As I looked down from my post of observation, a saucer-like green valley full of olive trees, vine-yards and young corn spread out before me for some five miles, right away up to Achi Baba, the dominating hill, some six hundred or seven hundred feet high. The French, as I have already said, were away on the right, and I watched their infantry mass in hollows and ravines, then advance in wavy lines under the pounding shelter of their guns. The latter were served magnificently, and the infantry as they advanced found the ground to their immediate front swept yard by yard by the guns fired by their comrades a couple of miles to their rear.
It was a stirring sight to watch the officers dash out and give the men a lead when there was any hesitation or waver of the line. In places I could see the Turks run like hares, but on the extreme left the French who were in touch with our right could be seen retiring precipitately over the hill, badly slated by the Turks.
I was fascinated by the sight and wondered how that broken line could be again reformed. It was done, however, in the shelter of a bluff, and once more they charged over the hill and were then lost to my view.
The 29th Division extended from the French left, near the right centre of the saucer, across to the aegean Sea. The front was towards Achi Baba, and our men made headway towards it in the face of fierce opposition.
Our guns were barking away at the Turks in their trenches, and the great guns of the Fleet were hurling their high explosives, which descended on the doomed Turks with terrific effect. One could see great spurts of flame, smoke, earth, timbers, rocks, Turks, in fact, everything in the neighbourhood, going up as though shot out of the crater of a volcano.
To me it seemed as though nothing could possibly live under such a reign of death, which continued with ever-increasing intensity for an hour.
Nothing could be seen of Achi Baba, or any other part of the Turkish position, owing to the smoke and dust which the bombardment had raised, and unfortunately the wind was blowing towards us, which brought everything into the eyes of our men as they leaped out of the trenches to the attack.
The moment the guns ceased one could discern, through the haze, the gleam of bayonets as the Allies swept forward along the whole front like a bristling wall of steel, right into the leading Turkish trenches.
Wherever the bombardment had done its work and smashed down the wire entanglements, our men found it easy to advance. Such Turks as remained in the trenches were dazed and demoralised by the shell fire, and were only too willing to surrender. But in some parts, especially on the left of the line, the guns had failed to cut down the barbed wire, and here our men were crumpled up by the deadly fire of rifle and machine-gun which was concentrated on them at this point.
It was a soul-stirring sight to watch, on this great stage, the alternate advance and retreat of our men, and the scuttle of the Turks along their communication trenches; the charge of the Zouaves, the hurried retirement of the Senegalese when they were met with a terrific fire from the Turks; the reforming of the line behind the friendly crest; the renewed pounding of the Turkish line by French and British guns; the charge once more of the Allied infantry into and through the Turkish curtain of fire until they were swallowed up in the smoke.
The heart palpitated with emotion, and one's imagination was gripped by the sight of these gallant fellows flinging themselves recklessly at the Turks.
At length human nature could do no more, and both British and French had to call a halt.
The result of the battle was that we gained some few hundred yards practically along the whole front except on the extreme left, but it was at a considerable cost in killed and wounded.
CHAPTER XIV
GENERAL D'AMADE AND THE CORPS EXPeDITIONNAIRE D'ORIENT
One end of our camp was in touch with the French lines and, of course, I saw a great deal of the French soldiers and a little of their gallant Commander, General d'Amade. I know, therefore, with what feelings of regret his men heard that he was about to return to France. He had endeared himself by his unfailing courtesy and goodwill, and had impressed with his fine, soldierly qualities all those with whom he had in any way come into contact.
During the tenure of his command, the French troops had, at the point of the bayonet, wrested seemingly impregnable positions from the brave foe.
Their losses had been cruel, terrible, but their deeds are imperishable.
The military records of France make glorious reading, but even to these dazzling pages General d'Amade and his gallant troops have added fresh lustre.
A sad blow had fallen upon the General while he was in Alexandria reorganising his Corps Expeditionnaire d'Orient, prior to its departure for Gallipoli. In the midst of his work a telegram was handed to him announcing that his son had fallen gloriously in France. The General, having read the heart-breaking message, paused for a moment and then remarked: "Well, our work for France must go on."
It was my good fortune to see the order of the day of the _Journal Officiel_ du 11 Fevrier, 1915, which recounted the death and gallant deeds of General d'Amade's boy. He was only eighteen and had just joined his regiment, the 131st Infantry, when he went on a perilous night mission to obtain information which could only be got by creeping up into the German trenches. With just two men he accomplished this dangerous duty successfully, but at that very moment he was discovered and a volley from the enemy laid him low. Although grievously wounded, his first thought was for France, so, forbidding his comrades to carry him off, he told them to fly with all speed to the French lines with the valuable information which he had obtained. Young Gerard d'Amade died where he had fallen, a noble example of that spirit of self-sacrifice which characterises all ranks of the French Army.
