AGGRESSIVE TURKISH MOVEMENTS—OPINION IN ENGLAND—CHANGE IN COMMAND

With the withdrawal of the allied troops from Anzac Cove and Suvla Bay, the Turks were free to concentrate all their forces in the Gallipoli Peninsula in the south against the British and French forces that were still intrenched on a line running roughly from Y Beach on the Ægean Sea to Kereves Dere on the Dardanelles, skirting the slopes that led up to the town of Krithia and the heights of Achi Baba.

Immediately the Turks began to transfer the guns and men that had been used against the northern position. Obviously such a transfer in difficult country with few roads and a restricted front took considerable time. In the meantime the British and French in front of Krithia were not inactive. They countered constantly against the ever-increasing pressure of the enemy. Although few infantry attacks were engaged in, bomb and mine warfare for the improvement of the allied positions and the prevention of fresh inroads by the Turks was an almost constant affair.

Fortunately for the safety and subsequent plans of the Allies, the Gallipoli Peninsula at that time of the year was rendered most difficult for offensive fighting. Heavy rains and consequent floods make the country almost impassable for the movement of big guns or large bodies of troops in the face of a determined defense.

But while the position of the allied troops in the hills away from the fringe of coast was becoming desperate, at or near the beaches they could enjoy practical immunity except from a few long-range Turkish batteries. The powerful guns of the allied warships so far outranged and outweighed anything the Turks could bring into the field about Krithia and Achi Baba that the allied troops could lie sheltered under their protection. This fact undoubtedly contributed largely to the astonishing success of the reembarkation operations here, as it had at the two northern bases. The chief danger to the allied troops about Krithia was in the retreat over the few miles that separated them from the embarkation beaches.

Finally, however, the pressure of the Turks became so heavy that there was very real apprehension for the safety of the allied troops still left on the peninsula. Whether or not it was ever intended to maintain the positions won in the south it is impossible to say at this time. Some observers were of the opinion that it was England's desire to construct on the territory in her possession at the entrance to the Dardanelles a second Gibraltar, commanding at least one end of the important waterway. German opinion held that it had been agreed between the Entente Powers in the event of the forcing of the Dardanelles that the land commanding the waterway was to be divided among the three countries, each dominating a stretch—probably Russia in Constantinople, England at the Narrows, and France in between.

However that may be, any intention of hanging on to the territory captured in the south was soon to be impracticable. By the first of the year, 1916, the Turks were hotly pressing the allied troops to the left of Krithia and it became imperative to shorten the line.

Favored by the floods and the fact that, despite the knowledge of the Turks that a reembarkation had been decided upon, they did not know exactly when it was to be carried out, the retirement was effected with small loss. On the nights of January 8-9, 1916, the men were embarked from the beaches at the north of Sedd-el-Bahr under the guns of the British and French fleet.

At the last moment it was found impossible to get eleven British guns away. Reluctantly it was decided to destroy them and they were rendered useless by the last troops leaving the peninsula. Similarly the French were compelled to abandon six heavy pieces. Immense stores were burned and all the buildings, piers, etc., erected by the allied troops blown up. While the Allies' offensive was beginning to wane at Gallipoli, an interesting incident developed at Constantinople which gives some idea of the high tension existing there at the time. The story is best told in the original words of Mr. Henry Wood, an American newspaper correspondent, who in a dispatch dated August 17, 1915, first gave the news to the New York "World." He wrote:

"The following is the story of the manner in which Mr. Morgenthau, the American Ambassador, intervened in favor of 2,000 English and French civilians whom Enver Pasha had decided to expose to the bombardment of the allied fleet at Gallipoli:

"The decision had not only been taken, but every detail had been covertly prepared for its carrying out on a Monday morning, when on the previous evening Mr. Morgenthau learned of it. He at once telephoned to Enver Pasha and secured from him a promise that women and children should be spared. A second request, that the execution of the order be delayed until the following Thursday, was only granted after the ambassador had assured Enver that it would be the greatest mistake Turkey had ever made to carry it out without first advising the powers interested.

"Mr. Morgenthau at once telegraphed to France and England by way of Washington, and no reply having arrived by Wednesday morning, again telephoned to the War Minister, insisting on being received in personal audience.

"'I have not a single moment left vacant until four o'clock, at which time I must attend a Council of the Ministers,' was the reply.

"'But unless you have received me by four o'clock,' Mr. Morgenthau replied, 'I will come out and enter the Council of Ministers myself, when I shall insist upon talking to you.'

