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[Pg i]

ON THE ANZAC TRAIL

[Pg ii]

This is the story of the Anzacs. It is toldby one of the New Zealanders who was withthem in Egypt, was present at the Landing,and who did his little best to uphold the honourof Maoriland in the long and grim Battle ofthe Trenches. It is the tale of a man in theranks. It is told without gloss or varnish.

And it is true.

Which is also true.

JOINING UP

When the Great War struck Europe I wasliving with my people in Ireland. I hadserved in the South African campaign, so, ofcourse, I realised that it was up to me to rollup again and do my bit towards keeping theold rag flying. It's a queer thing, but let aman once go on the war-path and it's all theodds to a strap ring he's off again, full cry, tothe sound of the bugle. I reckon it's in theBritisher's blood; he kind of imbibes it alongwith his mother's milk. When all's said anddone we are a fighting breed. A sportingcrowd, too, and we tackle war much as wewould a game of football—or a big round-upin the Never-Never.

[Pg 2]

When England took off the gloves to GermanyI knew the Colonies wouldn't hang backlong. They breed men on the fringes of ourEmpire. Hence I wasn't surprised when Isaw a notice in the papers calling on all NewZealanders, or men who had seen service withthe Maorilanders in South Africa, to roll upat the High Commissioner's office in London,to be trained for service with the "DownUnder" contingents. Well, I had lived foryears in New Zealand, and had fought Boerstime and again side by side with New Zealandtroops, so I sent in my name right away. Indue course I received a polite letter of thanks,and was told to turn up at the office on acertain date, to be examined and attested. Idid so, and in company with some two hundredother Colonials was put through the eye-sight,hearing, and other tests, said "ninety-nine"to the doctor's satisfaction, and was dulypassed as fit for service.

And now began a period of stress and[Pg 3]strenuous life. Morning after morning werepaired to Wandsworth Common, there toacquaint ourselves with the intricacies of"Right turn," "Left turn," "Form fours,"etc., under the tutelage of certain drill-sergeantsof leathern lungs and bibulous-lookingnoses. At noon we knocked off for an hourand a half, repairing for refreshment to a houseof entertainment which stood fairly "adjacent"to our drill ground. Here we very soon foundthat our instructors' looks did not belie them.However, we consoled ourselves with thereflection that English beer was cheap asdrinks went, and that all things come to anend in this world. The afternoons wererepetitions of the mornings, with the addedattraction of a largish audience composedprincipally of nursemaids and infants in arms—andprams. The audience enjoyed our effortsif we, the actors, didn't. It was thirsty work.

During this period we lived in London,"finding" ourselves, but receiving a slight[Pg 4]increase of pay in lieu of quarters and rations.It's a gay city is the Rio London. Our pocketssuffered, hence most of us, although wegrowled on principle (being Colonials), weresecretly relieved in mind when the order cameto transfer to Salisbury Plain, there to campin tents until such time as huts should beprepared for us.

I think we all enjoyed our stay on the"Plain"—a sad misnomer, by the way, as Inever ran across a hillier plain in my life. Itwas autumn in England, and when we firstarrived, except for cold nights the weather wasreally good—for England! It soon broke,however, and we sampled to the full the joysof sleeping on rain-soaked blankets and ploughingour way through the sticky chalk soil thathereabouts is so strongly in evidence. Hencewe weren't sorry to transfer our swags to themore kindly shelter of the huts. In fact, wetook possession of them before they werequite ready for occupancy, electing to complete[Pg 5]the work ourselves. Most of us were"bush carpenters," so the job was right intoour hands.

Our camp lay within two miles of Bulfordvillage, a kind of Sleepy Hollow inhabited bya bovine-looking breed, whose mouths seemedintended for beer-drinking but not talking—which,in a way, was just as well, for when theydid make a remark it was all Greek to us.We wakened the place up a bit, however, andthe Canadians, who settled down to the tuneof over five thousand round about us, noblyseconded our efforts, so I reckon the power ofspeech was restored to the villagers—after weleft! For all I know they may be talking yet.Come to think it over in cold blood, they hadcause to.

Those Kanucks were a hefty lot, and blessedwith real top-knotch powers of absorption.They were sports, too. We beat them atRugby football, but they took their changeback at soccer. Honours were even, I think,[Pg 6]at drill, but they drank our canteen dry everynight. You see, there were five thousand ofthem and only a little over two hundred of us.As they were inclined to talk a bit in theircups we were forced to mount an armed guardin the canteen. The guard's principal dutywas to stop scrapping on the premises, andthe first sign of "peeling" operations beingindulged in was the signal to round up themob. Once outside, however, they could doas they liked. And they generally did! Discolouredoptics and flattened nasal appendagessoon ceased to be objects of curiosity downour location. On the whole we got on wellwith them, and we had many things in common.Poor fellows, they got stuck into itcruelly in France, between German gas andoverpowering numbers, but they showed realgrit right through—just as we who had beencamp-mates with them knew they would.

Barring the heavy frosts, the rain, and thefoot-deep mud, things weren't so bad in camp.[Pg 7]The tucker was really good and there wasplenty of it; the huts were, on the whole,fairly dry, although a bit draughty; and ourkit was first-rate. We slept on the usual"donkey's breakfast," of course, but it isn'tthe worst bed to sleep on, by a long chalk.And it felt real good to me when the "Get-out-of-bed"bugle went every morning beforesun-up, and the Kanuck band made the camprounds to the tune ofJohn Peel. How wecursed that band!

Our daily work began with the usual before-breakfastbreather—a brisk march over thehills, a spell of physical exercise, a pipe-opening"double," and then a free-and-easy trampback to camp, soap-and-water, and breakfast.The feeds we used to take! I reckon themorning programme alone in the Army wouldfetch a double "lunger" back from the hearsedoor—if it didn't kill him outright. Dyspepsiadisappeared from our camp, while as forstomachs, we grew to forget that such things[Pg 8]formed part of our interior works—exceptwhen they reminded us in unmistakable termsthat "Nature abhorred a vacuum."

The forenoon was generally spent on theparade ground, carrying out platoon and companydrill. To give the reader an idea of thesize of our fellows it is only necessary to statethat in my platoon (No. 4) there were six menon my right—and I stand over six feet inheight. I believe there was only one man inthe platoon under five feet ten. They werenot "cornstalks" either; they carried weighton top of their legs.

After lunch we usually went for a route-march,a form of training which was highlypopular with all. On most days we did aboutten miles, but twice a week or so we put ina fifteen to twenty mile stunt, cutting outthe pace at a good round bat. Consideringthe state of the going (in many places theroads were simply muddy swamps) and thehilly nature of the country, I reckon we'd[Pg 9]have given points to most fellows when itcame to hitting the wallaby. Once I remembertaking part in a platoon marchingcompetition. My platoon won it by a shortneck, but we were all out. The distance wasjust over eleven miles of as tough and dirtygoing as they make, and when it is borne inmind that we cut it out at an average paceof four-and-a-half miles an hour the readerwill guess that we didn't sprout much mosson the trail. We lost a goodish deal of sweatthat trip, but the messing contractor didn'tlook like saying grace over our dinner thatnight. (By the wish of the men the eveningmeal was made the principal one; it wasalways a solid, hot tuck-in, and the bestpreparation for a cold wintry night that Iknow of.)

For recreation we had football on Saturdaysand—don't look shocked, dear reader!—Sundays;concerts and "smokers" on week-nights,etc. We rigged a spare hut up as a theatre[Pg 10]and concert-hall, and it looked real good whencompleted. The stage was elevated, and fittedwith kerosene lamps as foot and head lights;a nifty curtain, and the latest thing in brown-paperpillars painted like the front of a Maoripataka, with little Maori gods sitting on theirheels, tongues sticking out sideways, and handsclasped on distended abdomens. The centre-piecewas the gem of the show, however; itrepresented the War God, Tiki, chewing upthe German Eagle between teeth like the tusksof an old bush wild pig. Altogether the wholeoutfit had a decidedly homelike air about it—althoughit didn't seem to strike our Englishvisitors in that light. But, then, neither didour war-cry, even when it was chanted intheir honour by two hundred healthy-lungedNew Zealanders. They did seem to appreciatethe concerts we gave, however, and, braggingapart, we had talent enough in the mob tomake a show most anywhere. We even ranto a trick contortionist and dancer, whose[Pg 11]favourite mode of progression towards hisnightly couch was on his hands with his feettucked away behind his ears. Taking it all inall, we were a very happy little colony, anddespite the mud, frost and snow, I fancythose of us who may escape the Long Trailwill reserve a kindly spot in their hearts forthe old camp down Bulford way. But, alas!our ranks are already sadly thinned.