A framed copy of this order of the day has now a place of honour in the nursery of a little boy I know of who, every night before he goes to bed, stands in front of it at the salute and says: "I do this in memory of a brave French officer who gave his life for his country. May I so live that, if necessary, I may be ready to die for England as nobly as Gerard d'Amade died for France."
The British public is little aware of what it owes to General d'Amade.
During the terrible retreat of our Expeditionary Force from Mons, when we were outnumbered by five to one, and when the Germans were closing round our small army in overwhelming numbers, General Sir John French sent out urgent appeals for assistance in this hour of dire peril to the Generals commanding the French armies on his right and left. For some reason or other none of these came to his aid, and for a time it looked as if our gallant little army would be engulfed and annihilated.
Fortunately, there was one French General to whom the appeal was not made in vain. This was General d'Amade, who, at that time, was guarding the line in the northwest of France from Dunkerque to Valenciennes. To hold this very important eighty miles of front all the troops he had were four divisions of somewhat ill-equipped Territorials, with very few guns. It must be remembered that the French Territorial is past his prime and, as a rule, is the father of a family, and considers his fighting days over.
It can well be imagined, therefore, what an anxious time General d'Amade had during those fateful days from the 19th to the 28th August, 1914, when at any moment the German avalanche might burst upon him. On the 24th August his force was strengthened by two Reserve Divisions (the 61st and 62nd), which only arrived in the nick of time, for with these he was able to do something in answer to General French's despairing appeal. General d'Amade manoeuvred these two Reserve Divisions into a position which seriously threatened von Kluck's flank. That "hacking"
General, not knowing the strength of General d'Amade's menacing force, became anxious for his right flank and communications, so turned aside from his pursuit of the British and proceeded to crush the French. These two divisions put up such an heroic fight and offered such a stubborn resistance to the German horde that it took the pressure off our sorely stricken men, enabling them to extricate themselves and retire, broken, exhausted, tired, crushed, it is true, but still to retire to safety, where they were able to reorganise and take ample vengeance on the Germans a few days later.
General d'Amade lost practically his entire force, but he had gained something very precious; he had saved our army from destruction, and what is more, he had saved the honour of France--nay, even France itself, for if the French generals had stood idly by and allowed our Expeditionary Force to be wiped out of existence, I think it is more than likely that France might have prayed in vain for any further assistance, in troops at all events, from England.
All honour, therefore, to the General who, without hesitation, with just two Reserve Divisions, took the shock of the German legions and sacrificed himself and his troops rather than see the honour of France go down in the dust. Politicians may recommend the bestowal of honours and decorations on their favourite Generals, but General d'Amade deserves more than this, he deserves a tribute from the British people.
He made a magnificent sacrifice in our cause, and if ever in the history of the world a general deserved a sword of honour from a nation, General d'Amade deserves one from England.
CHAPTER XV
VARIOUS BOMBARDMENTS
Every morning regularly the Turks commenced shelling us punctually at eight o'clock, presumably after they had had breakfast, and again at tea time. They generally continued for a couple of hours, and these hours were always lively ones for us, and it was a daily occurrence to lose men, horses and mules.
On the 16th May, eleven Frenchmen, who happened to be close to our lines, were killed instantly by one shell, on the 17th one of my horses was wounded, and on the 19th the second was hit in the ribs by shrapnel.
The Turks often switched off from us and bombarded a section of the road used by wagons, gun-teams and motor cyclists. The latter were, to me, the chief wonder of Gallipoli. I ride a motor cycle myself, and have had a few smashes, so can fully realise its dangers.
I was introduced to this convenient form of locomotion by Dr. Rolleston after a breakdown in health. It is the most wonderful tonic I have yet come across, because the moment one gets on to the bicycle one's attention is so centred on keeping it going, picking out the smoothest bits of road, avoiding collisions, etc., that I veritably believe the treachery of one's closest friend would, for the moment, at least, fade from the memory. I am perfectly certain that the Gallipoli motor cyclists never gave a thought to absent friends; they were much too busy avoiding pitfalls and shells. They flew over the most uneven ground, took small trenches as it were in their stride, and were generally the most dare-devil set of boys I have ever seen. Many a time we stood and watched through our glasses this dangerous strip of road which the Turks had got the range of to a yard. As the wagons, gun-teams and cyclists approached it, they would get up the pace, and fly through it at top speed. The narrow squeaks that we constantly witnessed on this bit of road were enough to make one's hair stand on end! Yet I am glad to say I only once saw a man struck down. It looked so sad--the moment before so full of the joy of life, and then, just a little, huddled heap, lying still and quiet on the dusty roadway.