"An appointment was therefore granted for three o'clock, and after a long argument Enver Pasha was persuaded to agree to send only twenty-five French and twenty-five English to Gallipoli 'as a demonstration,' the War Minister arguing that any farther retraction would weaken discipline. It was also agreed to send only the youngest men, and Bedri Bey, the Constantinople chief of police, was at once sent for in order that he might be acquainted with the new limitation of the decision. But he at once protested. 'I don't want to send a lot of boys down there. I want to send down notables. You have tricked me,' he declared, turning to the ambassador.

"Next morning the ambassador attended personally to the going aboard of the twenty-five French and twenty-five English who had been finally selected. For all that, they knew the original orders to expose them to the fire of the fleet were to be carried out to the letter, and the farewell to their friends and relatives at the Golden Horn pier was one of the most affecting ever enacted at Constantinople. At the last minute one of the British ministers, who still remained at Constantinople, volunteered to go along in order that he might offer spiritual consolation should they eventually face death, and a young Englishman was released in his place. Mr. Morgenthau insisted that the party be accompanied by Mr. Hoffman Phillip, First Secretary of the American Embassy.

"On their arrival at Gallipoli they were imprisoned in two empty houses and informed that the allied fleet was expected any moment to resume its bombardment. The city had been under fire for several days, and was almost completely deserted. No provision had been made for their subsistence. During the days which followed the fifty men suffered considerable hardships, but at last orders came from Constantinople for all fifty to be returned and released."

Meanwhile a curious hardening of public opinion regarding the Dardanelles was taking place in England, which in the course of time was destined to have an all-important influence on the operations in that part of the world. Before the Suvla Bay landing there had been considerable but mild criticism of the manner in which the whole affair had been undertaken and carried out. Close upon the early successes of the naval bombardment there had been an unjustified public optimism. Then came weeks of pessimism following that black day when three battleships were sent to the bottom almost at one blow. Subsequent events and the false color given to them by the official, but especially the unofficial, accounts served to hearten the British public for a time. Then came Winston Churchill's famous speech in which he spoke of Sir Ian Hamilton's forces being "only a few miles from a great victory," such as would have a determining effect upon the outcome of the war. This was followed by many absurd but circumstantial reports that the Dardanelles had actually been forced but, for some unexplained reasons, the news was being withheld by the Government.

A little later there came news of the arrival of German submarines off Gallipoli and of the sinking of two more battleships. This was followed by unofficial intimation that the major fleet had had to be withdrawn from the waters about the peninsula and that the forces on land were in a measure cut off and dependent upon smaller vessels for naval support and supply.

At this point criticism of the Dardanelles campaign became more pronounced and daring in many quarters in England. The public was ripe for it and many openly expressed their regret that it had ever been entered upon. Then came the Suvla Bay landing, and affairs rapidly moved to a climax.

The Suvla Bay attempt, like all of the other operations at Gallipoli, was conceived in a spirit of excessive optimism. It was intended to be a surprise and the public in England were kept absolutely ignorant of the preparations, so far as it was possible to prevent a leakage with thousands of troops being sent out of the country. Even after the landing and the fighting were well over, little or no news was allowed to get into the papers. Finally there came a long dispatch from the United States, which, curiously enough, the British censor passed, telling of the utter defeat of the Turk, the complete success of the Suvla Bay maneuver, and intimating that the forcing of the Dardanelles was now but a question of a few days.

This amazing dispatch, in which there was of course no truth, was printed in the leading English papers, and a large part of the unthinking public and even a portion of the more intelligent classes swallowed it whole. The news came just at the time of the blackest week of the war up to that time, from the British point of view, when the Germans were racing to the end of their remarkable drive against the Russians and the czar's great fortresses were falling like packs of cards before the furious onslaughts of the Teuton forces.

But with the arrival and publication in England of Sir Ian Hamilton's account, and the declaration by him that the ends aimed at had not been achieved, it soon was realized that even this great attempt, upon which so much had been builded, had failed. Depression became universal, and there were for the first time responsible demands that the whole expedition be abandoned.

This question of the total abandonment of the attempt to force the Dardanelles was a tremendous problem for England. Involved in it was the great question of her prestige, not only among her millions of Mohammedan subjects, but also in the Balkans, then rapidly moving to a decision. Turkey was the only Mohammedan power still boasting independence, and for Great Britain to acknowledge herself bested in an attempt to defeat her was likely to have far-reaching and serious results throughout India and Egypt, where Great Britain's ability to hold what she had won was dependent in a large measure upon the very prestige now in danger.