As time went on our little force becamereinforced by men joining up who had comelong distances to do their bit for King andCountry. We were a peculiarly heterogeneouscrowd. There were men from South Africa,from the Argentine, from Canada, the UnitedStates, and even from Central America. Oneat least had fought in the Spanish-AmericanWar, and owned to being a naturalised UncleSam citizen. There were quite a few whohad seen service in the late Boer War, somewho had been members of the New Zealandcontingents, others having gone through the[Pg 12]campaign in one or other of the South Africanirregular corps. About 65 per cent. were bornMaorilanders, the remainder being mostly"Colonials" of many years' standing. I shouldthink we had representatives from every cornerin New Zealand—and allmen in every senseof the word. Men of whom Adam LindsayGordon, the Australian stockman poet, mighthave been thinking when in his "Sick Stockrider"he penned the following lines—

"I've had my share of pastime and I've done my share of toil:
Life is short—the longest life a span;
I care not now to tarry for the corn and for the oil,
And the wine that maketh glad the heart of man.
For good undone and gifts misspent and resolutions vain 'tweresomewhat late to trouble—
This I know, I'd live the same life over if I had to live again,
And the chances are I go where most men go."

And thisI know: a finer lot of fellows to bewith, either in light-hearted frolic or the grimstruggle in which they were destined to takepart, I never ran across in my natural.

OFF

We sailed from Southamptonon December 12, 1914, the name of our transport being theDunera, an old British India Company steamer, I believe. TheCanadians were no end sorry that they weren't going with us, and ourfellows would have liked nothing better, for both contingents had grownto like and respect each other. However, it wasn't to be, and beingdebarred from accompanying us the men of the Western Dominion did thenext best thing and gave us a rousing send-off. They turned out abouttwo battalions as a guard of honour, and, headed by a couple of bands,we marched the two miles to Bulford Siding between a double line ofcheering and[Pg 14]hat-waving "Kanucks." They may have beena bit lively, those Canadians, but their heartswere where they belonged, and they were allwhite.

She was a rare old hooker, was the ss.Dunera.Besides our little lot of 250 she carried over1400 "Terriers," many of whom looked as ifthey hadn't forgotten the taste of theirmothers' milk. They were a poor lot asregards height and build, and our fellowscould have given them a couple of inches anda deal of weight all round. However, theymay have done all right in the scrapping, likemany another Territorial regiment: one oftengets left when one starts in to judge by appearances,and a weed many a time carries a biggerheart than a score of six-footers.

We slept in hammocks, and were packed inlike sheep in a pen. The tucker wasn't muchto write home about; still there was enoughof it, and sea air is one of the best sauces Iknow of—when there isn't too much of it![Pg 15]Our deck space was a bit limited, of course,and after dark it almost vanished, so that achap was never quite sure whether he waswalking on it or on Territorial. Then therewere other things which made the goingeven more treacherous—and we carriedbroken weather right down through theBay!

Our lot were quartered in the 'tween decks.At the best of times the atmosphere therecouldn't have been much catch, so the readercan imagine what it was like when every inchwas taken up by living, breathing (and sweating)humans. I don't like rubbing it in wheremen who have rolled up to do their bit areconcerned, but the habits of those Terriershipmates of ours were enough to set youthinking. They brought homeliness to a fineart. Spittoons (had we possessed such) wouldhave been scorned by them as savouring ofartificiality. Socks were made to wear, notto be hung up at night and looked at. Feet[Pg 16]were intended to be walked on—and soapcost money. As for toothbrushes, well, theywere all right for polishing buttons. Thespectacle of a big, husky bushman cleaninghis teeth night and morning was a thing theycouldn't understand at any price, much lessappreciate. "If I did that," observed onein my hearing, "I'd have toothache bad";which seemed to be the general opinion.

They were great trenchermen, those shipmatesof ours. Lord, how they did eat! Iam beginning to think that we rough-and-readyColonials from the back of beyond have girlishappetites as compared with some of the OldCountry boys. And we like our tucker clean:we can chew hard tack with the next one,but we take all sorts of fine care that the cookwashes both himself and his utensils. Butthose Terriers of ours didn't seem to care acent whether the stuff was clean or filthy.Trifles like that didn't worry them. And theway they used their knives! Still, they were[Pg 17]wonderfully expert: I didn't see a single cutmouth all the time I was on board theDunera.Funning apart, however, they just ate likepigs and lived ditto. I don't like to have torecord this, but necessity compels me. TommyAtkins can fight; we admit it, and we take offour hats to him, but compared with theAustralasian bushman—the man who fearsneither God, man, nor devil—he is in manyrespects an uncivilised animal. True, we mayhave run across him at his worst. I hope so,anyway.

After leaving the Bay the weather took achange for the better; the sea calmed downand the atmosphere grew much more balmy.We were a little fleet of some five or six transports,escorted by a couple of small cruisers.Our ships were by no means ocean greyhounds,so we made slow, if steady, progress.

We killed time in the usual way—concerts,boxing, etc. on weekdays, and Church Paradeon Sundays. Life on a trooper is about the[Pg 18]last thing God made. I've had my share ofit, and I don't want any more. I'm notgreedy.

On reaching Gibraltar our escort left us,signalling to the transports to follow their owncourses. We didn't stop at Gib., but pushedstraight on up the Mediterranean. Theweather was now quite summer-like, and allon board began to perk up considerably. Thesea was a beautiful deep blue, the air had thewine of the South in it, the sun shone brightly,and its setting was glorious.

On sighting Malta we mistook a signal,and made tracks for the harbour of Valetta.Before we could get in, however, we wereshoo'd off by the Powers that Be. We didn'tseem to be the party they wanted, so we hadto hit back to the old trail. Apart fromwishing to see the place and getting a chanceto stretch my legs, I had a personal interestin paying it a visit, as a great-uncle of mine,who had been a fleet-surgeon during the[Pg 19]Crimean War, lay buried in the naval cemeteryin Valetta. However, it wasn't to be.

The weather all through the Mediterraneanremained as near perfect as they make it,hence seasickness was a thing of the past.We had the usual boat-drills, fire alarms andso forth. At that time there were no submarinesdown south, so we travelled with alllights going, both aloft and below. Whatwith sea games, boxing, concerts, and cardsthe time passed quickly. Likewise our money.Faro and Crown and Anchor were the favouritecard games; you could lose your partable cashfairly slickly at either. I have seen more thanone pound resting on the turn of a single card.I reckon Colonials are to a man born gamblers,so it wasn't surprising that our availablecapital should be "floating"—in more waysthan one. However, some one introduced aroulette table, and our cash soon floated allone way, the "bank" taking no risks and the"limit" being strictly enforced. Needless to[Pg 20]say, the bank was never broken—but I fancythe wheel was.

Being in wireless communication with theshore we got an almost daily smattering ofnews, which was typed out and read aloud invarious parts of the ship. Thus we heardstraight away of the German bombardmentof the Hartlepools. The Russians, also, seemedto be going strong, but we were never quitesure where, as the wireless operator made aqueer fist of the names on the map. Cometo think of it, it wasn't surprising, for theyseemed to get most all of the alphabet intothose Eastern front locations, and they soundedjolly like an assorted mixture of coughs andsneezes. It is easy to account for the illiteratestate of the inhabitants of those parts; itwould take them a lifetime to learn to spelltheir own names. So I reckon they just givethe whole thing best.

We arrived without mishap at Alexandriaon the 24th of December—Christmas Eve.[Pg 21]It was a beautiful morning as we steamed upthe Bay, and we got a fair idea of what thewarships had to face the time they bombardedand captured the place. And right here Idon't make any beans about stating what Ithink of that scrap. The town, at that time,was quite open to attack; the forts were oldand crumbling; I am fairly sure the guns werenot of the latest pattern; and as for the nativeswho served them, if they were anything likethe fellowswe ran across I don't think ourjolly tars would lose much sweat in knockingthe fight out of them. I used to read a lotabout the Bombardment of Alexandria, butnow after seeing the place (and I had, onvarious occasions, a good look round the oldpositions) I don't think much of it.

Once tied up to the wharf it was a case ofget our coats off and set to work unloadingship. This took up most of the day, and avery hot day we found it. Some of thepackages were fairly hefty and took a deal of[Pg 22]handling, and I can't say we were over gentlein our methods of shifting them—at least theflying men didn't seem to think we were whenit came to handling the cases containing theirengines. Our old hooker was just alive withcockroaches, too, and regular boomers theywere; some as big as locusts. As the variouspackages were swung over the ship's side thebeggars kept dropping on us below. We didn'tlike it; there are nicer things than fishing forlively cockroaches inside your shirt. Thenatives who were assisting us didn't care ahang about trifles of that kind. They weren'ta handsome lot by any means, but they werea fine, stalwart crowd, lively and animated—liketheir shirts. They wore flowing skirts,elastic-side boots, and stockings that pretendedto be white. They are intensely religious,always looking forbacksheesh, and have nomorals. When we started in to boss themup they didn't seem to know the meaning ofthe word "hustle," but, ignorant as we were[Pg 23]of their language, we managed to enlightenthem; truly, the army boot hath its uses.

English money, we found, would pass inAlexandria—with profit to the merchant whoaccepted it. Thus we were enabled to purchaseoranges, figs, grapes, tobacco, cigarettes—infact, 'most anything one had a hankeringfor. The native hawkers and bumboat menare a picturesque-looking lot of blackguardsenough, in a comic opera way; they are to aman top-knotch liars, and invoke the aid ofAllah to help them out in their perjuries.They are truly Eastern in their love of bargaining;also in their smell.

