June 27th.
The attack is to take place to-morrow. I rode up to Brigade H.Q. this morning. They were shelling a bit, but not much.
To-day is very quiet, but we are steadily sending shells over. Asiatic battery seems to have been withdrawn, but there is a very big gun somewhere that sends a 6-inch over now and again to the neighbourhood of Pink Farm, but it does not reach the beaches.
In coming back from H.Q. this morning, shrapnel began to burst over Pink Farm and behind, and I made my mare do her best gallop away, and, in order to keep off the road, cut to the right across country. We got amongst a maze of disused trenches, which she absolutely refused to jump; and to top it all, she kept getting her legs entangled in telephone wires laid along the ground, causing me to continually get off to disentangle her. She is an awful fool over these things, and those damned shells seemed to come nearer and nearer every minute. When I did get on the road, I made her gallop as she has never galloped before.
June 28th.
A beautiful summer morning. This morning is the morning of a battle. We are going to try to take a Turkish redoubt on our extreme left, and to push our line forward on the left, so as to curl somewhat round Krithia. We call the redoubt “The Boomerang Fort.”
H.M.S. Talbot comes in with destroyers and mine-sweepers, and a Monitor—the Abercrombie, I think—and they take up positions off Gully and “Y” Beaches on the West Coast.
A bombardment begins at 9 a.m., as I am issuing rations, the Talbot and two or three destroyers hurling over their large shells in an enfilading fire on to the Turkish trenches and the redoubt, while all our guns on shore, with the help of the French heavies and the now invaluable little “75’s,” join in the concert.
At 10 a.m., issuing finished, I take my glasses and walk along the cliff, taking up a position on the side of an extra piece of high ground, and sit comfortably there with my back to it. Two 60-pounders behind me are firing away at the same target, at which all the guns on land and sea are concentrating their awful fire, a target of not more than fifteen hundred yards of the Turkish line, with the little redoubt at the back. Shells—large, small, black, yellow, and white—burst in hellish confusion and awful chaos, while Turkish batteries, raised to fury, reply, first on to one battery, then another. But their fire seems controlled by a flurried brain, for the shells burst harmlessly, high in the air, or, except over our first line, of which they have the range, accurately on no targets at all.
Destroyers pour in broadsides, then swoop round, making a circle, and take up a new position, letting forth viperous rounds of broadside once more. A captive sausage-balloon on a tramp ship sails high in the air, well out to sea, spotting for the Talbot and the destroyers. It is by far the most terrific and mighty bombardment that I have seen, and, I think, appears to be so because of the large amount of artillery concentrated on to so small a target.
11 a.m.
The bombardment in no way seems to slacken, but I clearly see the range increased, and hear the officer behind me commanding the two 60-pounders, which are in action just near, to increase the range. I watch carefully, and as the smoke and dust quickly clear away from the redoubt and Turkish front line, which had been subjected to this terrible ordeal for two solid hours, I hear a roar of musketry, mingled with the excited, rapid reports of machine-guns. I actually see, in one part, a line of blue spurts of flame, a curious effect, caused by the dark background of gorse and trees. And then the sun reflects on hundreds of small metal discs, and I see leap as one man from our trenches rows and rows of khaki figures, each equipped with a small shining disc fastened on to his back. On they run, and swarm up the redoubt like packs of hounds, and strangely—though perhaps I am too far away—I see none fall.
The scene has passed: I have seen a gallant charge, made in the old style. In five minutes it is over and become glorious history. The bombardment continues, and the scene goes back to one of bursting flame, yellow, green, white, and black smoke drifting away in the strong breeze to the sea. The 60-pounders behind me steadily plunge and recover as their charges are hurled forth on their destructive journeys, with an ear-splitting roar. Suddenly over the din I hear a familiar and fear-striking sound: it is the deep boom-s-h-r-i-e-k of “Asiatic Annie,” and her sister follows quickly after, and they are endeavouring to get at the 60-pounders just behind and silence their efforts. The 60-pounders take no heed, but go steadily on. They are hard to hit, and are well dug in. I am directly in the line of fire, and what missed them might get me, and so, after one shell bursts damnably close, I abruptly slither down the slopes of the cliff into the arms of two smelly Greeks, who have been sitting below me, shouting now and again gleefully, “Turkey finished!”
