Now I was very glad that things had turned out so happily, but even if I had not obtained the order for the delay of the _Dundrennon_, I still had a trump card up my sleeve, which I had only intended to play in the last resort, namely, to have seized the anchor winch and, at all costs, have prevented any sailor from approaching it until I gave orders that they might do so. I had put fifty armed men on board ship, whom I was prepared to use for this purpose in case of necessity, as I was determined that I should go to Gallipoli complete, even at the risk of seizing the ship and being, later on, tried for piracy on the high seas!
This reminds me of an incident which happened in the South African War when I had to resort to almost similar methods. I was given orders to entrain my squadron instantly at Bloemfontein, but instead of being sent north we were merely shunted into the Station siding, where we had to remain for the best part of twenty-four hours without any chance of watering our horses. We started some time in the night, and at daybreak the train was halted at a siding where there was a stream running close by. I looked at my horses and found many of them down, owing to fatigue and want of water, so I ordered the men to unbox them and take them to water at the stream. When the guard saw this he strongly objected, saying that the train that was coming down might pass through at any moment, and that, as soon as it had passed, he would proceed on his way to Johannesburg, whether the horses were back in the boxes or not. I said: "Will you?" and he replied: "Yes, I will. I am in charge of this train and I am going to push on."
I thereupon called up the Sergeant-Major, whispered an order to him, and in two seconds that guard found himself a prisoner on the platform with a soldier on each side of him, with orders to hold him fast in case he made any attempt to get away. The watering was quietly and expeditiously proceeded with, and meanwhile the down train passed through.
Our engine driver came along the platform to see what was the matter and I overheard the guard telling him to proceed at once, even if he, the guard, were left behind. I asked the driver if he meant to carry out the guard's instructions and he replied: "Yes." I then said: "Sergeant-Major, two more men! make this driver a prisoner."
When the watering of the horses was over I released my prisoners and told them they could now go on. The driver refused. I said: "All right, then. I will drive myself." The look of astonishment that came over the driver's face when he saw me mount the footplate, confidently put my hand on the lever and start the train, was something to be remembered.
He immediately caved in, jumped up and resumed his duties, without more ado. Some time afterwards I heard that the guard made a bitter complaint of my high-handedness, which eventually came before General Tucker, then commanding at Bloemfontein, and it was a satisfaction to me to learn that the General emphasised his approval of what I had done in one of his choicest expressions.
Even with the extension of the time limit, I felt that it would be a close thing if we were to get everything on board the _Dundrennon_ by eight o'clock, so we all worked with feverish energy, and it was only by a great spurt on the part of the _Jessie_ that we finally got our last three lighters, loaded to their utmost capacity, made fast to the _Dundrennon_ just before eight o'clock. I knew that it would still take a good hour to get everything aboard, so, drawing Murley aside, I suggested to him that he must be in need of a little refreshment after his strenuous night, and that if he were to go to the skipper's cabin he could, I felt sure, count on him to produce a bottle--and I added: "Make sure that he does not come out until I give you the signal."
Murley laughingly undertook this congenial task, and when, after everything had been stowed away, I eventually joined them at 9:10 A. M., I found the skipper thoroughly enjoying himself and laughing heartily at one of Murley's impromptu yarns. Bravo, Murley! If I am ever ruler of the "King's Navee"--and stranger things have happened--you may be sure that you will be appointed an Admiral of the Fleet!
I don't know how to find you, but if these lines ever come under your eye, remember that dinner that you are to have with me in London, and it shall be of the best, Murley, of the very best.
I found, after all, that the old skipper's bark was worse than his bite.
He thawed towards me to such an extent that, when I parted from him at Gallipoli, he sped me on my way with a present of two precious bottles of his best whisky!--sign manual of his having taken me to his rugged but withal kindly old heart.
CHAPTER VII
DESCRIPTION OF SOUTHERN GALLIPOLI
As I shall have to mention several places in Gallipoli, it may be well before proceeding further to give the reader some idea of the geography of the place.
Gallipoli is a narrow, hilly peninsula, varying from three to twelve miles wide, running south-westward into the aegean Sea, with the Dardanelles, from one to four miles wide, separating it from the Asiatic coast throughout its length of some forty miles.
As I am going to speak more particularly of the southern end of the Peninsula, I will only describe that portion of it, as it was here that the 29th Division landed, and the Zion Mule Corps worked.
