the physique and bearing of the Light Horsemen. Sermon-tasters from St. Andrew's, Cairo, nodded their heads in grave approval. Elders, with an air of finality, said, "Yon's a fine deliverance"; and other elders answered "Aye." The padre's final orationand peroration before we left for the front won the special commendation of General Birdwood, who was present. I forget now what the sermon was about—but I know I wanted to cheer at the end of it.

On one of the Turkish prisoners captured, we found a copy of a divisional order, in which the O.C. stated:—"I have many times been round the fire trenches, but have never met any Imam. I lately gave an order that Imams were to be constantly in the trenches, in order to keep up the morale of the men by preaching and exhorting; and whenever possible men should be assembled for prayer, and the call for prayer should be cried by a fine-voiced Imam."

Now, it is pleasing to record that no such order was necessary in the ranks of the Australian division. Our chaplains since the memorable day of the landing played their part manfully in the great game. McKenzie of the Salvation Army was real grit; one of the finest of our militant Churchmen. They were in the trenches day and night, talking with the men, writing letters home to their people, visiting the sick; and every man in our brigade was supplied with a neat littlepocket Testament by a friend of the New South Wales Auxiliary of the British and Foreign Bible Society. And on Sundays there were services in all the brigades—in the gullies, or under the crests of the hills behind the firing line. And sometimes we couldn't hear the singing because of the cannons' roar; there was not one solitary spot in Anzac absolutely safe from the enemy's fire. And yet I have never heard of any soldier being wounded at any of these services! Once Padre Miller was conducting a service in Shrapnel Valley, and had finished his firstly, secondly, and thirdly, and was just coming to the peroration, when shrapnel shells burst overhead. So the service had to be abandoned. That was a "sair" trial to the "Meenister."

Yet, in spite of his many estimable qualities, I regret to state that Padre Miller had one besetting sin. It was a secret sin. Only a few of us knew of his weakness. He played chess. Yes, played chess over and over and over again. When in Cairo others of us would play tennis, he would slink away with some old crony and play chess. I have known him play till two o'clock in the morning at a game. (There is no doubt about the hour,because he called for me on the way back to camp.) He was often late at mess, playing chess. He scarce had time to dress, playing chess. Admittedly he played well, and after defeating the Ma'adi champions he sought fresh victims in Cairo. The Scotch engineer on the transport was a fine player, but he couldn't checkmate the padre.

When we landed in Gallipoli the first thing the padre did was to dig a dug-out. The second was to seek a chess-mate. There was no chessboard, so he got the lid of a box. There were no chessmen, so he carved Queens and Bishops and Knights and Pawns out of the flotsam and jetsam on Anzac Beach. Then, safely ensconced in a snug little dug-out, the padre and his mate stalemated and checkmated to their hearts' content, oblivious of the shells which burst around. Immediately after his tour of the trenches, and his visit to the sick, the padre would make for his chess-mate.

Later on we found him making periodical visits to the hospital ship. I admit he religiously did the rounds of the wards, and looked after the wounded, and I frankly admit that I went onboard to see the nurses, but I'm positive the driving force behind the padre's visits was the prospect of a game of chess with the skipper.

After a few months on Gallipoli the Padre was transferred to the hospital at Lemnos. We all sympathized with him, stuck at the base, and missing all the fun of the fighting. Then we heard that the M.O. at the hospital was a great chess-player, and we knew that the Padre never deserved our sympathy.

AN INCONVENIENT COUGH—"IMSHI"—AN EMPTY NEST AND A DASH FOR COVER—A CLOSE SHAVE—SNIPER SING—MIDGLEY'S MYRMIDONS—A GOOD "BAG"—A WAR OF TROGLODYTES—BEATING THE TURK AT HIS OWN GAME

They are not battles or fights; they are hardly skirmishes even. They are just "stunts."

I don't like the word "stunt"; it sounds like an American vaudeville turn. But somehow it attained a general vogue on Gallipoli, and it meant any of the little incidents, episodes, and brushes with the enemy which served to relieve the monotony of trench warfare.

Having been ousted from their "impregnable" positions on the coast, the Turks dug in deep to block the advance of the Australians on the westand the Allies on the south. Slowly they were being shifted; more by the pick and shovel than the rifle. The trenches were only a few yards apart in some places; several hundred yards apart in others. And it was in the neutral zone between the hostile armies that these "stunts" took place.

