Glorious Deeds of Australasians in the Great War
"The answer is not difficult. The Bible does not furnish any such detailed answer to our longing inquiry. It gives us unchallengeably the sure and certain faith in that greater life. That faith underlies as a firm basis the whole New Testament. But neither in vision nor parable is the veil wholly drawn aside. As the old seer said, 'The secret things belong unto the Lord our God,' and these are among the secret things. We know little; but what we do know we know for certain. Remember this. We are loyal to our Lord Christ, Whose life was the light of men, and Whose words and teaching are our strength and stay. We believe Him whatever else we doubt.
"Now, take any section, say, any five chapters of the Gospel story, about what He said and did. Read them anew, trying, as you read, to destroy or do without the basis and background of that other larger life, and you will find the account, I do not hesitate to say, simply unintelligible as words of truth. The belief, the knowledge as to that larger life underlies and colours the whole, and makes it literally true to say that if we are Christians, if we are believers in Him at all, that certitude which He gives us is and must be ours. Without it you cannot advance a yard in the understanding of what His Gospel meant. On that last evening He told them He was going away. But why? 'I go to prepare a place for you … that where I am there ye may be also.' That is to say, 'You are to live on and to work on.' What meaning else for some of the most uplifting and inspiring of the parables which He had given them? 'Thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.' What meaning for the story of the rich man and Lazarus? What meaning for the words of definite and uplifting promise to the thief upon the cross? 'To-day shalt thou be with Me in Paradise.' And so we might run on. Brothers, to us Christians it is not a hope only, it is a sure and certain hope.
"It is well to remember that this is so when in the cloudy and dark day we are fretting and wondering and seem only to stretch lame hands and grope. But we perhaps ask: 'Why, why, this absence of some clear exposition of it all?' Well, what if, to our present faculties, such knowledge would be literally unconveyable in terms that we could understand? Many here are familiar with – some perhaps have ere now quoted – a certain picture-parable which belongs specially to this Cathedral. Just two centuries ago, the Christian philosopher, George Berkeley, a singularly clear thinker, was standing, as he tells us, in St. Paul's Cathedral, where he noticed a little fly crawling on one of those great pillars. He had been uplifted in thought by the overwhelming grandeur of symmetry and design in pier and arch and dome and gallery, and the relation of each part to each and to the whole. And then he watched the little crawling fly, to whom no understanding of the whole was possible, who could see nothing of its harmonies, and to whom, as he puts it, 'nothing could appear but the small inequalities in the surface of the hewn stone, which in the view of the insect seemed so many deformed rocks and precipices.' Here, he thought, is the likeness of each human being as he creeps along. The sorrow which, like some dreadful precipice, interrupts our life, may turn out to be nothing but the joining or cement which binds the portions and sections of the greater life into one beautiful and harmonious whole. The dark path may be but the curve which, in the full daylight of a brighter world, will be seen to be the inevitable span of some majestic arch. 'Now I know in part,' and what a very little part it is, 'but then shall I know even as also I am known.'
"Does all that seem poor and vague and cheerless to the young wife across whose sunny home the dark shadow has fallen, to the mother who, through all her brave faith, looks out dazed and dry-eyed upon the shattering of the hopes which had been her daily happiness and strength? The message is not – or it will not always be – vague and cheerless if the firm and even glad courage with which a few months ago she offered willingly what she loved best on earth, be transmuted now into trustful prayer and into loyal proud thankfulness for duty nobly done, and into quiet awaiting of the ampler life beyond, with the answer it must bring in His good time to the questions of the aching heart. Which of us but has been inspired already by what Our Father has shown us to be possible – nay, rather to be actually attained – in the ennobled lives of those whom He 'out of weakness has made strong.' There is, for we are seeing it every day, as real a heroism of the stricken home as the heroism of the shell-swept trench, or of the quivering deck. For that, too, for those brave women in England, or in the Southern Seas, we are upon our knees to-night, thanking 'the God of all comfort Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.'