We left the same evening by train forCairo. The Egyptian State Railways are, onthe whole, not bad; the trains got over theground much faster than I had anticipated:about forty miles an hour, I should say. Theaccommodation was good enough (no cushionsin the third-class, of course), and the wholeoutfit appeared to be kept fairly clean. The[Pg 24]carriages were hitched on to each other likea series of tramcars, a corridor running downthe centre of each, and a couple of overlappingmetal plates taking the place of the concertina-likearrangement used in corridor trains inEngland. If you got tired of sitting insidethe cars you could always find an airy perchon the platform outside. To go from onecar to another necessitated a climb over theplatform guard on to the afore-mentionedmetal plates. The officials appeared to be allEgyptians, and I am bound to admit theywere as civil and courteous a lot as one couldwish to bump up against. They knew theirwork, too, and didn't grow flies. The fareswere reasonable—and soldiers only paid half.

Being a troop train, we travelled thirdclass. On ordinary occasions, however, it isonly natives who do so, whites going firstor second. There are reasons for this; livelyones, too.

The oldDunera had been a temperance[Pg 25]ship, hence our chaps had worked up a forty-horsethirst on the voyage. Now drinkswere cheap (for the East) in Alexandria, soour crowd, being mostly old campaigners,took full advantage of what they considereda merciful dispensation of Providence. Thebank not being too solvent, they couldn'tall run to whisky, of course, and many had tocontent themselves with larger beer "madein Germany"; however, the bottles (andthings in general) became a bit mixedenroute, so they got, perhaps, even more funout of the assorted brew than if they had allbeen sipping at the same fount. Our traintravelled to an accompaniment of coo-ees,war-cries, bush ballads, and breaking bottles.It was a distinctly lively trip, and I shan'tforget my first Christmas Eve in the Land ofthe Pharaohs. So far as I recollect, therewere no bones broken, either, and not sovery many windows.

We ran into Pont de Koubbeh station, a[Pg 26]few miles outside Cairo, about ten o'clockthat night, and disembarked straight away.A number of staff officers were on the platform,so we were fallen-in for a hasty inspection;and it was really marvellous, considering theamount of liquid refreshment that had beenconsumed, how steady a line was kept. Itmight certainly have been improved, but anylittle shortcomings in the way of dressing,et cetera, were put down by our officers to thefatiguing day we had had, plus the heat ofEgypt. Perhaps the staff believed them. Butit was a mistake to give the order, "FixBayonets!" when those weapons were alreadyso firmly "fixed" amidst the gear we wereburdened with that nearly half the companyutterly failed at first to find them—and whenthey did succeed, the officers of the staff hadturned to go: thinking, no doubt, that theclimate had a lot to answer for.

We marched the couple of miles or so toZeitoun, where the New Zealanders were[Pg 27]camped, about seven miles from Cairo, passingon the way many soldiers of the Dominion,who were in a slightly "elevated" condition.One six-foot infantryman attached himself tous as guide, informing all and sundry the whilethat he was as "right as theadjectived bank!"He may have been, but he didn't look it.And those two miles were easily the longestI ever padded. However, we found ourcamp at last, and in the fullness of time ourblankets and kits also, and, after doing justiceto a savoury, if rather overcooked, stew,turned in early on Christmas morning. Laterwe were informed that the boys had fixed togive us a boncer welcome, but "Christmascome but once a year," and in the words ofour informant, "they blued their cheques,got shikkared, and the show was bust up."We got to sleep at last, lulled by the dulcetstrains of a Maorihaka voiced by a home-comingband of late—or early!—revellers.

LIFE IN EGYPT

Christmas Day on the edge of the desert,within sight of the Pyramids of Gizeh! Thevery last place in which I ever thought Ishould celebrate the festive season. And theoutlook was far from "Christmassy": A bigwide stretch of yellow sand; a rough, trampledtrack styled a road; a straggling collection oflow, flat-roofed, mud-built native houses thatlooked as if they had been chucked fromaloft and stuck where they happened to pitch;a few vines, date palms, and fig-trees, disputingthe right to live in company with some sun-bakednectarines and loquats; a foregroundmade up of tents, both military and native,wooden shanties, and picketed horses; a[Pg 29]background of camp stores, mechanics' shops,and corded firewood, closed in by a line ofdusty poplars; in the distance the desert,a vast study in monochrome, the horizonline broken in places by an Arab village andcemetery, a camel train, and the forbiddingwalls of some Egyptian grandee's harem;overhead a scorching sun shining in a cloudlesssky; underfoot the burning sand—and everywherethe subtle aroma (or "sense," if youwill) of the East, at once repellent and yetattractive, calling with ever-increasing insistenceto some nomadic strain that hashitherto lain dormant in our beings—callingwith the call of the East....

There was general leave, of course. Mostof the chaps took the Cairo trail, those whoremained doing so in nearly every case notfrom choice, but dire necessity: a week'spay at the rate of 2s. per day (once on activeservice we had to allot 3s.) doesn't see one far inEgypt. Our crowd elected to stay for dinner,[Pg 30]and I must say the cooks turned out an A1meal. The turkey was missing, ditto the goose,but we had as much frozen mutton, followedby Christmas duff, as we could find room for.The wet canteen lay close handy, so thebeer (English, too) wasn't missing. Thedesert didn't look so dusty when we left thetables.

They are keen on the dollars, are the Egyptians.They swarmed round our camp likea mob of steers round a water-hole in a dryspell; everywhere you ran across their matchboardstores where you could buy 'most anything,from a notebook to a glass of ice cream,made from camel's milk! They had the timeof their lives, especially the orange-sellers.I have bought seven jolly good oranges fora half-piastre (1-1/4d.) more than once, but asa rule the price ranged from eight to twelvefor a piastre (2-1/2d.) Barrows or baskets aren'tin favour with the Gippy fruit-sellers. Theywear loose shirts and wide skirts, and by[Pg 31]making full use of these garments one manwill carry nearly a sackful of oranges—and atthe same time help complete the ripeningprocess. It paid to wipe the fruit beforeeating it.

In Egypt a man's wealth and standing isusually reckoned on the basis of the numberof wives he possesses: when our crowd arrivedmany of the fruit-sellers had only one—orone and an old one—yet inside a week or twothe same johnnies were bossing up a tidylittle harem of prime goods. So indirectlyI guess our pay helped keep polygamy going—andincreased the population.

Egypt exists by favour of the Nile. Outsidethe irrigation belt lies desert and nothingbut desert—the Hinterland or Never-Never ofNorthern Africa. Except for an oasis hereand there the eye searches in vain for a traceof greenery. A huge rolling plain of yellowsand mixed with limestone, and carpeted inplaces with round, seemingly water-worn[Pg 32]pebbles, amongst which one finds agates inabundance; here and there broken and serratedrocks outcropping boldly in fantastic shapesfrom great drifts of storm-driven sand; abrooding loneliness—there you have it.

And yet in the Valley of the Nile what acontrast! The very atmosphere is redolentof fertility. Here is, indeed, a "land flowingwith milk and honey"; a land which, give itthe water, will bloom like a garden and smelllike a huge pot-pourri. I have seen some ofthe best country in four continents, yet Inever ran across richer soil or more exuberantgrowth than that of the Nile Valley. Whenone bears in mind that the methods of irrigationand system of tillage are those of thedim and distant past; that a metal ploughis an object of mixed curiosity and distrust;that steam is not; that the fertiliser used(when itis used) once sheltered, in the formof towns and villages whose history was closedere the Bible was written, the heads of their[Pg 33]own forefathers—then one is, indeed, forcedto marvel at a land which yields such husbandmenseventy- and eighty-ton crops of sugarcaneto the acre, and gives nine and tencuttings of berseine—in the year, while carryingat the same time the mixed flocks and herdsof the lucky proprietor. Little wonder, then,that thefellahin pray to the Nile as the Romansused to pray to Father Tiber—althoughhardly with the same objects.

The climate of Egypt was rather a surpriseto us. True, it was winter when we arrived,but we had an idea that such a season existedin name only in the Land of the Pharaohs.The first night, however, made us sit up andthink things, it was bitterly cold. Evenpacked nine in a tent with two blankets and agreatcoat over us we could hardly get to sleep;the tent felt like a refrigerator. Indeed,until we hit on the plan of donning our greatcoats,and pulling on a pair of woollen socks,we were anything but comfortably warm. The[Pg 34]days were hot enough, it is true, even in mid-winter,but it was not till towards the end ofFebruary that the nights lost their bite.Before we left for Gallipoli, however, we founda single blanket quite all right; as for thedays, they were something to remember inyour prayers, the sun seemed to get rightdown clear to your backbone, and stew thestiffening out of your spine.