Mostly they were planned and executed under cover of darkness, for a head couldn't be shown above the trenches in daylight without getting a score of bullets. Our chaps were far more enterprising and venturesome than the Turks, but the latter were better patrols. The reason was that the Turks know the country, wear a kind of moccasin on their feet, and move about quite noiselessly. With our heavy service-boots silence is impossible. So we got out early—just after dark—waited in ambush, and caught Tommy Turk when he came poking his nose into our business.

One fine "stunt" was spoilt by a cough. Lieutenant Chatham, of the 5th Light Horse, had a troop out in ambush near the Balkan gun pits, where the Turks were working each night. Just when the enemy's patrol approached, oneof our troopers felt a tickling in the throat. He tried to swallow the tickle and couldn't. He gulped, but the tickling continued aggravating. At last he stuffed his handkerchief in his mouth and coughed. It was only an insignificant little cough; but it sufficed. The Turkish patrol halted and the leader investigated. Stealthily he crept up till he could almost touch the crouching Australian. Bang! Finish Turk. Patrol "imshi." That was one to us. But for the unfortunate cough we might have got half a dozen.

The enemy scored next time. One of their snipers, over-bold, crept up in the scrub to within twenty yards of the trenches of the 7th Light Horse, and started blazing away. Our fellows could not get him from the trenches, so Sergeant Ducker and three others volunteered to rush the Turk's "posey" and bring him in, dead or alive. Cautiously they fixed bayonets, climbed on to the parapet, and then dashed out. They found the sniper's nest, but the bird had flown. A number of empty cartridge cases bore testimony to his activity. But the scrub was full of snipers, and as our dashing quartette dashed forhome a hot fusillade was opened on them from the Turkish trenches and the scrub. Ducker dashed into shelter so fast that he landed on General Ryrie's back. No. 2 sent a miniature avalanche of dust and débris on top of Colonel Cox; No. 3 landed on my pet corn; and No. 4, Trooper Edgeworth, got a Turkish bullet in the arm. "Maleesch."

One of our best exploits was "White's one-night stunt," as it was called. The General wanted a certain position taken and occupied. Our brigade had to do it. Under cover of night a patrol went out, reconnoitred the position, and formed a covering party for the work to come. Major Fred. White then took 150 men of the 6th Light Horse, armed with picks and shovels as well as their rifles, and dug a long sap six feet deep, right out to Harris Ridge. Then the trenches were dug, and the position occupied. The Sixth dug like miners, and burrowed like rabbits. Next morning when Abdul awoke he beheld the smoke of the Light Horse camp fires and the hill in possession of the enemy. And the Turks wondered what had happened.

One morning early, Major Windeyer, of the7th, poked his head over the parapet to enjoy the panorama, and a Turkish sniper let fly, the bullet just whizzing past his ear. Several snipers had been heard in front of our lines, but not located. So it was decided to drive them off. Fifty volunteered for the job; six were chosen, but it was found that a dozen joined in the rush. The Turkish patrol was easily driven back by Sergeant Walker and his comrades, and the Turks in the foremost trench were so surprised that about fifty rounds were poured into them before they got busy. At least one was killed before their reinforcements came tumbling up. Then the Australians bolted for home, and reached safety without any casualties, though the Turks blazed away like fury. That's the luck of the game.

Sergeant Brennan, who used to be in the Dublin Fusiliers, and whose camp kitchens at Liverpool have often been admired by Sydney visitors, was in charge of the cooks and dixies of the 7th Light Horse. Every morning, breakfast over, he took down his rifle, strolled across to the trenches, and had innumerable duels with Turkish snipers. He had the range of all theirtrenches, and when he saw a sniper's "posey" he blazed away till he silenced the enemy. Now and then an unwary Turk showed half a head, and this Irish sharpshooter was on to him like a shot. Some days he would come back to camp angry and disappointed. "Thirty shots and not a single scalp," he exclaimed, kicking aside some innocent mess tin. But at other times he stalked back as if he had won the battle of Anzac "on his own." "Killed three Turkeys," he cried. And then he was as happy as Larry all day.