"But in this great gathering to-night we want another note besides that. We must have the triumph-note for those whose self-sacrifice has meant so much to their country and to those who honour them. It has been theirs, in enthusiastic eager self-surrender, to reach what Christ marks as the highest grade of human love. 'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.' Gratefully and reverently we remember that heroism now. That is what brings us here for thanksgiving and for prayer. Among the lives laid down could be found, as always, bright examples of the young leadership to which we had looked for upholding among their fellows the spirit which sets manliness upon the surest basis, the basis of personal loyalty to Christ. For those lives and for the footprints which they have left upon the sands of time we give praise to God to-day.
"But it would be unnatural, untrue, to claim for all who thus gave their lives in their country's cause, the character of stainless purity, or of the saintliness which we sing of in our hymns. Some of them, perhaps many of them, were not 'saints' at all. They were manly sons of the greatest Empire in the world. They were brave and buoyant, with plenty of the faults and failures which go so often with high spirit. They need, as we shall need, forgiveness and cleansing and new opportunity, and they are in their Father's keeping, and He knows and cares. Be it theirs – shall we not pray it with all our hearts? – be it theirs, under His good hand, to pass onward in the new and larger life from strength to strength.
Blow, trumpets, all your exultations blow!For never shall their aureoled presence lack:I see them muster in a gleaming row,With ever-youthful brows that nobler show:We find in our dull road their shining track;In every nobler moodWe feel the orient of their spirit glow,Part of our life's unalterable good."Do these words seem too high for what we are remembering? I think not. This vast war, without parallel in history for the horrible scale and sweep of its devastating bloodshed, is unparalleled in other ways as well. The feat of arms which was achieved on the rocky beach and scrub-grown cliff of the Gallipoli Peninsula in the grey dawn of St. Mark's Day, April 25, was a feat, we are assured, whose prowess has never been outshone, has scarcely ever been rivalled, in military annals. As the open boats, under a hail from hidden guns, poured out their men in thousands on the beach, below perpendicular cliffs of tangled scrub, the task of breasting those heights looked, to many expert eyes, a sheer impossibility. But by the dauntless gallantry of brave men the impossible feat was accomplished, and the record of those hours and of the days which followed is now a portion of our Empire's heritage for ever.
"And who did it? It was not the product of the long discipline of some veteran corps of soldiers. It was mainly the achievement of men from sheep-stations in the Australian Bush, or from the fields or townships of New Zealand, who a few short months ago had no dream of warfare as, like other civilians, they went about their ordinary work. But the call rang out, and the response was ready, and the result is before us all. 'I have never,' says one competent observer after the battle, 'I have never seen the like of these wounded Australians in war before. They were happy because they knew they had been tried for the first time, and had not been found wanting. No finer feat of arms has been performed during the war than this sudden landing in the dark, the storming of the heights, and, above all, the holding on to the position thus won while reinforcements were poured from the transports.'
"It is high praise, but the witness is true, and those Australians and New Zealanders are enrolled among the champions whom the Empire, for generations to come, will delight to honour. One of the best traits of all is the generous tribute given by each group to the indomitable valour of the rest. To quote from the private letter of a young New Zealander: 'The Australians were magnificent, and deserve every good word that is said of them.' And all unite to praise the officers, midshipmen, and men who formed the beach parties in that eventful landing, each boat, we are reminded, 'in charge of a young midshipman, many of whom have come straight from Dartmouth after only a couple of terms.'