Our camp gets a bad shelling. Two passers-by are killed, and one of our transport men is buried in his dugout, and when dug out is found dead.
4.30 p.m.
Have been at work on supplies; the firing has died down somewhat. Wounded are arriving, and the stretcher-bearers are nearly dropping with fatigue and heat as they carry their heavy burdens along to the dressing stations on the beach. Prisoners are arriving. I count a hundred, all looking frightened out of their lives; I heard we had captured four hundred prisoners, three lines of trenches, the Boomerang Fort, one four-gun battery, and twelve Maxim guns.
6 p.m.
We are again bombarding heavily, and I hear my Brigade is attacking, but cannot see anything but smoke and dust.
8 p.m.
It has now quietened down somewhat, but Asia is sending shells over to the 60-pounder battery once more.
June 29th.
Early I ride up to Brigade H.Q. I find they have moved forward. I ride on past Pink Farm, to the little nullah beyond, and there find a trench has been dug leading out from the end of the nullah which I am told leads to Brigade H.Q. The trench, recently dug, is quite 8 feet deep, and roomy enough for pack-mules to pass along and men in single file to pass back in the opposite direction. All the time bullets were pinging and hissing overhead. The trench finally ended in a junction of several trenches leading in various directions to the firing-line. Dug in the sides of this junction was our new Brigade H.Q., on the level of the bottom of the trench, and taking advantage of a rise in the ground in front, affording perfect cover, except from a direct hit; on the left was Twelve Tree Wood, the scene of a bloody fight in the early days, but now used for artillery forward observation posts. Farmer, our Brigade Major, was very busy, looking ill and tired. Orderlies and telegrams were constantly arriving. The Signal Office was working at full steam—dot-dash, dot-dash, incessantly being rapped out on the buzzers. When I see the signallers at work, the scene in a London telegraph office always comes to my mind, and I contrast the circumstances under which the respective operators work. Farmer is continually being called to the telephone. Officers on similar errands to mine are waiting. It is like being in a City office waiting for an interview with one of the directors.
Not very bright news came from the Royal Scots; they were badly cut up yesterday, losing all officers, except Colonel Wilson and a subaltern. Steel is dying; he was a great pal of mine, was very decent to me before the landing, landing at the same time as myself. Captain Tressider, who arrived a month ago, is dead. On our left, however, complete victory for British arms.
On coming back, part of the communication trench is rather exposed and a sniper was busy after me, using all his five cartridges, but the bullets sailed harmlessly overhead. But the risk we Supply Officers take is not 100 per cent. of what infantry go through. A battery is sending high explosive shells over from Achi now, but they are bursting on the east side of this beach, and after firing a dozen shells they only slightly wounded a goat.
11.45 a.m.
I was sarcastic too soon. Asia has just fired over an 8-inch, and it has passed over our “bivvy” with a horrible shriek and exploded in the sea. They would not be able to do this if our Fleet were here, and so we say “Strafe the submarines!”
7 p.m.
All has been quiet on the front to-day, but two big guns from Asia and one 18-pounder battery have been worrying the French, and our 4.7 on the hill by De Tott’s Battery and the big French guns have been replying. The effect of the Asiatic big gun, when it hits anybody, is terrible. I picked up a jagged, flat piece of metal to-day, ¾ inch thick, 9 inches long, and 3 inches wide. When these shells burst on our beach, these pieces of metal fly in all directions, some reaching a hundred and fifty yards away.