But there was one man in the 5th Light Horse Regiment whom we called "The Murderer." He played the Turks at their own game, and beat them badly. He himself admitted it was "a shame to take the money." He used to sit with his rifle set at a certain track which the enemy thought was well concealed behind the hills. His mate had a telescope, and spotted for him. They waited till they saw a head appear, and they knew that three seconds later a Turk would be in full view for two seconds. That was quite enough. "The Murderer" was ready. The spotter said "Right"; the rifle fired, and another victim of German "kultur" fell.

The man's name was Billy Sing, a Queenslander, belonging to "Midgley's Myrmidons." The 5th Light Horse Regiment was nominally composed of Queenslanders; but the North Coast rivers of New South Wales were included in the 1st Commonwealth Military District. A great many men from the Tweed, Richmond, and Clarence Rivers enlisted in Brisbane. This was particularly true of the 5th Light Horse, for the majority of Major Midgley's squadron hailed from Northern New South Wales. They revelled in the exploits of the gallant little Major, swearing to follow him anywhere, so we called them Midgley's Myrmidons. If he were casually to remark, "Come on, boys, I think we'll take Achi Baba to-night," not one of them would have hesitated an instant. Major Midgley reckoned that since the glorious game of War degenerated into a battle of troglodytes, we might as well make it interesting and diverting. So, in this particular section of our line of battle, things were always happening. We never wanted for diversion. But this same diversion was always at the expense of our friend the enemy, and poor Abdul was correspondingly angry.

Sing held the Australian snipers' record. He was a crack shot, and had often won prizes at Brisbane and Randwick. Day after day, night after night, he used to settle down comfortably in his "posey" and wait for his prey. His patience was inexhaustible. He would sit for hours on end with a telescope glued to his eye, watching the tracks or trenches, where sooner or later a Turk was sure to show himself. If a Turk looked up, and then bobbed down quickly, Sing only grinned and waited. He would get his Turk later on. Emboldened by fancied immunity, the unsuspecting one would show his head again, then his shoulders, then half his body. Then Sing's rifle would crack, and another notch be made in the stick. There was not the slightest doubt of his performances, for every day an officer or non-commissioned officer checked the shot and recorded the kill. Before he left Anzac Billy Sing bagged over 150 Turks.

One night he went with the rest of Midgley's Myrmidons on a rather hazardous enterprise. It turned out to be one of the most successful affairs undertaken. General Ryrie wanted to know how strongly held were the Turkish trencheson an imposing ridge opposite our lines. The 5th Light Horse Regiment (Major Wilson) had to find out. Major Midgley's squadron had to make the attack. Major Johnson's squadron skirted the coast to keep Gaba Tepe quiet and guard against a flank attack. Captain Pike's squadron manned our outpost, and brought covering fire to bear on the enemy's right. One of our destroyers fired a few salvos at the Turks' position; just something to go on with. Then the Myrmidons sneaked out. It was about four o'clock in the morning. The moon had just set. Through the scrub they crept silently and stealthily. Not a sound escaped them till they were within thirty yards of the enemy's trenches. Then something warned a sentry, and he fired half a dozen shots into the scrub. But our lads lay low and made no sound, and the sentry evidently thought he was mistaken.

At a word from the Major the line started slowly forward again, and, unnoticed, reached a little knoll, not ten yards from the Turkish trenches. Then the music began, with a pyrotechnic display thrown in. Our "grenadiers" threw bombs and grenades thick and fast on thebewildered garrison, while on either wing our riflemen blazed away, driving back the supports which hurried up from the enemy's rear. On the shore line, B Squadron opened on the Gaba Tepe defences, while we in the trenches blazed away at Pine Ridge till our rifles burned our hands. The silence of the night was broken by a fierce fusillade, as pin-points of fire burst from the whole length of the Turkish trenches. But the regiments on our left lay low in their trenches, and laughed at the Turks' impotent rage. We on the post had one man very slightly wounded—just a scratch. The shore line squadron had also one man wounded—rather badly.

Midgley's gallant Myrmidons effected a splendid withdrawal, for after they had cleaned out the Turks' advance trench they came back to our lines with only one man wounded in the leg. When he came in Major Midgley reported to the General: "We've got 'em stone cold. My birds simply bombed them out, cleaned out the trench, bagged about thirty, and are now back for breakfast."