One of the reasons for urging the abandonment of the Dardanelles campaign was the urgent need for troops elsewhere. It was declared that it was absurd folly to be wasting troops at Gallipoli when the western front was being starved for men. Furthermore there were rapidly accumulating evidences that the Entente Powers were soon to be compelled to fight on a new and important front.

About this time Germany began her preparations for a final attack upon Serbia. Try as the Allies might, they had not been able to force an agreement between Serbia and Bulgaria on the question of the ownership of those parts of Macedonia won from the Turk in the First Balkan War, and taken from the Bulgar by the Serbians in the second. Germany, taking advantage of these irreconcilable differences, was about to launch a heavy attack from the north upon the kingdom of aged Peter. In these circumstances there came before the British Government, in common with the French Government, the question of just how great an obligation rested on the shoulders of the two great powers. Serbia certainly looked to them to assist her with all their strength, and at the height of the agitation Sir Edward Grey made a public declaration that in every circumstance Serbia could look to England for unlimited support.

It was when those who knew began to discuss the question of where Great Britain was to find the military force to make good Grey's pledge to Serbia that the Dardanelles campaign came in for hot criticism. It was known that few, if any, fully trained troops were available in England for a fresh campaign. Indeed, as matters ultimately worked out, it was France who found the bulk of the force that was hurried to Saloniki when Bulgaria declared war on Serbia and joined in the Austro-German attack upon the Balkan kingdom. Later, under French pressure, England withdrew 40,000 of her troops from the western front and rushed them off to Saloniki, but much too late to succor Serbia.

Finally, so powerful became the influences calling upon the Government to retire from the Dardanelles with as much grace as possible that the opinion of Sir Ian Hamilton was asked. Probably the inside truth of the affair will not be known for some years, but it later developed that there was considerable friction between Sir Ian Hamilton and the British War Office at the time. Sir Ian, it is known, laid a large part of blame for the failure at the Strait to the fact that Earl Kitchener did not send him large reenforcements that were expressly promised. At any rate he was against a withdrawal from Gallipoli in the circumstances and in favor of a swift and overwhelming assault with all the troops and forces that could be gathered. He was still firmly convinced that the forcing of the Dardanelles was possible and probable.

Just what were the relations between France and England, and especially how they each regarded the Dardanelles campaign in the winter of 1915, it is impossible to say with any degree of assurance. It is known, however, that there were serious differences of opinion, not only among the more influential men in both Paris and London, but between the two Governments.

Obviously, the British were the more reluctant to abandon the project, which had been entered upon with so much confidence and enthusiasm. It was distinctly a British operation, although the French Government had given its unqualified approval at the start and had loyally contributed all the troops it could spare. But the plans had been drawn up in London and had been worked out by British commanders; and the acknowledgment of failure was a confession of British, not French, incompetency. It was a blow at British prestige such as had not been dealt since the early disasters of the Boer War.

While the whole question of the Gallipoli campaign was being reconsidered there occurred something that had a profound effect upon subsequent events in that part of the war area and elsewhere. The defeat of the Russians while the French and British troops were unable, through lack of preparation and foresight, to carry on an energetic offensive that might have drawn the Germans from their Slav prey, convinced all the allied Governments that the time had arrived for a thorough revision of their system of cooperation. In short, if the war was to be won and each of the Entente Powers was to escape a separate defeat while the others were doomed to a forced inactivity, it was necessary that their military, economic, and financial affairs should be so coordinated and administered that they should be directed with one object only in view—the winning of the war.

For this purpose representatives of the allied powers met in Paris and discussed plans. One of the first results of these discussions was to be seen in the military field. The armies of France and England in the field became, for all practical purposes, one. The supreme command of the allied forces in France was placed in the hands of the commander in chief of the French army.

General French, who had been only nominally under the orders of the French commander in chief, retired from command of the British army in France and one of his subordinates, Sir Douglas Haig, took his place. Similarly, in the southwestern theatre of the war, where Sir Ian Hamilton was in supreme command, the leadership passed to France, Hamilton resigning and his place being taken by Sir Charles Monro. When the British and French troops from Gallipoli were ultimately landed at Saloniki the supreme command of the allied forces in that theatre of war was given to General Sarrail of the French army.

Undoubtedly, too, the influence of France, and of Joffre individually, was thrown into the scales at these Paris meetings against a continuance of the Dardanelles operations. French public opinion was strongly in favor of sending immediate succor to the Serbians. So strong, in fact, was this public opinion that, when the expected help failed to arrive, it forced the immediate downfall of DelcassÉ and the ultimate resignation of the French Cabinet.