On May 20th, the Turks bombarded us for several hours; five of my men were wounded, two seriously, one of the poor fellows having his leg smashed to atoms. The same day I had five mules and one horse killed and ten mules wounded. The Horse Artillery, camped round about us, also suffered rather severely, for the Turks every now and again switched their batteries on to their lines and caused them heavy losses. It was a busy time for Lieutenant Fisher, the Veterinary Surgeon of the Horse Batteries, who kindly came to our aid whenever the Zion mules got "strafed."
When this bombardment broke upon us, everybody made a rush to get his horse, mule or himself out of danger, and many were the curses heaped on the Turkish gunners, who were universally consigned to the warmest place of which we have ever heard. It makes me laugh even now when I think of a little comedy that took place between Rolo and his groom. The latter, whose name was Dabani, was a most comical looking little fellow, with bandy legs, a swarthy face, and little black beard sprouting in patches here and there. He was an Israelite from Arabia, and although an excellent fellow in many ways, he was more renowned for his piety than for his courage. You could always tell the intensity of a bombardment by the fervour of Dabani's prayers. On this occasion, when the shells began to burst and spatter the shrapnel all round us, Rolo shouted to Dabani, whom he saw scuttling off for safety, to come back and look after his horse. "What, look after your horse now?" cried Dabani. "This is a time when I must look after myself," and taking not the slightest notice of Rolo's angry maledictions, he, with rabbit-like agility, dived for safety into his dug-out!
This bombardment badly shook some of my men, and among them Schoub, my farrier, who, the moment he felt it safe to emerge from the nethermost depths of his dug-out, came in a state of abject terror to Gye, begging piteously to be sent back to the bosom of his family in Alexandria, because, he remarked, "I am no use here now. The shells have made me stone deaf. I cannot hear a word." "What," said Gye, in a low voice, "not a single word?" "Not a single word," replied Schoub!
It was many months before he returned in safety to Alexandria, and by that time bombardments had become so common that they had ceased to terrify.
On the 2nd June, I was returning with Claude Rolo from an expedition which we had made to the Gurkha trenches on the extreme left of the line. Before we had got very far on our way heavy howitzers began to bombard the Turks, and as we were just then passing an artillery observation post, hidden away in a cross trench, we turned aside and went into it. From here we could see our high explosive shells bursting with terrific effect on the Turkish trench, which was only about three hundred yards away. The Artillery Observation Officer telephoned back to the guns the result of each shot, and under his guidance the shells soon battered down the earthworks, pulverising everything where they fell.
Soon, however, some sharp-eyed Turkish gunner spotted our observation post and began to plug at us pretty rapidly. Shells hopped off the parapet, shrapnel struck the steel shield, fuses and fragments of all kinds thudded into the bank behind our backs, and we seemed for the moment to be living in a little tornado of lead and iron. When this had continued for a few minutes, I remarked to the gunner man: "What on earth are the Turks trying to hit?" "Hit us, of course," he somewhat shortly replied.
Now, so long as we remained here in the deep trench we were comparatively safe, but as I wanted to get back to camp, I thought I would pull the gunner's leg before leaving him; he had no idea who we were, for we were in our shirt sleeves as usual, so I pretended to be thoroughly scared, and said: "Good heavens, this is no place for me!" on which he smiled the smile of a brave man who feels pity for a poltroon.
There were some twenty yards or so of open ground to be covered the moment we left the shelter of the observation post, and, of course, this was a really dangerous strip, because it was exposed to the fire of the Turks, and had therefore to be covered at top speed. The only way of accomplishing this in safety was to do it in between the shells, and as there was only a couple of seconds between each, the plunge out had to be made the instant one burst, so as to be under cover before the next arrived. Warning Rolo to follow me after the next explosion, out we darted. We had almost reached safety when I heard coming after us the scream of an approaching shell. I shouted out to Rolo, "Jump for your life!" and at the same time threw myself down, and the last thing I saw, amid the dust kicked up by the shower of shrapnel bullets, was Rolo plunging head foremost into a ditch, as if he were taking a dive!
We were neither of us hurt, but a stone thrown up by the shell struck me on the hand and drew a little blood. We both congratulated ourselves on our lucky escape and got back to camp with whole skins, none the worse for our close shave.
CHAPTER XVI
THE COMING OF THE GERMAN SUBMARINES
In our nightly journeys back from the trenches we were always guided through the darkness to our camp by the brilliant glare of the lights from the warships, hospital ships and transports, which lay thickly clustered round Cape Helles. It was a most beautiful sight, like a veritable floating Venice, but it was not practical and it was not war.
It showed an arrogance and utter contempt of the enemy who was, at that very moment, stealthily stalking them under the seas with the deadly submarine.