I saw rain only twice during the three monthsand a half we put in in Egypt; it wasn'tmore than an anæmic Scotch mist on bothoccasions. I reckon the average annual rainfallfor those parts would figure out at aboutpoint ten noughts and a one. We were told,however, that once in every three years orso, the rain came down good-oh, and washedhalf the houses away, at the same time cleaningthings up generally. But the natives takesuch things as a matter of course; beinghighly religious, they observe that Allahwills it so, and set about rebuilding their[Pg 35]happy homes. I expect it's really a blessingin disguise, and the overflow from thesevillages of theirs should certainly fertilise thesoil that receives it.

We were told by the local residenters thatFebruary was the month noted for sandstorms.Well, we ran across two—or, rather,they ran across us. We didn't like them alittle bit. There was only one thing to do—getunder cover straight away and stay theretill the beggars blew themselves out. Youwould see them coming, for all the world likea big yellow smoke-cloud stretched rightacross the desert. Then it was a case of hopinto your tent, fasten up the flap, and praythat some one else had driven the pegs home.If even a single one should draw—ugh! itgives me the shivers even now! Once I sawa pole go clean through the top of a tent,the canvas, of course, sliding down like aparachute and "bonneting" the inmates:I reckon it says something for the power of[Pg 36]their language when we heard it rising highabove the storm.

I have mentioned that we came out fromEngland as an infantry company. Well,naturally we hoped to be attached to somebattalion of the N.Z.R.'s (which stands forNew Zealand Rifles). Failing that we reckonedon being split up and spread over the variousinfantry battalions. So it came rather asa bit of a facer, when we were paraded, toldthat a Field Company of Engineers and anArmy Service Corps Company was requiredstraight away, and given our choice as to whichcrowd we should care to take on. At firstwe were inclined to think it was a bit of abluff; but no, there was no get out about it.Boiled down, it meant service with theEngineers, the A.S.C.—or our discharge andpassage back to New Zealand. We didn'tlike this stunt at all, and at first some of theboys felt like shaking things up some; but,of course, no one held for going home, so[Pg 37]they made the best of a bad deal and took theirchoice. I plumped for the Engineers; I hadno hankering after the A.S.C.—or "'Aunty'Sprocket's Cavalry," as it was promptlydubbed, from the name of one of our officerswho took on with it. ("Sprocket," I maysay here, is not what he calls himself.)

We had already been through the millas infantrymen: we had now to start in totrain as engineers. It meant hustling some,for the time at our disposal, we were told,didn't amount to much. Well, we had madeour choice, and although we felt a bit soreover being rushed, we knew it was up to usto see the thing through to rights. So wegot into the collar straight away, consignedthe war, the Army, and the New ZealandGovernment to an even warmer locationthan Egypt—and put in overtime imbibingengineering knowledge.

We had our work cut out, for we had tolearn in the space of a few weeks a course[Pg 38]that, in the ordinary run, would have beenspread over more than the same number ofmonths. But most of our fellows had donework of a similar kind, so it was fairly wellinto their hands. I reckon we had just aboutevery trade and occupation that ever wasin our crowd, from civil engineers, miners,surveyors, marine and electrical engineers,master mariners and mates, right down toshearers, boundary riders, roustabouts andbushmen generally. Even a few "cockies"were not missing. ("Cockie," by the way, isshort for "cockatoo," meaning, in the languageof Australasia, a small farmer.) Hence wemade progress like a house on fire, and theofficers congratulated themselves on the kindof chaps the Lord had sent them. Indeed,some of the sappers could have turned thecommissioned officers down had they chosenwhen it came to getting about a ticklish job—andI guess the officers knew it. So wesimply took the course on the run, as it were,[Pg 39]building bridges and blowing up same, diggingtrenches, fixing up and fortifying positions,and so on.

I think, taking all in all, the lectures werethe most popular items on the list. Sometimeswe had one every day, generally after dinner—whichis about the sleepiest time of the dayin a hot country. Snorers weren't liked; theydisturbed both lecturer and audience. Apartfrom the value of the lecture itself one wasalways sure of a quiet, after-dinner smoke.Yes, I fancy those pow-wows ranked first inpopularity.

Then there was bomb making and throwing.There is a lot of excitement to be got out ofthat racket—especially when you go in forexperimental work. Some of our home-madebombs were fearsome contraptions. Most ofus had quite a number of narrow shaves,and even the niggers, keen as they were tosell their oranges, wouldn't come withincoo-ee of our mob when engaged in bomb-throwing[Pg 40]operations. They knew a thingor two, did those niggers.

I almost forgot to mention field geometry.I fancy it about divided favour with bomb-workas an occupation. For one thing, itwas more restful and distinctly quieter; foranother, it was a jolly sight safer. You couldsit down on the sand, when it wasn't toohot, and get right into field geometry withouthaving to keep your ears open for a constantlyrecurring yell of: "Look out, boys! Here shegoes!" or—"Duck, damn you! I've got awhole slab in her!"

Once or twice during our training we hada written examination covering the work,both practical and theoretical, we had done;and the examining officer smiled on us likea tabby with new kittens when he came toread our papers. Joking apart, he was morethan pleased, and he didn't forget to tell usso. This sort of thing may strike the readeras a bit far-fetched—sort of blowing one's[Pg 41]own trumpet; but if the said reader willpause to consider the class of men that composedour company he will be bound in commonfairness to admit that I am not straining thingstoo much. Colonial training, I reckon, isn'tthe worst preparation for most branches ofthe service; it turns outmen anyway. Andyou don't run across illiterates in the colonies—evenway back in the Never-Never.

Once or twice we took part in field manœuvres—orDivisional Training, to use the properterm. For our little lot such things usuallymeant hard graft with the pick and shovelplus a lot of tough marching. The funseemed to go to the infantry and mountedmen—if there was any fun in the game.Sometimes we were out for only a single day,but it mostly worked out at a night and a day.Once we were away from camp for five daysand nights. In all cases actual war conditionswere observed.

I shan't forget the last Divisional Training[Pg 42]we took part in. The idea was that the enemy,an infantry column, was strongly entrenchedat some point unknown out in the desert.The attacking party, a division of Australianand New Zealand infantry, was to march outof camp at sunset, duly discover the enemy'sposition, and deliver a night attack with itsfull strength. The "enemy," to which mycompany was attached, left early the samemorning, being given a day in which to selectthe position and fortify it.

Our luck was out when it came to dig. Myword that subsoil was hard! In someplaces, graft as we might, three feet was allwe could sink the trenches; we seemed tohave struck the bedrock of Egypt. Aftermessing up our tools badly and losing a lotof sweat we gave it best, contenting ourselveswith raising the parapet where necessary, soas to afford the requisite cover and shelterto the defenders.

Our own O.C. was naturally anxious to[Pg 43]make an A1 show in his particular line, sowe prepared a boncer defensive position. Wehad stacks of wire, and we didn't spare it,shoving up entanglements that called for somegetting through all along the line. It wasunderstood that the wire would be plainstuff; but on the quiet, and to make mattersmore realistic, we shoved in a couple of strandsof barbed—and smiled expectantly. We alsorigged up a real good outfit in the way ofcoloured flares, and fixed dummy mines hereand there in front of the entanglements; thelatter were harmless, of course, but theysounded pretty bad when sprung.

The trenches were manned at the appointedtime, the flares set, the mines connected upto the exploders, and everything made readyagainst the advance of the attacking division.Our chaps (the engineers) were spread alongthe position and placed in charge of the mines,flares, etc. It was slow work waiting; lightswere forbidden, so we couldn't even smoke. It[Pg 44]wasn't to say warm, either, and I reckon everyman of us would a dashed sight sooner havebeen snug in camp.

Presently our patrols sent in word of theapproach of the enemy's scouts, the mainbody having halted under cover of a dip inthe ground about 1000 yards back. Wehad arranged a big collection of jam tins andsimilar alarms along the front of the entanglements,and it wasn't long until they began toplay a lively tune in one or two places. Weguessed what had happened: some of theaforesaid scouts had run foul of the wire,and owing to the barbed stuff we had mixedthrough it, couldn't get clear for love or money.We sent out a party to make them prisoners,and they were ignominiously herded in, protestingthe while in lurid language againstwhat they styled "a crook trick."

The first attack was delivered fairly earlyin the night, and resulted in a decided repulsefor the enemy. Hardly a man reached the[Pg 45]entanglements, for our flares lit up the heavenswith a wealth of illuminating colours neverbefore seen in the desert ("just like a ——picture show," as one of the officers remarked),and the explosion of a mine or two causedthem to beat a hasty retreat. They didn'tseem to fancy those mines a little bit, and hadevidently some doubts as to their harmlessness.The whole thing was fairly realistic, whatwith the heavy rifle fire and the language,and both sides soon warmed up to their work.In fact, things got so warm that several livelybouts with Nature's own weapons took placebetween our patrols and some of the enemywho had crawled up with the intention ofcutting the wire.

The next attack in force came off in theearly hours of the morning, and after a longand fierce scrap the position was carried.In spite of the fact that they were under adeadly Maxim and rifle fire at point-blankrange, those heroic infantrymen set to work[Pg 46]in grim earnest, pulling down our entanglementsand stamping out our flares. Timeafter time we notified them that they wereall dead men over and over again, but theycouldn't see it, and were disposed to arguethe matter. Rifle fire, we soon saw, had noeffect; however, there were plenty of handy-sizedflints and agates lying around, and ajudicious application of the same caused aconsiderable amount of delay and some lossto the enemy. I wonder what the umpiresthought? They didn't show up during thisphase of the operations—perhaps because ofthe reception that had been accorded themsome little time previous, when both sidesmistook them for an enemy patrol!