A MEMORABLE ENGAGEMENT—TARDY BRITISH ADVANCE—SIR IAN HAMILTON'S MESSAGE—FIVE DAYS' FIGHTING—OUR GALLANT INFANTRY—OFFICERS WHO FELL—HOT BAYONET WORK—THE NAVY SPEAKS—LONE PINE TAKEN

August on Gallipoli will be long remembered by the Australian troops on account of the terrific fighting in which they participated. July was fairly quiet. But August witnessed the great flanking movement of the British troops, which we were confident at the time would result in the final defeat of the Turks on the Peninsula.

The new movement took the form of an attack and demonstration in front, while under cover of darkness a new British force landed at Suvla Bay and enveloped the enemy's flank. In the better understood parlance of the ring, we feinted with our right, and landed a terrific blow withour left. So successful was this feint that all the local reserves of the Turks were hurried up to counter it, thus leaving an opening for the main attack from Suvla.

All the honour and glory of the magnificent charge of our Australians and the capture of Lone Pine Ridge belongs to our infantry comrades of the 1st Brigade. We of the Light Horse can claim none of the kudos for that gallant feat of arms, though the 2nd Light Horse Brigade and 2nd Infantry Brigade fought like tigers day after day and night after night to hold the line during the consequent counter-attacks.

There was some fierce and bloody fighting during those early days of August all along the line, but the capture of Lone Pine Ridge stands out, not only because of the complete success of the operation but on account of the irresistible dash and daring of the lads from New South Wales.

Just before the battle we got a message from Sir Ian Hamilton. It was in a Special Order issued from the general headquarters of the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force, and was as follows:—

"August 5, 1915."Soldiers of the old army and the new:—"Some of you have already won imperishable renown at our first landing, or have since built up our foothold upon the peninsula, yard by yard, with deeds of heroism and endurance. Others have arrived just in time to take part in our next great fight against Germany and Turkey, the would-be oppressors of the rest of the human race."You, veterans, are about to add fresh lustre to your arms. Happen what may, so much at least is certain."As to you, soldiers of the new formations, you are privileged indeed to have the chance vouchsafed you of playing a decisive part in events which may herald the birth of a new and happier world. You stand for the great cause of freedom. In the hour of trial remember this, and the faith that is in you will bring you victoriously through."IAN HAMILTON, General."

"August 5, 1915.

"Soldiers of the old army and the new:—

"Some of you have already won imperishable renown at our first landing, or have since built up our foothold upon the peninsula, yard by yard, with deeds of heroism and endurance. Others have arrived just in time to take part in our next great fight against Germany and Turkey, the would-be oppressors of the rest of the human race.

"You, veterans, are about to add fresh lustre to your arms. Happen what may, so much at least is certain.

"As to you, soldiers of the new formations, you are privileged indeed to have the chance vouchsafed you of playing a decisive part in events which may herald the birth of a new and happier world. You stand for the great cause of freedom. In the hour of trial remember this, and the faith that is in you will bring you victoriously through.

"IAN HAMILTON, General."

For five days and nights the battle raged on Gallipoli. The cannon roared incessantly; bigguns, little guns, field guns, mortars, ships' guns, and howitzers belching forth their iron hail till the earth trembled again.

Hardly heard amid the thunderous roar of artillery were the interminable rattle of musketry, and the spiteful snapping of Maxims. From the firing fine to the base, hardly a square foot of ground seemed safe from shrapnel shells and high explosives. Probably 200,000 men were engaged, hacking at each other day and night; for this seemed the decisive battle of the Gallipoli campaign.

It made one's blood flow faster and tingle with pride to see the magnificent way our young Australians played the great game of war. Hemmed in and cooped up in the trenches for weary weeks, they had at last been let loose upon the enemy at Lone Pine. Like hounds from the leash, they charged across the bullet-swept area between the contending armies. The Turkish lines spat fire from every loophole, and machine-guns seemed to revel in murderous music. On swept the line, thinned but dauntless. Heroes fell on every side. Enfilading volleys swept across from the side. To us on the right the men seemedto falter for a space; but it was only to hack their way through the maze of barbed wire. Then they scrambled over the sandbags, their last obstacle, and bayoneted the Turks by scores. One wild mêlée on the parapet—thrust, lunge, and parry—then the trenches were ours.

This charge was only one little episode in the long, long struggle of those early days of August. Each time the Turks massed for a charge Colonel Rosenthal's guns tore great rents in their ranks, and wrought havoc in their trenches. But again and again their bomb-throwers—hidden behind the communication trenches—massed and endeavoured to retake the position.