Soon after Kitchener returned to London from these Paris conferences a sensation was caused by the announcement that he was leaving the War Office temporarily and would undertake an important mission in the Near East. Ultimately it developed that this important mission was nothing more nor less than a first-hand examination of the problems confronting the British commander in withdrawing his force from Gallipoli and a study of the field into which it was proposed to transfer, not only these troops, but hundreds of thousands of others.

Probably no high officer of the British army was more fitted for the mission. Whatever one may think of Kitchener's administration of the British War Office during a period of unprecedented difficulty, no one can deny his success in India and Egypt. With those commands had necessarily gone an exhaustive study of military operations that might conceivably have to be undertaken for the protection of British prestige and power in the Mohammedan world.

Thus he was thoroughly at home in the Near East and he brought back to London an encouraging report. Even high military opinion in England had been of the opinion that the withdrawal of the allied troops from Gallipoli could not be effected without terrible losses. Some even held that it would be better and less costly in human lives to leave the troops there on the defensive until the end of the war than to attempt to get them out of the death hole into which they had been dumped.

This, however, was not Lord Kitchener's idea. He reported that they could be withdrawn, not, it was true, without heavy losses, but at a cost much smaller than the general estimate. This conclusion he came to after an examination on the spot, and subsequent events, as we shall see, more than justified his judgment in the matter.

Once having made up its mind to risk the loss of prestige involved and withdraw the army from the Gallipoli Peninsula, the British Government acted with speed and intelligence. It turned the difficult task over to General Sir Charles Monro, whose subsequent accomplishment of the operations earned him the admiration of every military man throughout the world.

General Sir Charles Monro's job was difficult and dangerous enough for any man. In the face of an enemy numbering something like 80,000 men, along a line of 20,000 yards, he had to withdraw an almost equal number of men with their stores, trucks, ammunition, guns, etc. Only by the greatest of good fortune could he have the inestimable advantage of surprise.

Moreover, the enemy had been tremendously encouraged and emboldened by the successful defense which they had offered to all the allied assaults of the previous year. Their Mohammedan fanaticism had been stirred by the Turkish, Austrian, and German press, and their pride quickened by the thick crop of rumors that the Allies were finally about to acknowledge defeat.

In many places the French and British trenches were separated by less than fifty yards from the Turkish defenders. In few cases were they more than 500 yards distant. Furthermore, the Turkish positions overlooked the allied troops, being in almost every case on higher ground. And finally the Suvla Bay and Anzac regions, the points from which the troops would have to be embarked, were all within artillery range and often within rifle range of the enemy.

Every effort was made by General Monro and his subordinate officers to conduct the preparations for the embarkation of the troops in secret. That is to say the exact day decided upon was kept a secret from all except the highest officers. For it was not possible to keep from the Turks entirely the knowledge of a complete withdrawal from the Gallipoli Peninsula of the allied troops. Too much publicity had been given to the whole discussion in France and England for that.

Eventually, Monday, December 19, 1915, was decided upon for the critical operation. With all possible secrecy a great fleet of transports was gathered at Mudros Bay and, under the protection of this fleet of warships—the strongest that had approached the Gallipoli Peninsula since the arrival of the German submarines in the neighborhood—sailed for Suvla Bay and Anzac Cove.

It had been decided to remove the allied troops from these two bases before attempting the perhaps more difficult task of getting the force away from the Krithia region. Indeed, after the troops had been safely extricated from the northern bases it was officially announced in London that the Allies would continue to hold the base won in the south. This proved, however, to be merely in the nature of a literary demonstration to divert the attention of the none too credulous Turk from the real purpose of the allied command.

While the fleet of transports and warships was approaching the two bases under cover of the night, the Australian and New Zealand troops at Anzac and the British troops at Suvla were hastily preparing for leaving. Among the colonial troops there was the keenest regret in thus relinquishing what had been so hardly won at the price of so many precious lives. To the Australians the operations at Anzac will always remain one of the greatest, if not the very greatest military feat in their history. To be sure they fought in numbers and with conspicuous bravery throughout the Boer War; but Anzac was an operation all their own, on a scale never before attempted by them as a distinct military organization. They had won undying fame and unstinted praise from the highest military authorities, and the success of the operation in that part of the Gallipoli Peninsula had become a matter affecting their pride.[Back to Contents]