Fred Waite

The Arrival of the Mounteds.

During the first few days the troops were exhorted to hold on. There was no option. The line could not go forward, and it dare not go back. First it was rumoured that the East Lancashire Division, associated with us in Egypt, was coming to Anzac; then the 29th Indian Infantry Brigade from the Suez Canal; but Helles absorbed these. Worst still! On May 5 the New Zealand Infantry Brigade and the 2nd Australian Brigade were taken out of Anzac to assist in the thrust towards Krithia. On the left flank of Anzac, two weak battalions of the Royal Naval Division took over the line the New Zealand Brigade had vacated.

[Lent by Sergt. P. Tite, N.Z.E.

The Tangled Slopes of Mule Gully.

The Anzac position was now reorganized in four defence sections numbered from right to left. General Bridges, with the 1st Australian Division, held Sections 1 and 2—that is, from Chatham's Post on the sea up to, but not including, Courtney's Post. General Godley, with the N.Z. and A. Division, was responsible for the rest of the line. No. 3 Defence Section contained the three famous posts at the head of Monash Gully—Courtney's, Quinn's, and Pope's. Russell's Top, Walker's Ridge, No. 1 and No. 2 Posts made up No. 4 Section. General Birdwood, the Army Corps General, was at his headquarters in Anzac Cove, and each Divisional General was in charge of half the defensive line.

The sections were held as follow:—

We, as a nation, are prone to underrate our efforts and laud those of our adversaries. Before and during the war it was loudly asserted that the German Secret Service and German diplomacy always outwitted the British. To-day the world knows the truth of the matter. Likewise, it was contended that the Turkish Intelligence Department was superior to ours. "Look how they always know what we are about to do," said the critics. Truly, anything planned in Egypt was bound to leak out if it had to be printed or circulated, as Egypt was always a cosmopolitan place, where it was unsafe to trust a stranger. But if the Turks knew so much, why did they not attack Walker's Ridge that anxious week in May? Any attack must have succeeded, and the thin line of single trenches once broken, Anzac must have crumpled.

The enemy did nothing serious, and on May 12 the joy at Anzac was unbounded. The Mounteds had arrived! Every face on the beach was wreathed in smiles. Here they all were—without their horses, but keen, and spoiling for a fight—the Australian Light Horse; the New Zealand Mounted Rifles Brigade, consisting of the Auckland, Wellington, and Canterbury Regiments; the field troop to reinforce the overworked 1st Field Company in its sapping and mining; the signal troop, to help with the telephone and buzzers; and the mounted field ambulance, to assist their overworked confreres with the wounded.

Whatever the trudging infantry men had thought in Egypt as the mounted men swept by, to-day there was nothing but the good humoured banter of "Where's your horses?" As the eager troopers climbed the goat tracks of Walker's Ridge a great sigh of relief was heaved by the sorely tried garrison of Anzac. Never were troops more welcome.

The same day, Colonel Chauvel, with the 1st Australian Light Horse Brigade, took over No. 3 Defence Section from Brigadier-General Trotman, who embarked with the Chatham and Portsmouth Battalions that night for Cape Helles.

Brigadier-General Russell relieved Brigadier-General Mercer on Walker's Ridge. The New Zealand Mounted Rifles Brigade took over the line from the Nelson and Deal Battalions, who also left Anzac to rejoin the Royal Naval Division at Cape Helles.

The highest part of Walker's Ridge became known as Russell's Top, because, close at hand, practically in the firing line, the commander of the N.Z. Mounted Rifles Brigade established his headquarters. Hereabouts No Man's Land was very narrow. Away to the right ran the deep gully, which, passing behind the back of Pope's Hill, became Monash Gully. So far, Pope's and Russell's Top were unconnected, the Turks holding the head of this gully, which made their sniping of Monash Gully so effective. It was from here, on May 15, that a Turkish sniper mortally wounded General Bridges, as he was proceeding up Shrapnel Gully. At that time no place in the Anzac area could be considered safe.