"But of necessity it was at fearful cost that these gallant deeds were done, and the great roll of drums under this dome to-night will reverberate our reverent and grateful sympathy to the Empire's farthest bound. This memorable act of stoutest service gives response already to the rallying call of the poet-bishop of Australia:
By all that have died for men,By Christ who endured the Cross,Count nothing but honour gain,Count all that is selfish loss.Take up with a loyal heartThe burden upon you laid;Who fights on the side of GodNeeds never be afraid.Be true to the great good land,And rear 'neath the Southern sunA race that shall hold its own,And last till the world be done.2"When in conditions the hardest and the most unpromising, Australia and New Zealand came successively to the birth a century ago, as a living part of the British Empire, who would have dared to fashion in remotest vision the stern, yet romantic, story of 1915? The eager manhood of the young raw Commonwealth, the product of our own time, first carried with swift safety across the successive seas, then disciplined and prepared for action under the shadow of the world-old Pyramids, and then gaining their first experience of the shock of the onset within sight and hearing of the plains of Troy – an almost inconceivable intermingling of the old world and the new. The bare story is itself a stimulus and a reminder of what the lessons of history and the trust of Empire mean.
"God give us grace so to bear ourselves as a united people that we may be building out of this welter of fearful pain and strife the walls of His greater kingdom upon earth, the kingdom that is to endure: when the nations of the earth, and not least our own peoples – Britain and Canada and Australia and New Zealand and South Africa and India – bring into it, each of them, their honour and their glory, the distinctive powers and blessings that God has given to each several one, to make glad the city of our God, the habitation of the Prince of Peace."
At the conclusion of the Archbishop's sermon the band of the Guards played the Dead March in "Saul"; the bugles rang out in the "Last Post," and the mourners reverently left the building. So London paid its tribute to Australasia's dead.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE SECOND DIVISION
The Second Division of the Australian Infantry consisted of the twelve Battalions of the Third Contingent, numbered from Seventeen to Twenty-eight. Their passage from Australia to Egypt had been less eventful than that of the pioneers, and their training in Egypt had been conducted on the same lines as that of their predecessors. They landed at Anzac in August and September, and found their portion in three months of dogged endurance of the most trying methods of warfare.
The Turks were emboldened by the failure of the great offensive movement, and proved more enterprising than at any time since the first month's occupation of Anzac. The whole area was ranged by their artillery, posted on all the commanding positions in the neighbourhood, and there were many of these. The forts at Chanak shelled them morning and evening; so regular was the visitation that they were given the titles Sunrise and Sunset. Ceaseless mining was going on against them; and they were driven to retort in kind.
There was little glory waiting for the Second Division on the shores of Gallipoli, but an immense amount of danger and cumulative suffering. The losses of the 5th, 6th and 7th Brigades through those late autumn months are eloquent of the everlasting risks they had to take. From Lone Pine to Hill 60 their line was constantly being shelled by the heavy guns on Battleship Hill and elsewhere; while Beachy Bill and his equivalents made the beach a place of death and danger.
By this time the very ground of Anzac was reeking with infection. The theory has been advanced that, as upon the battlefields of Flanders, the germs lay in the subsoil ready to contaminate when turned up by the entrenching tool. The dangers of tetanus on the Western front were quickly grasped, and by scientific research a means of fighting them was soon at the disposal of the R.A.M.C. But in Gallipoli the epidemics of sickness were not so readily countered, and the suffering and loss was proportionately greater.
Whether the soil of Gallipoli held the germs of old disease in its bosom, or whether, as appears more probable, it became infected through the conditions that prevailed there during the spring and summer of the year, it is at least certain that it was most insanitary during the autumn months. The swarms of flies, that no human agency could abate, spread the seeds of disease far and wide.
Men suffered from an acute form of dysentery that was the more dangerous because it was intermittent. The water supply was insufficient, and water for washing could only be obtained from the sea. The sickly odour of the whole place rose in the nostrils of the fighting men, and afflicted them with a perpetual nausea. All food was suspect, for the flies, that buzzed perpetually over the rotting carrion that lay unburied between the lines, swarmed upon everything, and could not be prevented.