The dominating feature is the hill of Achi Baba, some seven hundred feet high, which, with its shoulders sloping down on the one side to the aegean and on the other to the Dardanelles, shuts out all further view of the Peninsula to the northward. There are only two villages in this area, Sedd-el-Bahr at the entrance to the Dardanelles, and Krithia, with its quaint windmills, to the southwest of Achi Baba, somewhat picturesquely situated on the slope of a spur, some five miles northwest of Sedd-el-Bahr--Achi Baba itself being between six and seven miles from Cape Helles, which is the most southerly point of the Peninsula.
A line through Achi Baba from the aegean to the Dardanelles would be a little over five miles, while the width at Helles is only about one and a half miles.
A fairly good representation of this tract of country will be obtained by holding the right-hand palm upward and slightly hollowed, the thumb pressed a little over the forefinger. Imagine the Dardanelles running along by the little finger up the arm, and the aegean Sea on the thumb side. Morto Bay, an inlet of the Dardanelles, would then be at about the tip of a short little finger; Sedd-el-Bahr Castle at the tip of the third finger; V Beach between the third finger and the middle finger; Cape Helles the tip of the middle finger; W Beach between the middle finger and the forefinger; X Beach at the base of the nail of the forefinger; Gully Beach between the tip of the thumb and the forefinger; Gully Ravine running up between the thumb and forefinger towards Krithia village, which is situated half-way up to the thumb socket; Y Beach at the first joint of the thumb; and Achi Baba in the centre of the heel of the hand where it joins the wrist.
Anzac, where the Australians and New Zealanders landed, would be some distance above the wrist on the thumb side of the forearm; and the Narrows of the Dardanelles would be on the inner or little finger side of the forearm opposite Anzac.
Imagine the sea itself lapping the lower part of the hand on a level with the finger-nails, and then the cliffs will be represented by the rise from the finger-nails to the balls of the fingers.
The hollowed hand gives a very good idea of the appearance of the country, which gradually slopes down to a valley represented by the palm of the hand. The lines on the hand represent the many ravines and watercourses which intersect the ground.
Practically the whole of this basin drains into Morto Bay or the Dardanelles, with the exception of Gully Ravine and the ravine running down to Y Beach, which drain into the aegean Sea.
A glance at the "handy" sketch will make everything clear, but it does not pretend to strict accuracy.
CHAPTER VIII
A HOMERIC CONFLICT
Mudros Harbour was deserted as we sailed through it on our way out, for all the warships and transports had already left. Just beyond the harbour entrance we passed the _Anglo-Egyptian_, on the decks of which the other half of the Zionists were crowded. We wondered what had happened to detain her, for she was lying at anchor; but we saw nothing amiss, and lusty cheers were given and received as we steamed past.
When we had rounded the land which guards the entrance to the harbour, the _Dundrennon_ turned her bows northeastward and we steamed off towards the land of our hopes and fears, through a calm sea, which sparkled gaily in the sunshine. The soft zephyr which followed us from the south, changed suddenly and came from the northeast, bringing with it the sound of battle from afar. The dull boom of the guns could now be plainly heard and told us that the great adventure had already begun.
How we all wished that the _Dundrennon_ were a greyhound of the seas and could rush us speedily to the scene of such epoch-making events!
But, alas! she was only a slow old tramp, and going "all out" she could do no more than twelve knots an hour; and it seemed an eternity before we actually came close enough to see anything of the great drama which was being enacted.
As we ploughed along the calm sea, to the slow beat of the engines, each hour seemed a century, but at last we were able to distinguish the misty outline of the Asiatic shore and, a little later on, we saw, coming to meet us like an out-stretched arm and hand, a land fringed and half-hidden by the fire and smoke which enveloped it as if some great magician had summoned the powers of darkness to aid in its defence.
Soon battleships, cruisers and destroyers began to outline themselves, and every few minutes we could see them enveloped in a sheet of flame and smoke, as they poured their broadsides into the Turkish positions.
The roar of the _Queen Elizabeth's_ heavy guns dwarfed all other sounds, as this leviathan launched her huge projectiles--surely mightier thunderbolts than Jove ever hurled--against the foe. Every now and again one of her shells would strike and burst on the very crest of Achi Baba, which then, as it belched forth flame, smoke and great chunks of the hill itself, vividly recalled to my mind Vesuvius in a rage.