On the left the Australian and New Zealand Division, with whom were our 3rd Light Horse Brigade, made a splendid advance over shrapnel-swept ravines, defended by trenches and machine-guns cunningly hidden in the scrub. They charged the heights like the Highlanders at Darghai, but against a far more formidable foe. They suffered terribly, especially the Light Horsemen, but there was no stopping them.

Hundreds of prisoners were captured, much ammunition, many rifles, and a few machine-guns.The prisoners stated that the Australians' attack was a complete surprise. But a far greater surprise awaited them. At night in the offing there was only seen one hospital ship, though now and then a destroyer sent its searchlight on to the hills. But when the first streaks of dawn-light fell on the Ægean Sea the amazed Turks beheld a vast flotilla, and in futile anger the German staff officers witnessed another landing on Gallipoli. Almost unmolested, a new British force landed at Suvla Bay, for the Turks had hurried all their reinforcements back to stem the onrush of the Australasians. Several warships and a score of destroyers glided into the bay or round the projecting horns, and sent a veritable tornado of shells on to the enemy's position.

A dozen big transports came up and emptied their khaki freight into a hundred barges, pinnaces, launches, and sweepers. The new force landed, formed up, and marched inland against the Turkish right. At first the resistance was feeble, and the enemy was driven back beyond the salt lake towards the hills. More troops were hurried up from Gallipoli, and the fight waxed more strenuous. Nothing in the war has provokedso much keen disappointment and vitriolic criticism as the Suvla Bay business. We who saw the landing, mingled with the British troops and knew how much depended on the success of the venture, are perhaps not the best critics. We do not know all the facts of the case. We think Sir Ian Hamilton's strategy was brilliant. We know the work of the Navy was magnificent. We fear that after the landing, the attack was not pushed home with that vigour and determination which were essential for the success of the operation. Precious time was lost, and while the British hesitated the Turks hurried up reinforcements and once more barred the way to Constantinople. And we had hoped that August would herald the beginning of the end.

The First Infantry Brigade of the Australian Division did big things since landing on Gallipoli—glorious deeds that will be the pride and boast of successive generations of Australians. It was Colonel Maclagan's 3rd Brigade that achieved undying fame by the electric daring of its picturesque landing, but it was the 1st Brigade which, following hot on the heels of the gallant Thirdson that memorable day, swarmed up the heights and drove back at the point of the bayonet the successive swarms of fanatical Turks who tried in vain to drive them into the sea. But how dearly was that victory won! How the ranks of these gallant Sydneysiders were decimated! It was small comfort to us to know that Constantinople reported 120,000 Turkish casualties for the three months after our landing.

The list of senior officers killed was appalling; not one of the original battalion commanders retained his command. Not less tragic was the loss of junior officers. In the Lone Pine attack the 3rd Battalion lost eight officers killed and nine wounded; while the 2nd Battalion lost nine killed and eight wounded. We captured many prisoners, several machine-guns, and many thousands of rounds of ammunition. But the cost to young Australia was so heavy!

Lone Pine Ridge was situated right in front of the centre of the Australians' position, and was strongly held and fortified like a little Gibraltar. The overhead cover was so strong that our shells made little impression on the Turkishtrenches. Machine-guns punctuated the line at regular intervals. The open space in front was swept by enfilading fire from the Bloody Angle on the left and the Pine Ridge on the right, while the German gunners behind Gun Ridge had the range to a nicety. A network of barbed wire entanglements provided a nasty obstacle right in front of their trenches, while "posies" for expert snipers and bomb-throwers completed their defence works. To the trained soldier the position looked absolutely impregnable.

But our lads were well trained. They reckoned they were veterans. I who had visited them in camp and on the march round about Liverpool knew the stuff of which they were made. Yet there were those who, ere they left Sydney, said the Australians would only do garrison duty, as it would be murder to put them in the firing line. Competent critics held that General Birdwood was the luckiest man in the army in getting the command of the Australians, for no troops in the world could do what they have done. Is this boasting? Ask the British staff officers. Ask the French. Ask the Gurkhas and the other Indian soldiers.

Entrance to Lone Pine, which was so hardly won.Entrance to Lone Pine, which was so hardly won.