To the left was another gully running down and losing itself in the ramifications of the outlying spurs of Walker's Ridge. The little flat watershed separating these two gullies ran like an isthmus across No Man's Land, and connected Russell's Top with that part of the main Turkish position known as "Baby 700" and "The Chessboard." This connecting link was known as "The Nek." Only a few yards behind our main fire trench were precipitous cliffs, which, running round to the right, culminated in a remarkable knife-edged cliff eventually known as the "Sphinx"; while to the extreme left flank these cliffs, scored with the torrential winter rains, eventually resolved themselves into broken under-features of Walker's Ridge, sprawling out and forming one side of the Sazli Beit Dere. Near the bottom of this dry watercourse was the little Fishermen's Hut, so often used as a landmark. Just south of these huts was No. 1 Post, and a few hundred yards past the valley and on the coast was the little knoll eventually to become famous as No. 2 Post.

This No. 2 Post was the northern extremity of our line. Measured on the map, it was a distance of 3600 yards—just two miles—from Chatham's Post on the extreme right. As Quinn's Post was about 1000 yards from the sea, a rough calculation will show that the area of Anzac was approximately 750 acres. Seven hundred and fifty acres of prickly scrub and yellow clay, stony water-courses, sandy cliffs and rocky hill tops, land that would not support one family in comfort, yet for eight long months, men of divers races lived a Spartan life there, studding the hillsides so thickly with their rude dugouts that a Turkish shell seldom failed to find a victim.

No time was lost after taking over this No. 4 Sector. The engineers had made a track for guns and mules up to Russell's Top. This road was regraded and improved in parts; trenches were deepened and made more habitable; saps were pushed out wherever the field of fire required improvement. The line from "the Top" to No. 2 Outpost was very broken, with many rough gullies intervening; secret saps were dug, and machine guns placed to cover this "dead" ground, up and down which the scouts of both sides roamed as soon as it was dark.

The panorama from Walker's Ridge was magnificent. Looking across the yellow clay hills, decorated in patches with green scrub oak and prickly undergrowth, red poppies and purple rock roses, one saw the beautiful beach sweeping up towards the Suvla Flats; the Ægean Sea was generally as calm as a mill pond, dotted all over with leisurely trawlers, barges, and restless destroyers; the white hospital ships, with their green bands and red crosses, lay a few miles out to sea; over in the distance the storied isles of Imbros and Samothrace stood out in all the glory of their everchanging tints. The men of the Wellington regiments recognized a strong resemblance to the view from the Paekakariki Hill, looking out towards Kapiti and the long white stretch of the Otaki beach.

Later in the month the Otago Mounted Rifles were stationed down at No. 2 Post. Between the post and the sea was a delightful little strip of level ground, ablaze with poppies and other wild flowers, but under the eye, and within the range of the enemy. Near this outpost was discovered an old Turkish well. Elsewhere men searched for water, and sometimes found it, but when pumps were applied the flow ceased after a day or so. This, on the contrary, was a most reliable well, a godsend to the thirsty men and mules, and a most welcome addition to the scanty supply procured from the barges. Soldiers came from far and near to draw the precious water.

Owing to its visibility to the snipers on the Turkish right flank, the beach between Ari Burnu and Fishermen's Hut could not be used during the day. Almost under the shadow of the Sphinx a group of boats and barges lay stranded on the beach. Late one night a party of mounteds went down and buried the remains of forty Australian infantrymen who had been killed at the April landing.

The Mounted Rifles repulse a determined Attack.

About the middle of May, the Turks decided that one determined effort would drive the men of Anzac into the sea. These people perched on the hillside annoyed him enormously. Never did he make an attack in the southern zone but these Colonials threatened to advance towards Maidos. News was gleaned of the withdrawal of troops from Helles and the arrival of reinforcements from Constantinople.

On May 17, the "Lord Nelson" delighted all beholders by turning her big guns on to the village of Kuchuk Anafarta. All along the coast line the ships joined in, until every village behind the line, and every road running towards Helles and Anzac, was swathed in dust and flame. The Turk retaliated with guns ranging from 11in. down to .77. Their shooting was good—one Australian 18-pr. was put out of action by a direct hit. The enemy reinforcements were delayed, but with the darkness, on they came again.