On being cleared out of our trenches, weretired to a new position on some risingground, beat off the pursuing foe, and, operationsceasing, went into bivouac. Afterwards,the umpires gave out their report, and wefelt good when it was announced that the[Pg 47]attacking column had taken almost thricethe number of hours allotted to them in whichto storm our position. But the infantrynever quite forgave us for that barbed wire.The mines were also a sore point. And whenwe pointed out that it was simply realism wewere after, their comment was brief and caustic:"Realism be damned!—look at our clothes!"

EAST AND WEST

Egypt is surely one of the most cosmopolitancountries in this old planet. It is also one ofthe most interesting. You will find all thebreeds you want in or about Cairo, Alexandria,and Port Said—and some you don't. Quitea variety of languages, too, although English,French, and Arabic are most in favour.

The natives stick to Arabic, but many ofthem have a smattering of French and Englishof a sort. They are all there at picking up anew language, especially if there is moneyback of it. They will do anything for thedollars. They may have had souls once; butnow—— They have sold them long ago.

The newspaper sellers were real dabs at[Pg 49]learning English. They used to visit our campsdaily (like the "orangemen"), calling out themost striking items contained in their wares.Everything out of the common was to them"very goot news"—althoughwe mightn'tthink so. Thus one morning you might hear:"Very goot news; Engelsch 'vancin'"; whilethe same evening the beggars were announcing:"Very goot news: strike in Glasgow." Wegot to take this kind of thing as a matter ofcourse, but it was a bit tough to hear: "Verygoot news: Lord Roberts dead." However,as time went on their knowledge of Englishincreased at a rapid rate. But it was campEnglish—Australasian at that—and when theytook to airing it in the streets of Cairo thingshappened. They were especially disrespectfulto the Kaiser, inventing fancy diseases for himevery day, and prefacing each item with theusual: "Very goot news——"

One of the institutions of Egypt is theBootblack Brigade. We struck it in full force[Pg 50]at Cairo. No sooner did you step out of thetrain there than your ears were assailed by ashrill chorus of, "Mister, clean 'im boots."There was only one thing to do—let themclean them. It was no good trying to dodgethose boys; they were out to black your boots,and they meant to black them or perish in theattempt. You gained nothing by boltinginto a pub or restaurant; no sooner were youseated comfortably than they had you bailedup by the leg and their brushes going at fortyhorse-power. Even boarding an electric cardidn't fill the bill; they just chased the cartill it pulled up, hopped on board, and got towork. Swearing had no effect; calling theirparents names had less—they were used to it.Let them earn the usual half-piastre and youcould call them and their forefathers all thenames in the Bible. You found yourselfentirely in their hands; go where you wouldthose Cairo bootblacks ran you down.

It is a gay old city, is Cairo. It is the home[Pg 51]of Eastern curios, priceless fabrics, beautifulpottery, good coffee, bad liquor, donkeys, dirt,vermin, ear-splitting noises, and rampant vice.You can get as much of each of these goods asyou like. East and West certainly do meetin Cairo. But they don't mix—for obviousreasons.

The Egyptian of the better class struck meas rather a fine fellow in a way. He wascertainly intelligent, handsome as men go,and clean-run enough while on the right sideof thirty. After that age, however, he wasprone to pile on flesh and drop his chest lowerdown. His chief amusements seemed to beeating, drinking iced lemonade and sherbet,riding in big, costly motors, listening to theband, and admiring the Western ladies. Indress he was an out-and-out howling swell—aflash of the flashiest. On the whole I shouldsay he liked and respected the Britisher in alazy, good-tempered way; was a law-abidingcitizen, but would never find the sand to stand[Pg 52]up to the Westerner in a mix-up for the showboss'sjob.

The lower-class natives were just a cut abovethe poor devils of donkeys they exercised theircruelties on. They would sell their owndaughters to the highest bidder—and throwin a wife asbacksheesh. They were nearly all"crooks," and cheated you right and left ifyou allowed them. It was only a new chumwho gave them anything like the price theyasked for their goods. They hated you likepoison when you drove a fair bargain anddespised you for a tenderfoot if you didn't.They were as saving as a Cousin Jack, investingtheir earnings in donkeys and wives. I onceasked a chap with a face like a Murchisonblack-fellow, which fetched the higher price:he side-tracked, but admitted that while itwas always easy enough to pick up a passablewife, good donkeys were anything but common.Taking them bye and large, the lower-classnatives, as we found them, were twisters,[Pg 53]crooks, and liars; they were (like most Easternbreeds) cruel devils with animals, loading theirwretched donkeys and ponies down till theycould hardly move, and then cutting them upwith heavy sticks and whips till a fellow feltlike putting the swine to sleep. I fancy theytreated their camels rather better; camels arecostly animals, and I have heard it stated thatif ill-treated they have a habit of eating theirmasters. This I cannot vouch for, by theway. I once nearly put my great toe out inan argument with one of the brutes (a native,not a camel), over a poor little donkey. I hadonly light canvas shoes on at the time, insteadof the military hob-nailed boot. I never madea similar mistake again. However, I had thesatisfaction of knowing that the unfortunateanimal would be sparedhis weight for a dayor two. In dismissing the low-down Gippyfor the time, I have only to add that he is ashusky as they make them, intensely religious,and works his wives and daughters much the[Pg 54]same as the other animals he possesses. He isalso a deal dirtier, and his washerwoman musthave a lively job.

Before visiting Egypt I had the usual Westernideas regarding harem life. I soon changedthat. I'd lay an even bet that the women ofthe East are, on the whole, quite satisfied withtheir lot. True, they have no choice in thematter, and have never run across anythingbetter. Anyway they just take things as theyfind them, and seem quite content to graftaway like billy-oh, while their owners lie in theshade and smoke. They are really only bigchildren, these women, with undevelopedbrains. The men have the education, seem tohold the bank, while the women are treatedby them sometimes as toys to play with, andsometimes as wilful kids that have got to beeither humoured or punished. I must say Inever ran across a brighter or more cheerylot than those so-called down-trodden females.We used to meet them everywhere, for they[Pg 55]knock around quite openly, at times with theirhusbands, and again in charge of an elderlylady or two, of a rather more severe cast ofcountenance. They wore veils that hid theirfaces from the eyes down, and from what wedid see of them were not on the whole bad-looking.They were rather fine about the eyes,and they made full use of those organs, evenin the company of the "old man," who didn'tseem to be overjoyed when he caught themgiving the glad eye to a mob of khaki-cladChristians. We were warned not to returnsame, no matter what the provocation, lestwe should offend native feelings—an orderwhich, of course, we obeyed!

The Turkish ladies were as flash as they makethem, dressed in what struck us as the latestfrom Paris. They used to knock round Cairoin big Rolls-Royce cars, and seemed to haveno end of a jolly fine time.They, at least,certainly didn't appear down-trodden. I don'tremember seeing an ugly one; they were as[Pg 56]pretty a crowd as you could wish to bump into,and as lively as a basketful of jack rabbits.The way they used to smile and roll those darkeyes of theirs! It made a chap feel like owninga harem and turning Mohammedan right away.They were out-and-out flirts, and their veilshelped them, being made of stuff like whitemuslin that you could see through. To oursurprise their complexions were of the pink andwhite brand. They went in for plumpness abit, wore high heels, hobble skirts, and ran tofineness about the waist. Their weak point layin their action; they didn't walk too well(tight shoes, I reckon). But, on the whole,they were jolly fetching—and knew it. Wewere specially warned against those Turkishladies. Poor girls! And they were so keenon learning English, too.

I used to like watching the Egyptian womencarrying water gourds and things on theirheads. I never saw one come to grief; theirsense of balance was A1. It made a fellow[Pg 57]stare some to see a slender little woman aboutseven-stone-nothing pick up a big gourd ofwater for all the world like a ten-gallon drum,balance it on her head, and trip off with it,wearing a kind of "old-man-you-couldn't-lick-that"smile on her face. I once saw a womancarrying on her head what I at first took tobe a small hut; on coming closer it proved tobe a large door piled up with all the familygoods and chattels. The man of the houserode beside the old lady on a donkey, encouragingher the while between puffs at his cigaretteby singing an Arab love song. He had a voicelike a quinsy-smitten parrakeet, so, perhaps,that accounted for her staying power. Andyet she seemed quite satisfied with this trulyEastern division of labour. They all do: aska woman in Egypt why she doesn't make herbetter half (or quarter, or other fraction)graft a bit more, and she thinks you are pokingfun at her; go one further and tell her thatyour wife doesn't do any hard work (which is a[Pg 58]lie!) and she, if she can speak English, promptlyinforms you that "Engelsch woman one damfool!" So there you are—where you started.