The First Infantry Brigade fired not a single shot during the great charge. It was all bayonet work. In the ranks were many of the heroes who landed on the memorable 25th of April, were wounded, and were now back in the firing line. Others had been in the thick of it all the time; no periodical spells such as the soldiers in Flanders get. Others again were the latest reinforcements who left Sydney in June, and landed the evening before the battle. Yet these raw youngsters, having their first experience under fire, charged with the best, and wielded a bloody bayonet within the hour. And many of them—Dr. Digges la Touche amongst the number—perished in their first fight.

Prior to the charge our artillery opened a heavy bombardment of the Lone Pine trenches. Shrapnel and high explosives rained down on the Turkish lines. The Turkish gunners in turn opened on our lines a devastating fire, and the resultant roar of heavy guns and screeching of shells created a veritable inferno.

I don't know how long it lasted, but suddenly our guns ceased, and on the instant our gallant infantry sprang from their trenches and chargedstraight ahead. They were over our parapets and well on their way before the Turks could realize it. Then rifles and machine-guns started a murderous fusillade, while the guns in the background sent a hail of shrapnel. Thick and fast fell the attackers. One marvels how any escaped that hell of fire. But, fortunately, only a small percentage of the Turks are marksmen. The German machine-gunners, however, were very deadly, and the enfilading fire from Pine Ridge increased in volume and effectiveness and the trail to Lonesome Pine was strewn with khaki figures. Our Light Horse on the right had all their crack shots picking off the Turks on Pine Ridge, while our field guns in Hughes's battery at point-blank range helped to keep the enfilading fire from this quarter down to a minimum.

Meanwhile the Firsts had almost reached their goal. They were checked for a space by the barbed wire; but hacking their way through they scaled the enemy's parapets, tore aside the overhead cover, leaped into the trenches, and then, free from the murderous cross-fire of machine-guns, they resolutely set to work with the bayonet to finish the job. Since the days ofPlevna the Turk has been reckoned second to no soldiers in the world behind the trenches and parapets. I am not in a position to dispute this, but I do claim that in the open or with the bayonet the Turk is not a match for the Australians. Right along the trenches and saps the Firsts fought their way, bayoneting every Turk or German who did not immediately throw down his rifle. Here and there the defenders made some resistance, and little knots of them would rally for a minute or two. But the Firsts flew at them like eagle-hawks, and a neat bit of bayonet work settled the Turks for good and all.

As to the part played by the Light Horse Brigades in the general scheme of attack, it fell to General Ryrie's Second Brigade to hold the right of the line opposite Gaba Tepe. We made minor demonstrations against the enemy, cleaned out a few of his trenches, kept his snipers very much in subjection, mined and counter-mined, and blew up Abdul's tunnel just when he thought he was going to do the same to us. Also, we kept each day a fresh squadron in Lonesome Pine to assist in defending against the Turkish counter-attacks. Our losses had not been great,considering the slaughter all along the line. Since landing we had had just over 600 casualties, of whom 105 were killed; also we had had several hundred sent sick to hospital.

General Chauvel's First Brigade had suffered much more heavily. They had well performed their share of the trench fighting since May. In the big battle the First Regiment had to advance under a murderous fire from Pope's Hill, and take the Turkish trenches opposite the Bloody Angle. Captain Laurie, with A Squadron, scaled the parapets and charged across the bullet-swept interval, while Captain Cox, with B Squadron, crawled up a gully; and then both squadrons rushed to the attack.

Without firing a shot, they captured three successive trenches, bayoneting the defenders, and then swept on. Twelve officers and 200 troopers made that dashing charge, and without reinforcements they withstood all the Turkish counter-attacks from four o'clock in the afternoon till half-past six. But the slaughter was cruel. Fewer and fewer were left to defend the hard-won trenches. From all sides the enemy threw bombs and grenades. Our bombs were all gone.At last the remnant had to retire. Major Reid was killed; Captain Cox so badly wounded that he died a few days later; only fifty unwounded men regained our trenches. Of all the officers, Major Glasgow alone was unwounded.

A worse fate befel the 3rd Brigade, under General Hughes. In their attack on Walker's Ridge they lost thirty-two officers and 400 men in ten minutes. They swarmed out of our trenches and sprang forward; and then so terrific was the hail of bullets that they fell in heaps. It almost looked as if they had thrown themselves prone to get cover. Machine-guns swept the area from end to end. The 8th (Victorian) and 10th (Western Australian) Light Horse Regiments just thinned out and wilted away. About a hundred unwounded men came back from that hell.