Next day was fairly quiet, but the sentries were warned to prepare for an attack, and during the night the reliefs slumbered behind the line with their clothes on, their rifles loaded, and their bayonets fixed. Sure enough, just after midnight, firing commenced from Chatham's Post along to No. 2 Post. Thousands of cricket-ball hand-grenades were hurled into Quinn's and other critical places. The big guns on both sides renewed their efforts. The bursts of shells in[Pg 139]
[Pg 140] mid-air momentarily lit up the scene, intensifying the blackness of the night. But this was only the enemy's preliminary bombardment, for about 3 a.m., the watchful sentries detected forms moving cautiously in No Man's Land. Soon the attack was made in earnest at the junction of No. 2 and No. 3 Defence Sections. Then it burst in its fury on Quinn's and Russell's Top.

The machine guns sprayed the front with a shower of lead, and for an interval the attack seemed held up, but in the grey dawn the mass advanced again. Crying on their God—"Allah! Allah! Allah!"—they surged forward in tremendous strength. From their trenches opposite Russell's Top and Turk's Point on Walker's Ridge they sallied forth in thousands. This was the first real test of the New Zealand Mounted Rifles. The Turks flung themselves against the trenches held by the Auckland Mounted Regiment; but with rifle and machine-gun fire the troopers beat them off, hardly a Turk reaching the trench.

This was a field day for the machine guns posted in No. 4 Section. Carefully trained by some of the greatest experts in the world, who were not slow to recognize their golden opportunities, these excellently placed weapons carried disaster into the enemy's attacks, enfilading them time and again. To the intense delight of the gunners, the Turks advanced in lines that presented ideal machine-gun targets. As the enemy had treated the Royal Naval Battalions on Dead Man's Ridge, so the Turk was now treated in return.

Again and again the foe came on—by their French-grey overcoats they were identified as new picked troops from Asia. Again and again they advanced, but, caught by the loosely-strewn barb wire, they dropped like flies and were beaten to the earth by the machine guns. The din was indescribable. Above the rattle of the musketry combat and between the boom of the guns could be heard the Turk, crying on his Maker as he advanced, yelling and squealing as he retired to the Colonial shouts of "Imshi Yallah!" and the glorious battle chorus of "Ake, Ake, Kia Kaha!"

Down the gullies on the left flank the enemy came in the dark. A determined attack about the Fishermen's Hut would cut off No. 2 Post and let the Turkish hordes surge along the flat beach and low ground into the heart of Anzac. The anxious garrisons detected sounds of men scrambling down the gully. Around the posts alert ears heard the undertone of voices. It was some time before the listeners could determine the mutterings as undoubtedly Turkish. Into the mysteries of the scrub volley after volley was poured. The attackers, feeling that they were "in the air," squealed and disappeared in the direction of the Suvla Flats. When the sun was well up, from No. 2 Post Turkish reinforcements were discernible in the trenches opposite Walker's Ridge. A machine gun of the Canterbury Regiment was posted to enfilade them. The rifles of the 10th Nelson Squadron, assisted by the machine gun, brought a devastating fire to bear on a grey-coated battalion of the enemy lying in the trenches and in the depressions, evidently preparing for an advance. For a few minutes a stream of lead played up and down their ranks, causing awful havoc. The mass heaved and swayed convulsively, then broke and stampeded to the rear, assisted in their flight by the ever-watchful guns of the torpedo-boat destroyers, while the machine guns from Steel's, Courtney's, Quinn's, Pope's and Walker's, emptied belt after belt into the enemy reserves. Now was the opportunity of the field gunners. From Howitzer Gully, from Plugge's Plateau, from Walker's Ridge, the New Zealand Field Artillery shells were pumped in streams. The No. 2 Battery, N.Z.F.A., though only able to get two guns to bear, fired 598 rounds almost without intermission. The ships were having a day out, perfect targets presenting themselves all along the line.