Strong men conceived a loathing of their food. The bully beef that was their staple was thrown away by many of them, who could not even abide to look upon it. They tried to live upon the hard biscuits, and on these many of them broke their teeth, so that there was nothing they could find to preserve their strength.
Many who lived through those last months have told me of the awful lassitude that fell upon them. The sickly weather, the hopeless day's work, the atmosphere of death and disease that permeated all their surroundings, combined to sap their vigour.
The constant shelling drove them to live underground and to carry on a troglodytic warfare. Mines and countermines, sapping and tunnelling, formed their daily occupations. The losses from the heavy shellfire were considerable. Hardly a day passed but some section of trench was filled up, and often men were buried in the debris, never more to draw a living breath.
One experience related to me by a man who took part in the sufferings of those days will always remain in my memory. He was posted at Lone Pine, a post which the Anzacs held stubbornly in the face of the shelling it daily received from all points of the compass. One day he went forward with some of his comrades to an observation trench, in order to place the battery on the Asiatic shore, which was daily moved from place to place by means of a motor running on light rails.
In spite of the warnings of those with him, he raised himself high in order to get a better glimpse of the flashes that resulted from the sunset bombardment, when a "Jack Johnson" arrived and buried all in the trench. He had the notes of his observations, and smothered as he was by a load of earth, was able to take comfort from the thought that he would quickly be disinterred, if only because these observations were precious.
The expected help came in time for him, and for him only. He was dug out before he suffocated, and then learned that he owed his life to the daring that had raised him so high in the trench. Those with him, who had taken full advantage of the cover it afforded, were buried under tons of earth, and were doubtless crushed to death in the instant of the explosion.
Between the lines, from north to south, stretched a no-man's land that was constantly changing in character. Beneath it tunnels were continually being made, and the men at their work with pick and spade in the darkness could hear the enemy also tunnelling in to meet them. Then there would come a day when contact between the two opposing works would be made, and a lively encounter underground would follow.
Sometimes one of these Anzac drives underground would come unexpectedly upon a great series of enemy works. Very often they were found unoccupied, and an adventurous exploration would follow. The almost inevitable result would be an encounter with the enemy, perhaps at a distance from their own supports, and at a disadvantage in numbers.
Or perhaps tunnels would be driven out in a parallel direction from the ends of a section of trench toward the enemy's line. When a certain distance had been reached, the miners would turn their tunnels at right angles, so that two converging tunnels could be dug. When the ends had been joined, the roof would be stripped away, and one morning the enemy would find a deep firing trench established within a few yards of their lines.
A furious bomb fight would be the inevitable sequel to such a manœuvre. In this form of warfare the Anzacs had become very expert, for when the conditions of Gallipoli fighting had once been grasped, bomb practice became an essential part of their training. At all times in those last months they outfought the Turks in these bomb contests, using the weapons with more accuracy and skill, and resisting attacks with more grit and determination.
It is now possible, also, to mention the work done by the artillery from Australia and New Zealand. While the British forces remained in Gallipoli, it would obviously have been improper to mention the positions taken by the batteries, and the remarkable skill and coolness with which the Anzacs fought their guns. But much of the success achieved by the men of Anzac in holding positions that were dominated by an enemy in superior force was due to the great work of the artillery.
Miracles were achieved in getting big guns up those hills, and in retaining them in positions on the very firing line. Such exposed positions as Lone Pine were only held because of the protection of guns so placed, and throughout their occupation of Anzac, and especially during the months that followed the failure of the great advance, the Anzacs had daily reason to thank the gunners.
So they fought on week after week, aware of the constantly increasing supplies of munitions that were flowing to the enemy, which could be inferred from the increasing freedom with which shells were used. In July the Turk had shown himself economical of shells, and had used much ammunition of very ancient and inferior description. At that time not more than thirty per cent. of the big shells that fell on Anzac would explode, and some very old ammunition was employed by the big guns in the forts of Kilid Bahr.