Later on the 3rd Brigade had their revenge. When the New Zealand and Australian Division swept forward, driving the enemy before them, and capturing trench after trench, there remained one spot on the line of ridges that baffled the attack. Both sides dug in, and had a few days' respite. Then the 10th Light Horse hurledthemselves on the stubborn Turks, cleaned out their trenches, and with bloody bayonets stood masters of the hill. It was only a remnant of the regiment that remained, but they baffled every effort of the Turks to dislodge them.

One spot further along the line had at length given way to the pressure of the enemy's attacks. The New Zealanders, after some magnificent fighting for several days, had been driven back from one point on the line. It was essential that the position should be retaken and our advanced line linked up. So the 9th Light Horse Regiment was sent forward to do the job, and they did it brilliantly....

The pen seems so futile a thing to depict the scene. It was the same thing day after day. A stealthy advance through the scrub, a rattle of snipers' rifles, then wild cheers, as the Australians scrambled up the hill; a terrific fusillade as they neared their objective; a glint of gleaming bayonets as they charged the trenches; then the wild mêlée of hand-to-hand fighting, when one Australian always reckons himself a match for three Turks; and finally the shout of victory.

And through it all the stretcher-bearers werereal true-blue. Under the heaviest fire they went right up to the firing-line, tended the wounded, and carried them back to the field hospitals. Oh, you, who think the Army Medical Corps is always comfortably and safely situated at the base, pray be undeceived! Their part is just as hazardous as that of the soldier of the line.

Soon the cheers of the victors and the cries of the Turks died down. Above the groans of the wounded could be heard the staccato tones of the officers ordering platoons and sections this way and that to defend the position against counter-attacks.

Scores of prisoners were led away. Hundreds of captured rifles were stacked. German machine-guns were faced about and manned. Bomb-throwers were placed in position. Hot tea was served out to the men. Night fell. Lone Pine was ours. The successive ridges on our left towards Hill 971 had all been captured by the New Zealanders, and our 4th Infantry Brigade under General Monash and the 3rd Light Horse Brigade under General Hughes. The big battle of Suvla Bay was over. But it was only a partial victory. Despite our gains and our losses the Turks still blocked the way to Constantinople.

TRUTH IN WAR STRONGER THAN FICTION—IS IT FATE OR LUCK?—CLOSE SHAVES FOR GENERALS AND SERGEANTS—SWIMMERS, AND SHELLS NOT OF OCEAN—A FATAL RICOCHET—BURIED AND DISENTOMBED

When I was a good little boy going to Sunday school, teacher gave me a book entitledWonderful Escapes. I read it with absorbing interest, for it told of the marvellous escapes of princes and princesses from fortified castles in the hands of their enemies.

Yet these delightful tales which so thrilled my youthful imagination pale into insignificance and seem quite commonplace when compared with the hair-breadth escapes which I have witnessed, and which I have myself experienced since the 2nd Light Horse Brigade landed on battle-scarred Gallipoli.

With the Taubes dropping bombs and darts from the sky, with the Turks undermining and blowing up our advanced trenches, with snipers cunningly concealed on the ridges, and the enemy's big guns sending high explosives right across the Peninsula, there is really not a single safe spot in all Gallipoli. So, when these Australian soldiers get home again and fight their battles o'er again, don't disbelieve them. The truth here is much more startling than any fiction.

I vouch for the absolute accuracy of the following incidents, for they all came within my own ken. Some will say 'tis "luck"; some, "fate." Others speak of the law of averages. It may be that the prayers of thousands of Australian mothers and sisters beseeching Heaven for the safety of their loved ones are not all in vain. For in very truth there have been occasions when escape from instant death has savoured of the supernatural. Men have left their dug-outs for a few seconds, and almost on the instant a shell has wrecked those same dug-outs. Others have seen shells fall on the identical spot they occupied a few seconds before. Men have come back scatheless from the open field which has beenploughed with shrapnel. Some have charged across the hills in the teeth of murderous machine-guns, which were spitting death-pellets unceasingly.

General Birdwood was having a look at the enemy's position when a sniper's bullet parted his hair and split his scalp. Half an inch lower would have been certain death. It would take pages and pages to tell of the lucky escapes I could relate.