Right along the two and a third miles of front the attacks melted away—nowhere was the Anzac line penetrated. The great attempt to drive the infidel into the sea had miserably failed. Everywhere along the line Turks lay dead in heaps. The mounted men—Australians and New Zealanders alike—had demonstrated that southern-bred soldiers were as dogged in defence as they were brilliant in attack.

The night was fairly quiet, but on the 20th the attack was resumed, when the machine gunners had it all their own way. Perhaps the enemy remembered the tragedy of the preceding day, for when the machine guns spluttered, the attackers broke and fled.

In the afternoon a dramatic episode occurred. At different points in the Turkish trenches small white flags appeared. Linguists in the enemy's ranks made known their desire for a truce to bury their dead. At many parts in the line, particularly opposite the Auckland Mounted trenches on Walker's Ridge, some conversation was carried on in German. But observers noticed men crowding in the front line and the communication trenches. It seemed that the white flag incident was a ruse to launch a surprise attack. The white flag parties were given two minutes to get down out of sight. Down they scurried, and once more the musketry battle resumed its violence. As night came the searchlight from the warships played around the Turkish trenches and brilliantly illuminated the gullies on the flanks. Some desultory firing took place, but the Turk had no stomach for more infidel driving.

Burying the Dead on Armistice Day.

Next morning, the look-out on the destroyer guarding our right flank was mystified by a Turk waving a big white flag on Gaba Tepe, previous to coming out right into the open, and well within range. After the tremendous losses a few days previously, some of us thought that here at last was the long-looked-for peace. After a certain amount of justifiable hesitation on our part, a patrol went out to meet the white flag party. The groups met along the seashore, and finally, a Turkish officer, blindfolded, was escorted through the lines, past Hell Spit, and along the beach to Army Corps Headquarters. He carried no proposals for a surrender, but only for a truce to bury the dead. In the interests of both armies this was desirable, but extremely difficult to carry out. No Man's Land was very narrow, especially opposite Quinn's and the Nek, and we, for our part, did not care to have inquisitive soldiers poking about, ostensibly burying dead, but with an eagle eye upon our front line trenches.

It took some days to work out the rules to be observed. They ran into many typewritten pages, but briefly they were as follow:—

The morning of "Armistice Day" broke with a steady drizzle. At the appointed hour fifty Turks, with Red Crescents on their arms, and fifty Australians and New Zealanders with Red Cross armlets, met on the extreme right. Each party had a staff officer and a medical officer. The men carried short stakes with little white strips of calico on the top, and, headed by the staff officers, who each walked near his own front-line trench, the party went right down the centre of No Man's Land, sticking in their little white flags.

By about 10 o'clock the demarcation was complete. As the party had moved down No Man's Land, heads appeared over both parapets, and, cautiously first, and then quite boldly, the soldiers on both sides scrambled up on the parapets and experienced the uncanny sensation of safety.

The burying parties struggled up the greasy clay tracks, marched out with their shovels and their stretchers, and the day's work began in earnest. And what a work! In some sectors the dead lay in heaps. In one area of about an acre, three hundred bodies were tallied—mostly Turks. "They are lying just as thick as sheep in a yard," said a Hawke's Bay boy in the demarcation party. It was soon realized that proper burials were out of the question, and that it was impossible to carry the enemy's dead to the centre line. A mutual agreement was made to cover up friend and foe, the Turk on his side and we on ours. So the Anzac dead in the Turkish area were not identified by us; these are the men who eventually were described as "Missing, believed killed" by the Court of Enquiry.

Away in the tangled gullies on our left flank, several wounded Turks were discovered in desperate straits. These men were evidently snipers who had been hit while crawling round in the prickly scrub past Walker's Ridge. One man was picked up, and as he made gestures asking for water, an N.Z.M.C. orderly lifted his head up and discovered that his bottom jaw was almost shot away. Another wounded Turk was carried in a distance of two miles, and most inconsiderately died as the hospital was reached.