I used to read of the spicy and scented East,but it was some time before we struck thebrand you find in books of travel. True, wehad found a variety of "scents" in the landof Rameses, but they weren't the kind of thingyou'd invite your latest girl to inhale—althoughthey were all fairly "spicy," and typicallyEastern. Cairo has its full share; in fact,it bubbles over in parts, and yet it was in Cairothat I ran the travel-book's own particularto earth.

Reader, were you ever in the Native Bazaarin Cairo? If you weren't, take my tip andpay it a visit the first time you happen to slideEastward. You'll not regret having done so.But—a word in your ear—don't carry morethan, say, £1000 in your pocket, for you'llspend every piastre you can lay hands on beforethey let you go, and you'll blue the cash without[Pg 59]caring a well-known adjective where the nextcheque is coming from.

The entrance to the Bazaar is far from imposing.I toddled in by way of a row ofbutchers' booths and fruit-sellers' stalls, to findmyself transplanted straight into a scene fromthe Arabian Nights Entertainments. I rubbedmy eyes, opened them again—and lo! theGrand Vizier bowed before me (with a facelike an Adelphi assassin—but this by the way,for I don't suppose it was his fault). He namedhis price, I offered him 200 per cent. less; fora moment he seemed on the point of faintingfrom surprise and indignation, then, recovering,he accepted my terms and proceeded to do thehonours of the place in the capacity of guide.An amusing enough cut-throat he proved tobe, too, although just a bit too fond of talkingabout his adventures with the ladies. Someof his yarns—— Ahem!

I soon found I had made a wise selection, fora single glance from the Vizier's eagle eye wassufficient to send the rest of the unemployedscuttling to cover. He didn't have to use hisfeet once; it was another instance of thetriumph of mind over matter. I told him so,but I fancy he didn't quite take me—bowedalmost to the ground as he requested me to"spik Engelsch as he no spik French mochwell." I think he must have been the Princeof all the Assassins.

On entering Aladdin's Palace the first thing[Pg 61]that strikes you is the narrowness and crookednessof the streets: in many places a long-armedman could pinch scent from a booth onone side, while helping himself to a silk scarfon the other—if he were not watched so closelyby the merchants. Then the light is verysubdued; something like that you run acrossin the bush, while everywhere your nose isassailed by the perfume of crushed flowers andspices. Look upward and you will see the skya mere slit between the confining walls of thelofty, old-world houses; look around and youwill see the wealth of the East in lavish profusion.In a word, you are in Old Cairo, tomy mind one of the most interesting spotsin Egypt.

Let us stroll down this close-packed doublerow of little windowless stalls that resemblenothing so much as dog boxes in a canine show.See that old fellow with the Arab features anddress, working so industriously at his clumsynative loom: he is eighty if he is a day, and[Pg 62]just as likely as not ten years older. Note thespeed and skill with which his knotted oldfingers do their work. He is weaving a silkscarf, a beautiful piece of work, which later onmay adorn the shoulders of some haremfavourite—or a New York belle. In the nextstall squats a native tailor or vestment maker.Opposite him a spice merchant calls your attentionto his wares, just as his forefathers did inthe days of Abraham. A few yards fartherand we come on a couple of young nativesbusily pounding away with heavy steel pestlesin a mortar surely identical with the jars inwhich the Forty Thieves secreted themselves—scentand pot-pourri makers almost certainly.Squeezing past a mild-looking camel, which wedo not trust, however, we almost stumble overa couple of silk spinners, an old man and aprecocious-looking boy. The spinning-wheelmight have come straight from an Irish cottage.The yarn is passed through the interstices ofthe boy's small white teeth, the idea being to[Pg 63]clean it of foreign matter, I suppose. Flatteningourselves against a sweetmeat stall to permitof the passage of a train of heavily ladendonkeys, our eyes are dazzled the while by aglimpse of a silk merchant's stock in the boothopposite; hanging to the walls, piled in hugeheaps, and lying around anyhow, are scarves,robes, and vestments in all the colours of therainbow. What would that stuff be worth inLondon or Melbourne? Who knows?...We turn the corner, dodge a cow and a goatthat are being milked in the street, and findourselves at the entrance door of a dealer inbeaten brass and copper goods, Japanese ware,and antiques. This we enter, ignoring theprotests of our guide, who would much preferthat our custom should go to the more flashy-lookingstore farther up the street—kept byhis brother or uncle, most likely, and a first-ratehouse for buying Eastern curios andantiquesmade in Birmingham. You tell himso, insult the memory of his mother, and leave[Pg 64]him to continue his protestations on thethreshold.

There are many things we should like topurchase. That pair of vases, for instance, sobeautifully chased and inlaid with silver,price £20. Or that group representing acouple of Japanese wrestlers, dirt cheap at£18. Or that magnificent cabinet—— Butour finances only run to two weeks' pay attwo shillings per diem, so we turn our attentionto flower-holders, candlesticks, and such-likecheaper lines of goods, enjoying the while acup of excellent Egyptian coffee and someunusually good cigarettes at the expense of theproprietor. Shopping in Cairo is a slow game,so we kill an hour in the making of our purchases—andemerge with a balance still at the bank.

And now we come on a street almost entirelygiven over to the vendors of silks and ostrichfeathers. What a wealth of colour! Andhow harmoniously the myriad tints blend withthe flowing robes of the natives, the duller[Pg 65]hues of the crumbling walls, rickety, projectingbalconies, and sun-blanched lattices! Lookingdown the narrow thoroughfare packed as it iswith a moving sea of quaintly garbed figures,suggests an ever-changing arabesque, kaleidoscopic-likein its effect. It is the East asMohammed found it, a bit of Old Egyptbasking snugly in the warmth of a trulyoriental setting.... We thread our way slowlythrough the noisy crowd of guttural-tonguednatives, and emerge with something approachinga shock into the clang and rattle of a moderncity street with its electric cars, resplendentautomobiles, and plate-glass windows. Yeteven here the East holds its own: you see itin the strings of camels and the numerousdonkeys that dispute the right of way with thebig touring cars and electric runabouts; inthe open-air cafés; in the dress of the natives,especially the sherbet and lemonade sellers,and the hawkers of sweetmeats and cigarettes;but it is the meeting of the Occident and[Pg 66]Orient, the commingling of the East and West,and the effect is anything but congruous.

Reader, I am not out to describe Cairo.For one thing, space forbids; for another, Ireckon I amn't a boss hand at descriptivewriting; and, lastly, you can get as much ofthat kind of thing as you want in the guidebooks.But I should like to point out threeplaces you should really pay a visit to the firsttime you blow into the old City: the Citadel,the Museum, and the Tombs of the Mamelukes;add to these the Zoo, and the HezekiehGardens on a Sunday afternoon, and you won'tregret it. It is a gay city, is Cairo; a bad oldcity, but, above all, an intensely interestingone. You will there, it is true, find vice, dirt,and immorality flaunted openly, the trimmingsall shorn away. But you needn't stop andlook, you know—(you will, all the same). And"to the pure all things are pure." Besides,when away from home things often strike youfrom a vastly different standpoint. You are[Pg 67]out to "do" Egypt; you have paid to "do"it—then "do" it by all means. But take mytip, and exercise a wise discretion when writingto the folks at the old farm. Or don't write—justmail them the guidebooks.

DAY BY DAY

As time went on we grew more and moreaccustomed to our Eastern life. With thepassing of the weeks the weather becamewarmer, until it dawned on our O.C. at lastthat, in the interests of his men's health, hewould have to ease off work a bit in the heatof the day. So it came to pass that the biggerpart of our training was carried out in the earlymorning and at night, the long desert marchesin the afternoons being pretty well cut out.No one regretted it; those wallaby trotspulled blasphemy and sweat out of the chapsin about equal proportions. Besides, theywere by this time in hard fighting trim; fitto go for a man's life. It was quite an everyday[Pg 69]occurrence for the crowd to come intocamp off an eighteen or twenty mile foot-sloggingjaunt with all on, have tea and awash-up, and then trot into Cairo to spend theevening. That shows the kind of training theywere in.

But it wasn't "all work and no play." Wehad amusement and recreation in plenty,between concerts at night, tennis, football, etc.on the desert by day. We even ran a gymkhanaonce, and played polo and wrestling on horseback—withdonkeys as mounts. I don't thinkthey enjoyed it (the donkeys, I mean), and someof the competitors got in the way of each other'sclubs, and showed it. But the spectators weretickled, and I fancy the natives sized us up asall mad—or tanked. Add to this boxing, andChurch Parade on Sundays, and you will havea fair idea of how we put in time when weweren't training. The latter was the leastpopular; it was held out on the desert wherethere wasn't a vestige of shade. It's almost[Pg 70]impossible to sleep in the full glare of an Africansun.

As a rule we had Saturday afternoons off,also Sunday from the conclusion of ChurchParade, besides an odd whole day or two, forwhich we had to get a special pass. Sometimesa fellow got the chance of going in to Cairo tofetch back a prisoner from the military jail.In this connection I remember forming one ofa corporal's guard dispatched into the city tobring out a couple of chaps who had been runin by the pickets for getting shikkared andplaying round some. The O.C. let them offwith a caution—and a week later one was madea sergeant while the other got his commission!Still, they were good boys, so the fellows onlylaughed.