The remainder of the Lowland Division is landing to-day. Just two more Divisions, and I believe we should very soon take Achi Baba, providing we had better supplies of big-gun ammunition. We put in two bathes to-day. We are most fortunate in getting sea bathing, as it keeps sickness down. We issue eggs now and again to the troops to endeavour to keep down dysentery. All ranks get a chance of plenty of bathing, sooner or later. Asia is very busy firing on the French batteries; later, at dusk, they fire on hospital ships, but finding out their mistake, desist. Evidently they are Turkish gunners, and not German.
9.30 p.m.
A great gale has sprung up, and our canvas-sheet roof looks like coming off. The dust is awful. Lightning is playing over the sky and makes a very fine sight; curiously, there is no thunder.
10 p.m.
The gale is terrific now, and I call out to our servants to come and hang on to our canvas roof, which is anxious to sail away. After strenuous effort, with dust choking us, and all of us swearing and then laughing, we secure the roof and turn in.
June 30th, 1 a.m.
A shriek and a loud explosion awaken us, and Carver says it is a high explosive howitzer from Asia. It has passed over our “bivvy” and exploded on the beach. The ordinary long-range shell seems to miss our “bivvy” on account of the angle of trajectory.
But when a howitzer fires the trajectory is such that it could easily get our “bivvy.”
2.30 a.m.
We are awakened by our roof blowing off, and up we have to get again and fix it. The gale fortunately is dying down, although the wind is pretty strong.
When we awoke this morning we were told that they had put several shells over in the night, and one in the Main Supply depot has unfortunately killed a man.
The result of the battle two days ago was good, the 29th Division pushing forward about three-quarters of a mile, and Krithia should soon be ours. The Turks counter-attacked last night in mass, but very half-heartedly, and lost heavily. This morning four hundred Turks were seen coming up in front of the French on our right, but the French “75’s” got amongst them, and they ran and ran for quite a mile, with the French shells bursting all amongst them, two a second. I should say very few of those Turks were left. The 60-pounder on the cliff got in a few as well. Three 60-pounders are out of action, waiting for new springs from England, and they have been waiting a devil of a time. The Turks are wonderful fighters on the defensive, with the geographical advantage all in their favour, but absolutely lack dash in the attack.
12 noon.
A French battleship is coming in with the usual escort of destroyers and mine-sweepers, looking like a duck with her ducklings. Evidently she is going to punish Asia.
The smell of dead bodies and horses is attracting the unwelcome attentions of vultures from Asia. They are evil-looking birds, with ugly heads and enormous wings, and circle round and round overhead. Sometimes Tommies pot at them with their rifles, but get into trouble for doing so.
The smell of dead bodies is at times almost unbearable in the trenches, and chloride of lime is thrown over them. I know of no more sickly smell than chloride of lime with the smell of a dead body blended in.
In the fire-trenches the Turks will not allow our men to bury the dead unless a special armistice is arranged. In consequence, in the dead of night our men volunteer to creep out, tie a rope round a body which may be too near them to make the atmosphere bearable, and then rush back, haul the body in, and bury it in the trench, or they will soak the body in petrol, go back to their trenches, then fire into the body—the white-hot bullets soon setting the petrol on fire, and the bodies in this dry climate quickly get cremated.
Several barges were sunk by last night’s gale, and one pinnace set on fire by last night’s shelling.
3 p.m.
The French battleship is now firing on Asiatic batteries very heavily, and it seems impossible that any one could live under her fire.
5 p.m.
Asia starts firing light shrapnel over, which we don’t mind at all. As long as they do not fire that heavy stuff, which is on you before you can duck, they can pop away all night.
5.30 p.m.
Asia firing heavy stuff on French lines. Now they have pitched one bang into the hospital. I—thinking every minute one will pitch in our depot—hurry up everybody, and they work with a will, taking cover when the shriek comes. Now they fall on the beach and splinters fly around us—it’s damnable! The corporal at 5.45 reports forage finished, which is a relief, as we can get to our dugouts.
On the way across to my dugout I hear the shriek coming, and there is no place to take cover, and the suspense is a bit nerve-trying. With a terrific bang it falls in the hospital, but the hospital is now clear of men.
6 p.m.