The whole scene was a sight for the gods, and those of us mortals who witnessed it and survived the day have forever stamped on our minds the most wonderful spectacle that the world has ever seen. Half the nations of the earth were gathered there in a titanic struggle. England, with her children from Australia and New Zealand, and fellow subjects from India; sons of France, with their fellow citizens from Algeria and Senegal; Russian sailors and Russian soldiers; Turks and Germans--all fighting within our vision, some in Europe and some in Asia.
Nor did the wonders end here, for, circling the heavens like soaring eagles, were French and British aeroplanes, while, under the sea, lurked the deadly submarine.
It was altogether in the fitness of things that this Homeric conflict should have its setting within sight of the classic Plains of Troy.
Who will be the modern Homer to immortalise the deeds done this day--deeds beside which those performed by Achilles, Hector and the other heroes of Greece and Troy pale into utter insignificance?
Certainly a far greater feat of arms was enacted in Gallipoli on this 25th of April, 1915, than was ever performed by those ancient heroes on the Plains of Ilium, which lay calm, green and smiling just across the sparkling Hellespont.
Up the Dardanelles, as far as the Narrows, we could see our ships of war, principally destroyers, blazing away merrily and indiscriminately at the guns, both on the European and Asiatic shores. The sea was as calm as a mill-pond round Cape Helles--the most southerly point of the Peninsula; the only ripple to be seen was that made by the strong current shot out through the Straits. All round the men-of-war Turkish shells were dropping, sending up veritable waterspouts as they struck the sea, for, luckily, very few of them hit the ships. It was altogether the most imposing and awe-inspiring sight that I have ever seen or am likely to see again.
We were under orders to disembark, when our turn came, at V Beach, a little cove to the east of Cape Helles. As we approached near to our landing-place, we could see through the haze, smoke and dust, the gleam of bayonets, as men swayed and moved hither and thither in the course of the fight, while the roar of cannon and the rattle of the machine-guns and rifles were absolutely deafening. We could well imagine what a veritable hell our brave fellows who were attacking this formidable position must be facing, for, in addition to rifle and machine-gun fire from the surrounding cliffs, they were also at times under a deadly cannonade from the Turkish batteries established on the Asiatic shore.
The warships were slowly moving up and down the coast blazing away fiercely at the Turkish strongholds, battering such of them as were left into unrecognisable ruins.
We in the transports lay off the shore in four parallel lines, each successive line going forward methodically and disembarking the units on board as the ground was made good by the landing parties.
We watched the fight from our position in the line for the whole of that day, and never was excitement so intense and long-sustained as during those hours; nor was it lessened when night fell upon us, for the roll of battle still continued--made all the grander by the vivid flashes from the guns which, every few moments, shot forth great spurts of flame, brilliantly illuminating the inky darkness. Sedd-el-Bahr Castle and the village nestling behind it were fiercely ablaze, and cast a ruddy glare on the sky.
The next day, from a position much closer inshore, we watched again the terrible struggle of the landing-parties to obtain a grip on the coast.
We were one and all feverish with anxiety to land and do something--no matter how little--to help the gallant fellows who were striving so heroically to drive the Turk from the strong positions which he had carefully fortified and strengthened in every possible way.
A most bloody battle was taking place, staged in a perfect natural amphitheatre, but never had Imperial Rome, even in the days of Nero himself, gazed upon such a corpse-strewn, blood-drenched arena.
This arena was formed partly by the sea, which has here taken a semicircular bite out of the rocky coast, and partly by a narrow strip of beach which extended back for about a dozen yards to a low rampart formed of sand, some three or four feet high, which ran round the bay.
Behind this rampart the ground rose steeply upwards, in tier after tier of grassy slopes, to a height of about 100 feet, where it was crowned by some ruined Turkish barracks. On the right, this natural theatre was flanked by the old castle of Sedd-el-Bahr, whose battlements and towers were even then crumbling down from the effects of the recent bombardment by the Fleet. To the left of the arena, high cliffs rose sheer from the sea, crowned by a modern redoubt. Barbed wire zig-zagged and criss-crossed through arena and amphitheatre--and such barbed wire! It was twice as thick, strong and formidable as any I had ever seen.
The cliffs and galleries were trenched and full of riflemen, as were also the barracks, the ruined fort, and Sedd-el-Behr Castle.
Machine-guns and pom-poms were everywhere, all ready to pour a withering fire on any one approaching or attempting to land on the beach.
It is small wonder, therefore, that so few escaped from that terrible arena of death. Indeed, the wonder is that any one survived that awful ordeal.