The most curious of these were round shells that must have been fired from guns of the muzzle-loading type. They weighed about a hundred pounds, according to the accounts I have had of them, and were known as "footballs" or "plum-puddings." They announced their coming by a singing noise, like the loud song of a bird, and were plain to be seen as they hurtled through the air. Some of them exploded with a dull roar, breaking into thick chunks of iron. But the majority of them did not explode at all. They were much in demand as curios, and many a dug-out was decorated with one of these unexploded "footballs."
But as the last quarter of the year wore on, there was no more need for Abdul to use this old-fashioned ammunition. A plentiful supply of good shrapnel and high explosive was at his service, and the shells that continuously fell among the devoted men of Anzac were warranted to explode, with only too deadly effect.
Late autumn brought tropical showers of rain, that flooded the trenches and dug-outs and added to the miseries of the Australians and New Zealanders. The Turks, on higher ground, had the better of them there, but not of the heavy fall of snow which came at the beginning of December. I have been assured by men who had the opportunity of conversing with many prisoners that the Turkish army, though well equipped in some respects, was not provided with any of the necessities to comfort and health. Saving the officers, there did not appear to be a blanket among them, and they fought and slept in this cold weather without any more covering than the greatcoats of their original outfit, by this time badly worn by the rough usage they had received.
The prisoners complained, too, of lack of food, and of the fearful sanitary arrangements in their trenches. So that the very cold weather, though a mixed blessing, did nevertheless serve the Anzacs by its dispiriting influence upon the Turk.
For the ravages of disease among the Anzacs, severe as they were, were at least mitigated by sanitary arrangements, and by wholesome food and good clothing. But the Turk was subject to the same causes of disease, intensified by the lack of care that was displayed for the Turkish fighting man. It is certain, then, that though a tough defending force, the Turks who defended Sari Bair in December, 1915, were greatly dispirited, and naturally lacking in the initiative to seize any advantage that might come their way.
This circumstance may serve to explain to some extent the miracle of the successful withdrawal which it is now my task to record. The skilful plans made for this operation, and the boldness and thoroughness with which they were executed, are not in any way depreciated when it is said that the full measure of their success could only have been achieved in the face of an enemy content to defend, and tired of the punishment which any attempt at offensive warfare had always involved him at the hands of the men of Anzac.
CHAPTER XXX
THE LAST OF ANZAC
And so we come to the end of the Great Adventure.
The withdrawal from Gallipoli was suggested to Sir Ian Hamilton as early as October 11. It was the subject of a report by Sir Charles Monro, the skilful British general upon whose plans the transference of the British Army on the Western front to the northern position opposite Ypres was so successfully carried out. It was considered by Lord Kitchener upon the spot in November, and his opinion that it was not only necessary, but immediately necessary, may be held to have clinched the matter.
The men of Anzac divined that it was about to take place early in December, when the liberality with which they were supplied with certain creature comforts gave them cause to consider. They decided that it must be about time for them to go, for they knew that their stores would not be moved when they left. Therefore, they argued, we are being allowed to consume them to prevent the necessity for their wanton destruction. It was close and accurate reasoning.
During the fortnight that preceded December 19, the night of the actual withdrawal, there was a gradual movement of equipment and men from Gallipoli by night. But the greater part of the work had to be crowded into one night, and for this delicate operation unusual weather conditions were essential. Strong winds and a rough sea are the normal condition of the Gulf of Saros at this time of the year. A smooth sea was an imperative necessity for the abandonment of the peninsula. This condition was fortunately granted, and conduced greatly to the wonderful success which attended the execution of the elaborate plan of withdrawal.
The bulk of the Anzac forces were actually embarked at Ariburnu Beach, north of Anzac Cove. The Cove was exposed to the shellfire of the batteries below Gaba Tepe, including the redoubtable Beachy Bill. The more northerly beach was not so greatly exposed, and possessed equal facilities for embarking troops, though they were not of a very high order.