Safe in our dugout now, and one passes over us into the sea. Now they are falling on the beach. Nearly everybody is under cover.
7 p.m.
Shelling stopped, and we are allowed to have some rest.
As Williams has to go to Brigade H.Q., I offer to show him the way, the H.Q. having moved forwards.
We start off at 8.30 p.m. and ride at a good smart trot, as we are a bit nervy of Asia sending one of those horrible big shells over. But all is quiet, and we arrive at our Brigade dumping-ground, about three-quarters of a mile in front of Pink Farm. (Pink Farm is practically razed to the ground now by shell fire.)
We leave our horses with an orderly, who ties them up under cover and takes cover himself. Stray bullets are flying over now and again, and we get down into the nullah and go along it up the communication trench. After about half a mile of it, we pass an R.A.M.C. orderly, who says, “Keep your heads low, sir, as you pass that point,” pointing a little farther along, “as there is a sniper watching there.” Of course he is wrong, suffering from “wind up,” and what he thinks are snipers’ bullets are “overs” passing through a gap in the side of the trench. We hurry along, heads well down, as bullets are pretty free overhead. After another half-mile we come to Headquarters. The Staff are just finishing dinner in their dugout—beautifully made by the Engineers. The Brigade Major is at the telephone, and later the General gets up and talks over it. D.H.Q. are speaking at the other end, discussing some G.S. point, just as if two business men were discussing the price of some contract.
After the General resumes his place at the head of the table, the Brigade Major on his left-hand side, next the Signal Officer, on his right hand, the Staff Captain, the Brigade Machine Gun Officer and a Major of the R.N.D., who had recently arrived. Williams and I are seated at the other end. The dugout is lit by an acetylene lamp, and Miller, the Staff waiter and chef combined, is standing, acting butler.
Outside the “ping-ping” of bullets goes on incessantly.
Sitting there round the table, smoking and chatting, I could not but compare the scene with that of the after-dinner coffee and cigars at a dinner-party, when the ladies have gone to the drawing-room. The conversation is also witty and bright, with no mention of war.
Miller is a character of his own. He is as dignified as a real butler would be, and yet a Tommy of the old school, through and through. But instead of black cut-away coat and side whiskers, he wears khaki trousers rather hanging over his ankles, and a grey shirt open in the front—for the heat is excessive—and sleeves rolled up. He always embarrasses me, for every time I happen to look his way he catches my eye and beams benevolently on me. I suppose it is because I look after the Tommies’ tummies. Lightning now begins to play about the sky, which gets rather cloudy, and then “L” Battery, just to our right, barks out suddenly. That arrests my thoughts and brings me back to reality. “Y” Battery starts, and then the darling little Soixante-quinze, and bullets begin to fairly hiss over. A hell of a shindy! Our mission over, we rise to go. We salute the General, who says good-night, and off down the trench, keeping our heads very low instinctively, though really it is unnecessary.
Lightning is now flashing all over the sky, and what with the flashes and roar of the batteries near by and the pitch darkness that comes immediately after a lightning flash, the walk back along that trench, one whole mile of it, was most weird and Dante-esque. Now and again bullets hit the bank on our left, but most of them are going over. We pass troops coming up, and later see a man sitting down at the side of the trench, and finding that he had been hit in the wrist (lucky devil!), we take him along with us. Arriving at the nullah, we find another man who has been hit at the dump, in the leg, and we send them to the dressing station behind Pink Farm.
We see the transport is all right at the Brigade dump, mount our horses, which have been tied up in an awful tangle, making us use some “’orrid language,” and then “forrard away.” Off we go back, with “overs” pretty free around, and Turkish shells screaming over, well on our right.
The lightning frightens our horses somewhat, and blinds us after each flash. It is incessant, and lights up the Peninsula in detail, but no thunder follows. We hope that Asia will let us go home in safety. She does, but half an hour after we arrive home, and when everybody except night-workers and guards and pickets have turned in, heavy shells come over, and at the rate of two an hour they continue all night, and so our night’s rest is not as good as it might be.