THE MIGHTY NEW ZEALANDERS
Reference has already been made to the two New Zealand Outposts, at the second of which the troops to take part in the night sortie had been massed. Inland from these was a third post, once held by the Anzacs but afterwards wrested from them by the Turks. It had been the custom every night for some weeks for a British destroyer to arrive about nine o'clock and bombard the parapet of this trench for about half an hour. The Turks had learned to expect it; they always crept out of the trench as soon as the searchlight was turned on, and returned when the fun was over to rebuild their parapet and restring their torn barbed wire.
On this night of August 6 the destroyer, the Colne, came as usual and bombarded the trench. The cessation of the bombardment was the signal for the first move from Outpost No. 2. The Auckland Mounted Rifles silently rushed the trench, and had the returning Turks bayoneted almost without a shot being fired.
Just as silently the Wellington Mounted Rifles made through the scrub for the hill known as Greater Table-Top, an elevation with perpendicular sides and a flat summit, which the Turks had adorned with an infinity of trenchwork. Here the Turks were taken completely by surprise. The position, if held by an adequate force of alert men, was an impregnable one. But the men of Wellington were too much for them; they carried this fortress by assault and captured 150 prisoners.
Writing of this feat Sir Ian Hamilton says:—
"The angle of Table-Top's ascent is recognized in our regulations as 'impracticable for infantry.' But neither Turks nor angles of ascent were destined to stop Russell or his New Zealanders that night. There are moments during battle when life becomes intensified, when men become supermen, when the impossible becomes simple—and this was one of those moments. The scarped heights were scaled, the plateau was carried by midnight."
The Otago Mounted Rifles and the Maori Contingent had the task of capturing a hill mass known as Bauchop's Hill. Like the other New Zealanders, the Otago men worked silently with the bayonet. The entrance leading to this hill was protected by a trench very strongly held by the enemy, and the Maoris were sent out to charge it. It was their first opportunity to fight in the open, and they rose to the occasion. In their wild charge they drove the Turks headlong out of their trenches and pursued them through the darkness of the foothills.
They came over a spur of the hills, yelling with excitement, and seeing in the dim light that a trench before them was occupied by armed men, rushed upon it, shouting their war cry. The men before them were the men of Auckland, who at once recognized the war cries of the Maoris. Fortunately the average New Zealander rather prides himself upon possessing a fair smattering of the Maori tongue, and this knowledge came in very handy as the Maoris charged down upon their own friends.
The Auckland men shouted at them what phrases of Maori they could summon up in such an emergency, and the Maori charge was stayed on the very parapet of the trench itself.
The beginning of that fierce charge of Maoris, when they swept every Turk out of their path, was described to me by a New Zealander who was present, in the following words:—
"We lay under cover in the dark waiting for the word to go. Every man had his bayonet fixed and his magazine empty. The work before us had to be done with the cold steel. The Turks had three lines of trenches on the hill slope opposite.
"Suddenly I became aware of a stir among the Maoris on my left; I was right up against them. Next to me was a full-blooded Maori chief, a young fellow of sixteen stone, as big and powerful as a bullock. I played Rugby against him once and tried to tackle him; it was as much use as trying to stop a rushing elephant. He is a lineal descendant of fighting Rewi, the Maori chief from whom all the legends descend.
"You know the story of Rewi. Once he and his tribe were surrounded in a Pah by a force of white men who outnumbered them three to one. The whites had got between them and the stream of water on the top of the hill, which is unfair fighting according to Maori rules. Then they sent a message to Rewi bidding him surrender. He replied, 'Ka Whawhai Tonu, Aké Aké Aké.' ('We fight on and on; for ever and for ever and for ever.') 'Then send away the women and children,' was the next suggestion. 'The women fight too,' says brave old Rewi. An hour later the Maoris rushed out of the Pah with Rewi at the head of them and before the astonished whites knew what was doing had cut a way through and escaped.
"This descendant of Rewi's is a different sort of chap. He holds two good university degrees and is one of the finest speakers in New Zealand. Not much more than a year ago I saw him in a frock coat and a silk hat, with creases in his pants that would have cut cheese, telling a lot of bush Maoris of the virtues of cleanliness and the nobility of hard work.
"But now he had dressed for the occasion in a pair of running shoes and shorts which covered about eight inches of the middle of him. I could see the whites of his eyes gleaming and his brown skin glistening with perspiration in the dim light. His head was moving from side to side and his lips were twitching. From time to time he beat the earth softly with his clenched fist.
"Then I got the swing of it. I suppose the 500 Maoris picked me up into their silent war song. For I know the words of the Haka well, and though they could not dance it they were beating out the measure of it with their fists on the ground. There they lay, and after each soft thump I could feel that their bodies strained forward like dogs on a leash. They caught me up in their madness and I longed to be at it. I thumped the ground with them, and prayed to be up and dancing, or out and fighting.
"Would the whistle never blow?
"Now their eyes were rolling and their breath was coming in long, rhythmical sobs. The groaning sound of it was quite audible; in another minute they would have been up on their feet, dancing their wild war dance. But then came the signal; and Hell was let loose.