Take the case of Colonel Ryrie, now a brigadier-general. There is a very comforting idea that regimental headquarters are always a long way behind the firing-line, while brigade headquarters are further back still. Therefore, it is argued, a brigadier has a nice, safe job. This may be all right in theory, but it does not work out so in practice. I call to mind that hearty send-off given to the then Colonel Ryrie by his constituents at North Sydney, and what the recipient of that favour said on the occasion. "Don't you worry about me," he said, "I'll come back all right. They may knock some corners off me, but they won't get me." Some "corners" have been knocked off him. I do notbelieve there has been a day when the Brigadier-General has not visited the firing-line of his brigade—up to the time when a bullet got him in the neck and he was lost to us for some time in hospital. Time and again he has taken the sniper's "posey" and mingled in a bit of sharpshooting himself. Also, he has at different times gone in advance of our firing-line to select new positions. Once, with his brigade-major and orderly officer, he suddenly stopped to watch a squadron at bayonet exercise, and a shrapnel shell burst, and the case landed right in front of him. Had he not stopped, it is certain the party would have been wiped out.

On another occasion the Brigadier-General and Major Onslow, Major Suttor, Major Windeyer, Major Rutledge, Captain Miller and Captain Higgins were outside Colonel Arnott's dug-out, when three shells burst overhead. No one was hurt, though a fragment of shell landed in the midst of them. There is always so much more landscape to hit than man.

Such incidents can be multiplied by the score. Sergeant Christie Hayden—who was badly wounded in South Africa—emerged from hisdug-out the other day, and a shell missed him by inches, and wrecked his little grey home. Sergeant Paddy Ryan, Sergeant Ken Alford, and Lieutenant Pearce were standing together on Holly Ridge a few days ago and a sniper's bullet perforated the hats of both the sergeants, and missed the officer by a fraction of an inch. I wonder did that sniper wait till he got the three in line, instead of making sure of one? Trooper Sandy Jacques showed his head over a parapet for a couple of seconds, and a sniper fired, but by a merciful dispensation of Providence, the bullet split just before reaching him. The nickel casing went to the right, and the leaden missile to the left. So Jacques got a slight wound on each side of the head, and was able to walk to the ambulance. Some wag has suggested that the bullet knew very well what to expect if it struck Sandy's head, so it took the line of least resistance; another said that Jacques was wounded by two different bullets from a machine-gun. Lieutenant Lang sent a man for water. As he walked away a high explosive shell passed right between his legs and then exploded. The soldier merely exclaimed "Strewth!"

Here's an example of good and bad luck following one upon the other's heels. The Turks bombarded our lines, and hurled half a dozen shells into our trench, smashing down parapets, wrecking rifles and gear, splathering bullets and splinters everywhere, and yet miraculously missing everybody. Later on a single stray bullet found its way through a loophole, ran off at an eccentric angle, and killed young Trooper Bellinger, one of the best lads in the Sixth.

I went down to Anzac Cove for a swim. About 500 soldiers were having a glorious time—better than Bondi. Half a dozen shells landed in the water, while the pellets splashed all round like hail. Most of the swimmers sought shelter; some took not the slightest notice. Not one man was hit! But they are not always as lucky as that. Sometimes they pay for their temerity. Trumpeter Newman and I stood outside the field hospital a week ago, and a big howitzer shell burst fairly in front of us, killing or wounding a dozen men. Neither of us suffered a scratch, but there was a ringing in my ears for hours afterwards.

Lieutenant Ferguson was out on Ryrie's Post, beyond the firing-line, for over an hour, while theTurkish artillery just dotted the whole area with shrapnel. Hardly a square yard missed getting something, yet he never stopped one. When Sergeant Shelley walked along Shell Green a shell burst, and we could hardly see him for the dust kicked up by the flying shrapnel bullets, yet he never got a scratch. Another shell just shaved an infantryman, who turned round, shook his fist at it, and swore loud and long. A second shell came after the first, so close that it almost took the soldier's breath away. He did not wait to swear again, but ran like a scared rabbit to his dug-out!

An infantry officer vouched for the accuracy of the following story:—Two "Jack Johnson" shells (probably fired from theGoeben) landed in quick succession in a trench occupied by half-a-dozen Australians. The first tore down the parapet and buried one of the soldiers. Before his mates could dig him out the second shell burst in and disentombed him.

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