Very few New Zealanders were found unburied, but there was evidence that they died game. One Aucklander was found still grasping his rifle, which was—barrel and bayonet—firmly embedded in the body of his dead opponent.

By midday, the heat was tropical, and the Anzac beaches were crowded with the battalions from the trenches. The Turk was wont to boast that he would drive us into the sea. What Enver Pasha failed to do, the lice achieved, and the unique opportunity to get a safe wash was fully appreciated.

Up on the hillsides the burial parties were hard at work. The chaplains never had a busier day, searching for identity discs, and reading the burial service. In some parts of the line the men mingled freely with Johnny Turk. A Melbourne medico was an object of great interest to the Turkish soldiery, as he wore the ribbons of the Medjidie and the Osmanieh, gained in a previous war when the Turk and we were allies. A German doctor in Turkish uniform asked for news of his whilom friends in Sydney. The Turks had a supply of brown bread, and many exchanges were made with the Colonials, who were very pleased to barter their flint-like biscuits for something that would not torture their tender gums.

The afternoon wore on, and as 3 o'clock came, we realized that our work was nearly done—over 3000 Turks buried. By 4 p.m., everybody had returned to the trenches, and for the next half-hour deathly silence reigned. To all appearances the truce had been honourably kept. At 4.30, both sides delivered tremendous volleys at nothing in particular, and settled down quietly for the night. Thus ended one of the strangest days in the history of the campaign.

During the day we had been requested not to use binoculars, but all along the line it was noticed that Turkish and German officers were taking the bearings of our trenches and emplacements. From the Turkish trenches on the Chessboard, officers were quite obviously marking down our machine gun emplacements commanding the Nek and Russell's Top. But the New Zealand machine gun officers were equal to the Turks in cunning. During the night all the machine guns were taken down and the crews took cover. With the dawn came the searching shells of the Turkish Field Artillery. The empty emplacements were badly damaged, but as soon as the guns switched on to another target, the New Zealand gunners rebuilt their emplacements and were again ready to fire within twenty minutes of the bombardment.

The Sinking of the "Triumph."

In war man is often made to feel his impotence. An illustration of this occurred the day following the armistice. About midday the workers on the beach heard "Picket boat" cried in those anxious, agonized accents that characterize the cries of "Stretcher bearer" or "Wire," cries that send a shiver down the spine of the most hardened. Looking out to sea, a great column of smoke welled up from the side of the "Triumph," lying about a mile off shore from Gaba Tepe. It was obvious she was hit, for at once she commenced to heel over. Glasses revealed her decks crowded with men, her crew falling in at their stations. Swiftly from every point of the compass came the torpedo-boat destroyers—from Nibrunesi Point, Imbros and Helles. Our old friend the "Chelmer" nosed into the flank of the stricken ship, and orderly, as if on parade, the bluejackets commenced marching off. More and more boats crowded alongside to take off the crew. Steadily the vessel heeled until her masts were almost parallel with the water, her port guns sticking aimlessly into the air. Suddenly she quivered from stem to stern. Her attendants drew back quickly, as she turned completely over amidst a cloud of spray and steam, which, clearing away, revealed her red keel shining brightly against the blue Ægean Sea. Once again the destroyers and trawlers closed in to pick up the men in the water. Other destroyers, working in ever-increasing circles, engaged in a hunt for the submarine. Presently the old craft commenced to settle at the bows. Slowly and gracefully she slid into the depths, and the watchers on the Anzac hills heaved a heartfelt sigh. But out there in the blue, the gallant sailormen gave three hearty cheers as the old ship disappeared. An irrepressible cried, "Are we downhearted?" "No," roared the crew of the sunken ship, and a great volume of cheering rose from the vessels gathered round.

This disaster cast a gloom over Anzac. To see one's friends in peril and be powerless to help caused the Colonial soldiers more pain than any previous experience. This old ship had been such a trusty friend, and now, in a short twenty minutes, she was gone! Men sat up on the hill that night, cursing the Hun and all his allies!

The Taking and Losing of "Old No. 3 Post."