We were reviewed several times during ourstay in Egypt—once by Sir Ian Hamilton. Oh,the dust of those marches past! They hadthe cinema going on us at the saluting point,but I'll take my oath they "snapped" more[Pg 71]dust than soldiers. We were dressing by thecentre—at least we were supposed to—butthe line was hidden in such rolling clouds ofsuffocating desert topsoil, that it was a matterof speculation as to where the centre actuallywas. However, we marched as uprightly asthe soft going would allow, mounted ourfiercest touch-me-if-you-dare-look, and as thechaps actually in range of the camera averagedover six feet in height right through, I guess welooked some fighting men, and no error. Itwas a day of tropic heat, we had been keptstanding-to for over a couple of hours with fullpacks up, so our expression wasn't to saycurate-like—as a mob of Gippy hawkers andsightseers who happened to get in the line ofmarch at one time seemed to think, for theyturned tail and bolted like a harem of scaldedtabbies. At first it used to amuse us the waythe citizens of Cairo stared at the Australasiantroops; the place was simply dry-rotted withsedition, but after our chaps took it over there[Pg 72]was jolly little talk of native risings or such-like.Of course, there were little isolated pow-wowsnow and then, but they always ended in suchan all-fired jamboree that the tenderfeeteffendis and solemn-facedpashas thought thebottom had fallen out of hell, and concludedto give the game best. Our chaps had theirown way of tackling the beggars. And itworked O.K.

At another time we were paraded in hollowsquare and addressed by the Honourable"Tom" McKenzie, High Commissioner forNew Zealand, and Sir George Reid, representingAustralia. They had come out fromLondon, and, needless to say, they got aboncer welcome from the boys. The Maorismade the dust fly and set the desert shakingwith a bighaka of greeting. Altogether thingswent offkapai, and I fancy the two representativesof the "Fatherland" (both realsports and white men) enjoyed themselves.Anyway, the men from Down Under were real[Pg 73]glad to see them; and when addressing theDivision the speakers soon showed that thepleasure was mutual.

It would be about this period that theAustralasian forces began to be called "TheRagtime Army." I never knew who startedthe name, but anyway it stuck. Then somejohnnie, gifted with the faculty of rhyme-stringing,took it into his head to compose aset of verses dealing with our daily life andtraining in Egypt, every verse ending withthe words, "Only an Army standing by."This title also stuck, and it was quite an everydayoccurrence for the infantry to march outof camp to the sung and whistled tune of the"Army standing by." The fact was, that thefellows were by this time trained to the hour;they were sick of the dust, heat, and flies ofEgypt, and were longing to be up and doing.They had had as tough a gruelling as men couldbe put to, and were beginning to ask what wasthe good of it all if they were going to be kept[Pg 74]"standing by" in a God-forsaken hole on theedge of the desert. You see, rumours were inthe air; true, these "wireless" messages, itwas proved, almost all emanated from a ratherunsavoury source (the Anzacs will recognisethe locality), but they travelled round thewhole camp with most disconcerting frequencyuntil one never knew what to believe and whatnot. And one of these rumours oft repeatedwas to the effect that the Australasians weredestined to form the permanent Army ofOccupation in Egypt. Hence the growingfeeling of discontent, the constant grousing,and the daily lament of "Kitchener hasn't gotany use for us; we're a 'Ragtime Army,''An Army standing by.'" But Kitchenerknew what he was about. He generally does,come to think of it. He expected a lot fromthat ragtime push—and I reckon he wassatisfied.

There has been a lot of rot written and saidabout the lack of discipline in the Australian[Pg 75]and New Zealand forces. Therewas discipline,although not quite the same brand as that ofthe British Army. It is true they didn'tcotton on to saluting as an amusement, andyou can lay a safe bet they never will. Butwhat of it? Their own officers didn't pressthe point, knowing the class of men they commanded.At the same time those officersknew that the rough diamonds under theirorders would play the game right to the lastman; that they would fight like lions in theirown devil-may-care, reckless way—and, ifneed be, die like men, with a careless jest ormuttered oath on their lips. I say there wasthe highest form of discipline in the AustralasianArmy—the discipline that called ona man to die, if necessary, that his comrademight live. Let the order go forth that acertain position was to be heldat all costs.Was it lost? No—except over the dead bodiesof the holders. Has a single instance come tolight in which even a platoon of Australian or[Pg 76]New Zealand troops abandoned their trenchand bolted? No, even when out of ammunitionand unable to reply to a murderous fire.What was it that caused first one line and thenanother of those big Australian Light Horsemento charge to certain death at Quinn's Post?Discipline! War discipline! The kind thatcounts. They didn't salute much (exceptwhen in an unusually good humour—or outsidea big drink), even their own officers, but theywould follow those officers to certain death—andwell the officers knew it. They were justbig, hard-living, hard-drinking, over-grownboys: not exactly saints or respectable church-goingcitizens, I fear. But they were whiteright through—even if they sometimes did golooking for trouble! And there wasn't anythingon the Gallipoli Peninsula could showthem the way when it came to scrapping. Theywere absolutely the grandest fighting men thatGod ever put breath into! You saw it in thesquare set of their jaws and the grim, straightforward[Pg 77]glance of their eyes. But parade-groundsoldiering wasn't much in their line,nor the cheering crowds either.

I think I have already stated that Cairo isa wicked old city. Well, it is. There areplaces in Cairo that I wouldn't take mygrandmother through—places that would curla padre's toenails backwards, or send the bloodto the cheek of a Glasgow policeman. Shebangswhere they sell you whisky that takesthe lining of your throat down with it, andlifts your stomach up to the roof of yourskull; a soothing liquid that licks "forty-rod,""chained lightning," or "Cape smoke " to theback of creation; the kind of lush that givesyou a sixty-horse dose of the jim-jams while youwait. Real good stuff it is—for taking tar offa fence.

There are streets in Cairo where the stenchis so great that the wonder is how any livingthing can breathe it and survive; in comparisonwith which a glue factory or fertiliser works is[Pg 78]Attar of Roses, and an Irish pigsty a featherbedin heaven; and yet in these streets—thesecesspools—the painted ladies of low degree liveand move and carry on abominations whichare unnamable; things which the brute creationis guiltless of.

There are other streets in Cairo where thepainted ladies of higher degree—the verypatricians of their profession—follow theircalling in an atmosphere of luxury permeatedby all the seductive and sensual voluptuousnessof a land which for countless æons has been thehome of the voluptuary and the pleasure seeker;an atmosphere to breathe which might shatterthe vows of an anchoret.

There are houses in Cairo in which certainmale and female vampires batten and waxrich on the proceeds of a thriving trade in theWhite Slave Market; houses in which wivesare bought and sold like so many bullocks;aye, and houses in which, if rumour say truly,a man will sell you his own daughter—and not[Pg 79]think it worth his while to witness the weddingceremony!

Yes, it is a wicked old city, the Rio Cairo.I have a lively remembrance of a certain Sundayevening which I put in as one of a strongTown Picket. Our "beat" lay for the mostpart in the localities I have just been describing,and it would be putting it mildly to say thatwe had our eyes opened to the pleasant littleways of the Eastern. It was more than aneye-opener; it was a revelation. And insome ways I reckon it was an education. Atthe same time I shouldn't advise the prospectivestudent to imbibe too deeply of thatsink—er—well of learning. I can smell thataroma even now.

About six or seven miles up the line fromour camp lay the native village of Maarg. Ihad heard that this was a typical Arabic-Egyptiansettlement, and that it was quiteunvisited by the troops, so I resolved toprospect it. Giving Church Parade a miss the[Pg 80]following Sunday, my mate and I toddleddown to Helmieh Station, had an early dinnerin an eating-house there, and took train toMaarg Siding. The country we passed throughwas very different from that which surroundedour camp; it was all irrigated soil, hence thetrack wound through a belt of land bloomingwith flowers, lush grass, and magnificentberseine crops. Everywhere the date palm,the prickly pear, the banana, and the fig grewin the most prodigal profusion; everywhere onesaw donkeys, buffaloes, camels, goats, andhybrid sheep revelling in the midst of plenty.The soil simply exuded fertility; tickle itsbosom and the milk flowed.

Yet it wasn't worked. The surface wasonly scratched by an ox-drawn wooden plough,the pattern for which came out of the Ark.True, it was irrigated—as Joseph and hisBrethren irrigatedtheir selections. Here andthere one caught a glimpse of a scantily cladfellah raising water from a channel by means of[Pg 81]a rope attached to a weighted and counterpoisedpole and bucket, or slowly turning thehandle of an archimedean screw. Occasionallyoxen were pressed into the service, and keptto their work by women or children armedwith goads. In such cases the water wasraised by the agency of a wheel furnished withgourds, or sherds, attached equidistantly allround its circumference. The ox walked roundin a circle, its dexter optic being obscured bymeans of a pad to prevent its entering on thebroad way that leadeth to destruction—and,incidentally, throwing the water supply out ofgear. When you bellowedAh-h-h! like agoat, it kept going on its circular tour, and anabruptly terminatedYe-e-es! caused it tocome to a full stop. It would rather stop thango any time.