"'Aké, Aké,' they shouted, 'we fight for ever and for ever.' Up to the first trench they swept, and we gave them the right of way. It was their privilege. I could hear some of them yelling, 'Kiki ta Turk' ('Kick the Turk'). Those were the fellows who had kept on their heaviest boots, and meant to use their feet. God help the Turk who got a kick from a war-mad Maori.
"Our own blood was up; I know mine was. We were not far behind them to the first trench, and you never saw such a sight in your life. The Turks had been bashed to death; there is no other word for it. We got up to them at the second trench, where there was a deadly hand-to-hand going on. Some of them had broken their rifles and were fighting with their hands. I saw one Maori smash a Turk with half-a-hundred-weight of rock he had torn up. I don't remember much more, because now I was in it myself. That is why I am here.
"I don't know anything more at first hand. I hear a good many of them came back, though I shouldn't have thought it possible. I am also told they were very pleased with themselves, as they have had good reason to be. The Turks who escaped from them will not wait another time when they hear the Maoris coming; that I'll answer for. And you can hear them coming all right."
Through the gully so opened, and through one parallel to it, the New Zealand infantry now moved to the attack on the height of Chunuk Bair. They met fierce opposition, but drove the Turks before them up the slopes, and eventually reached the crest of a ridge immediately below Chunuk Bair itself, known as Rhododendron Ridge. In this position they were well established on the morning of August 7.
The Auckland Mounted Rifles, the Maoris and the Indian Mountain battery now joined them, with some British troops, and before daybreak on August 8 they assaulted the height of Chunuk Bair. In that gallant climb their loved leader Colonel Malone was killed, and many another brave New Zealand officer. But nothing could stop them, and in the face of a furious fire above them they actually scaled to the summit and dug in upon the crest. That night they held what they had so painfully won.
No words can paint the gallantry of the fighting of the four days that followed the night of August 6. August 9 saw the gallant little band of New Zealanders still in the trench that spans the summit of Chunuk Bair, while a little later the Gurkhas, who had occupied a gully still farther north than those penetrated by the New Zealanders, arrived on the crest of 971 itself.
From that point of vantage the bold pioneers could see all they had striven for through many weary weeks of constant fighting. Away to the south-east were the forts of the Narrows. At their very feet ran the road of communication, which leads from Gallipoli town to the main Turkish position at Achi Baba. They could see the trains of mules and the transport vehicles passing along this road. The goal of their efforts was there, in their full sight.
Right and left, on higher crests, were the Turks in force, determined to drive them from their post of vantage. Desperately the New Zealanders hung on to what they had gained, until support should come. The history of that attempt to hold a hilltop is one of the most glorious in all the annals of war. Some day the world will know how sixteen New Zealanders kept a long section of trench against a whole host of enemies for three hours. If the desperate valour of the men of New Zealand, and of their Gurkha friends, could have conserved the advantage, it would never have been lost.
The story of the loss of the position had best be told in the merciful words of Sir Ian Hamilton's despatch:—
"During the night of the 9th-10th the New Zealand and New Army troops on Chunuk Bair were relieved. For three days and three nights they had been ceaselessly fighting. They were half dead with fatigue. Their lines of communication, started from sea level, ran across trackless ridges and ravines to an altitude of 800 ft., and were exposed all the way to snipers' fire and artillery bombardment. It had become imperative, therefore, to get them enough food, water, and rest; and for this purpose it was imperative also to withdraw them. Chunuk Bair, which they had so magnificently held, was now handed over to two battalions of the 13th Division, which were connected by the 10th Hampshire Regiment with the troops at the farm. General Sir William Birdwood is emphatic on the point that the nature of the ground is such that there was no room on the crest for more than this body of 800 to 1,000 rifles.
"The two battalions of the New Army chosen to hold Chunuk Bair were the 6th Loyal North Lancashire Regiment and the 5th Wiltshire Regiment. The first of these arrived in good time and occupied the trenches. Even in the darkness their commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Levinge, recognized how dangerously these trenches were sited, and he began at once to dig observation posts on the actual crest and to strengthen the defences where he could. But he had not time given him to do much. The second battalion, the Wiltshires, were delayed by the intricate country. They did not reach the edge of the entrenchment until 4 a.m., and were then told to lie down in what was believed, erroneously, to be a covered position.
"At daybreak on Tuesday, August 10, the Turks delivered a grand attack from the line Chunuk Bair Hill Q against these two battalions, already weakened in numbers, though not in spirit, by previous fighting. First our men were shelled by every enemy gun, and then, at 5.30 a.m., were assaulted by a huge column, consisting of no less than a full division plus a regiment of three battalions. The North Lancashire men were simply overwhelmed in their shallow trenches by sheer weight of numbers, whilst the Wilts, who were caught out in the open, were literally almost annihilated. The ponderous mass of the enemy swept over the crest, turned the right flank of our line below, swarmed round the Hampshires and General Baldwin's column, which had to give ground, and were only extricated with great difficulty and very heavy losses."