Between the ridge of Chunuk Bair, held by the Turk, and our No. 2 Post, there were three other conspicuous pieces of high ground bounded on the north by Chailak Dere, and on the south by the Sazli Beit Dere. The highest of these was Rhododendron Ridge; the next was a little plateau appropriately named Table Top, and nearest to No. 2, really a higher peak of the same spur, was a Turkish post from which most of the deadliest sniping was carried on. It was thought advisable to occupy this ridge and deny it to the enemy. It was a hopeless position for us—away out in a salient—and should never have been attempted. On the night of May 28, a squadron of the Canterbury Mounted Rifles crept up the dere and took this sniping post by surprise at the point of the bayonet. They, in their turn, handed over to a squadron of the Wellington Mounted Regiment, who proceeded to put the post into a state of defence by entrenching it. The garrison was again relieved by a squadron of the Wellingtons (9th Wellington East Coast) on the night of May 30. Getting in about 8 o'clock at night, the men were hardly distributed along the meagre trenches when sounds of movement were heard. Presently, showers of hand-grenades descended on the post. Calling on "Allah," the enemy, numbering many hundreds, surrounded the post. The Wellingtons had no hand-grenades (the shortage of these weapons at Anzac was deplorable), so had to depend upon their rifles. Rushing up to the parapet and yelling their eerie cries, but never daring to press the attack home, throwing hand-grenades and then retreating, the Turks let the precious hours of darkness slip by.

The garrison decided to make the Turks pay a big price for the post. The strain of hanging on through that awful night was tremendous. But with the welcome dawn came fresh hope. All that day the garrison lay in their trenches waiting for the final assault.

The guns from the "W" Hills broke in parts of the parapet; the telephone wire to No. 2 Post was cut, and the Turk actually penetrated a section of the trench, but was driven out. Things becoming desperate—water and ammunition both running short—a message was semaphored back to Walker's Ridge, and it was decided to attempt the relief of the post at dusk.

Two Wellington squadrons went out, but were held up. Later—this was the night of May 31—two troops of the 8th (South Canterbury) Squadron and the 10th (Nelson) Squadron proceeded to fight their way from No. 2 Outpost up to this new ill-starred outpost, now known as No. 3. They joined forces with two Wellington squadrons, and with Turkish hand-grenades lighting the gully, the relief party pushed aside all opposition, got into the post, and relieved the Wellingtons. There was to be no rest for the unlucky garrison of No. 3. On came the Turks again, and the performance of the night before was repeated almost without variation, the throwing of hand-grenades, calling on "Allah!" and rushing up to the parapet, but never daring the final assault. For some hours the inferno continued. About midnight word came through from Headquarters that the post might be abandoned. The task of removing the wounded presented no small difficulties, but they having been removed down the dere, the perilous retirement commenced. In the faint moonlight, the Turks could be seen flitting hither and thither. Now that our retirement was commencing, their exultant yelling and squealing burst out afresh. Down the dere slowly came the rearguard, calmly and methodically picking off any too adventurous enemy. When the troopers reached the "Big Sap" running out past No. 1 and 2, they lined the two sides of the gully and the trench and waited for the Turk. A squadron of the Auckland Mounteds now arrived, and based on No. 2 Post and the Fishermen's Hut, the whole party made a determined stand, and enabled the 9th Squadron, who had been fighting for forty-eight hours, to be withdrawn.

To the highly-strung men, many of whom had not slept for three days, the yelling of the Turks, the ghostlike sea lapping on the beach in the background, and the enemy jumping from bush to bush in the moonlight, the whole business resembled a frightful nightmare. Gradually the Turks grew tired of yelling, and retired to occupy "Old No. 3," while the weary troopers trudged along the dusty sap to their much-needed bivouac, leaving the squadron of the Auckland Mounted Rifles out watching the position until daylight.

A new No. 3 Post was established by the Otago Mounted Rifles on rising ground about 200 yards north of No. 2 Post. This became the extreme right flank of the Anzac position until the great advance in August.