We left the train at the siding, and bumpedstraight away into the usual mob of donkeyboys and beggars. Threading our way throughthis lot we skirted a native café and store, and[Pg 82]set out for the village situated some half-mileto the right front, the crowd of jabbering andgesticulating mongrels falling into processionbehind us. In this formation we betook usthrough a plantation of date palms, past apaddock or two of vivid green berseine, andarrived at a flour-mill on the outskirts of thesettlement. An old dame with a face like agargoyle sat at the door selling sticky-lookingnative sweetmeats and Turkish Delight, whileinside the mill was a crowd of women andyoung girls, some of the latter by no means bad-looking.When they smiled (which later onthey did) you had a vision of ivory teeth,flashing eyes, and A1 lips and cheeks—thelatter tinged with a nut-brown bronze.

Just now, however, there wasn't a smile inthe bunch. They were as scared as a mob offull-mouth ewes. I doubt if some of them hadever seen a soldier in their natural—althoughI expect they had heard a lot about the boys.Anyway they just crowded into a corner of the[Pg 83]mill and squinted at us like a bunch of half-tankedparrakeets. Something had to be done.My mate solved the difficulty.

"How about buying the old lady out andfilling up the nippers?" he said.

We did so, and in exchange for a few piastresreceived a fairly heavy consignment of bilious-lookinglollies and Turkish Delight. Thesewe straightway proceeded to hold up to theexpectant view of the smaller kiddies. Thething worked like a charm: kids are the sameall the world over. In a few minutes themothers stole shyly forward and held up theirbabies to receive their rightful share of theunexpected windfall. Soon the whole crowd,mothers, kids, and flappers, were laughing andjostling round us to the admiration and envyof our retinue. They could not resist thecall of those sticky confections. They hadbeen seduced by a concoction of sugar and gumarabic. We bought the old Ishmaelite rightout and distributedbacksheesh with a lavish[Pg 84]hand, then proceeded to "do" the townshipat the head of a now much augmented following.I guess they sized us up as a new brandin the public philanthropic line. It wasn'tevery day that millionaires who sported five-piastrepieces came to town. I fancytheircoinage was a copper one.

Maarg we found to be a typicalfellaheenvillage, inhabited by the usual mob of picturesque-lookingand untidy natives, half Egyptianand half Arabic; goats, donkeys, bastard sheep,and hens. It boasted a miniature mosque,a grocery and provision store, a broken-downpotter's factory, a cemetery, but no sanitationdepartment. The low, dirty-white houseswere topped by the customary flat roofs onwhich the family washing (when there happenedto be any) flaunted its shameless nakedness.The streets, carpeted with the freewillofferings of the citizens, began anywhere andfinished nowhere—except when they led youunsuspectingly into the living-room of one of[Pg 85]the aforesaid citizens. On the whole we foundMaarg to be a really interesting place, and theinhabitants even more interesting. But theytook some getting acquainted with, for atfirst every woman and child bolted to coveras soon as we loomed in sight, following at asafe distance when we had passed on, andstopping when we stopped. We smiled oursweetest: no effect. We purchased lolliesfrom the provision merchant and startedscrambles among our own immediate train:they approached.

Those scrambles were the limit. Theybegan with the nippers. Then the flappersjoined in. Next the mothers, some withbabies in their arms, took a hand in the deal.Finally the men, their dignity upset by thethought of so much good tucker going intoother stomachs than their own, joined in thegeneral mix-up, and the show ended in aflurry of legs and wings for all the world like across between a ballet dance and a Rugby scrum.

[Pg 86]

We had a most interesting conversationwith the Mayor, or Sheik, or whatever he was,of the community. He proved quite anaffable old gentleman, able to speak a littleEnglish. He didn't seem quite able to sizeus up at first, and was naturally curious to knowwhat had brought us to his township. We saidwe had come on a matrimonial project (wethought we might as well tell a good one whenwe were about it; they are all liars in thoseparts, anyway), whereat he pricked up his oldears, scentingbacksheesh. In answer to certainparental queries we informed him that wepossessed a wife each already out in NewZealand (which was a lie), my mate owning tofive kiddies, and I to a couple—the latter bitof information striking him as rather ludicrousseeing that I had just told him that I had beenmarried a little over a year; however, I madeit right by explaining that my family consistedof twins.

If we had been objects of curiosity before[Pg 87]we were tenfold so now. The market waswell stocked, and had we wished we could havebeen fixed up with a tidy little harem eachright away. It was a toughish job keepingour faces straight, while the goods were paradedbefore us and a full inventory of each laughing-eyedyoung lady's charms and accomplishmentsmade out. And some of them were realpretty; quite as modest, too, in their own way,as most white girls. Not that they wereniggers (except in name); the colour of a ripepeach would about fill the bill; and when youget that brand of complexion added to asmallish mouth and chin, teeth like pearls, ashort straight nose, a low broad foreheadthatched with glossy, raven-black hair (plentyof it, too), you begin to tumble to the factthat thefellaheengirls weren'tall behind thedoor when faces were served out. As regardshands and feet they could give points to mostEnglishwomen, while their action was a treatto watch. I guess the Eastern habit of carrying[Pg 88]loads on their heads accounts for theirgraceful carriage. They were a smallish breed;slimly built and averaging about five feet anda fraction, I should say.

I forget what the price ruled at, taken ina camel, donkey, and goat currency. Thesheik's own favourite daughters, I know,had a top-market reserve placed on them.They were certainly the pick of the bunch.Like most native women they had a tenderspot in their hearts for men of the sternerWestern breed—and likeall Eastern girls theyadmired height and weight. We filled thebill; modesty debars me from saying more.They would have shaken the dirt—er, dust—ofMaarg from their shapely little feet andfollowed us to Gallipoli had we asked them.

We didn't. We tore ourselves away, sayingthat we would return to see them the followingSunday. We meant it, too—being both fondof prosecuting the study of native types ofmankind. But, alas! the following Sunday[Pg 89]found us on the sea, bound for the Dardanellesand Johnnie Turk. We presented our prospectivehelpmeets with sufficient TurkishDelight to ensure them dyspepsia for theensuing seven days,backsheeshed their parentstill they smiled sixteen to the dozen, and tookthe back trail, escorted all the way to theSiding by the united population of the settlement.I doubt if we should have saluted theGeneral himself had we bumped up againsthim, we felt so good.

On the whole, we had a rather good timeduring our stay in Egypt. Our camp layclose to both Old and New Heliopolis. Thenew town was built as a kind of Eastern MonteCarlo, by a continental syndicate which, however,failed to obtain the necessary gaminglicence. It is spotlessly clean, the streets arelike glass, and the architecture mostly snowy-whiteand Corinthian-Roman in design. Anenormous hotel, said to be one of the largestin the world, occupies the centre of a prettily[Pg 90]planted square; there is a fine, showy Casino,and whole streets of beautifully designedbuildings. It is, in fact, a model little townresting incongruously enough on the ariddesert, a bit of Monaco transplanted to theland of the Pharaohs. A close inspection,however, reveals the fact that a large part ofthe solid-looking architecture is a sham, mostof the ornamental work being moulded instucco. In this connection the natives willtell you that when the heavy rains put in anappearance (they only visit these parts aboutonce in every three years or so) Heliopolisbegins to moult—in plain words the outercrust of lime washes away, and the town bearsthe appearance of a fleshless skeleton.

You can still see bits of Old Heliopolis—theHeliopolis of the Scriptures. In fact,the modern town is built partly on the siteof the ancient city which the Virgin Marypassed through. Your guide will point outto you the Virgin's Well and what purports[Pg 91]to be the tree she rested under. You canswallow the latter assertion with a largemouthful of salt; the plant looks altogethertoo flourishing and full of life to have so manyyears on its head. The original Virgin's Treeis, I believe, to be found close handy—an olddead stump that might be any age. In theVirgin's Chapel adjoining you will find anumber of beautiful mural paintings depictingthe Flight into Egypt.

A few minutes' walk will bring you to thefoot of the oldest obelisk in the world, Ibelieve: an obelisk compared with whichCleopatra's Needle is an infant in arms. Savefor the marks of Napoleon's shot which itreceived during the Battle of the Mamelukes,its surface is practically unscratched.It is the dryness of the Egyptian climate, Ireckon, that accounts for the staying powersof these old-timers. Most of them seem tohave suffered more during Napoleon's shortstay than they did during the flight of centuries.[Pg 92]I guess his men were pretty rotten shots. Ioften wondered how they came to mess up thepoor old Sphinx's nose, or what they wereactually shooting at. It couldn't have beenthe old lady herself, for if they had they'd havemissed her.

Still, I shouldn't say too much againstNapoleon and his men, for the bread we atewhile at Zeitoun was nearly all baked in theovens originally built by them.

During our sojourn in camp we "did" thePyramids of Gizeh, of course. It is a stiffclimb to the top, especially if you are wearingriding breeches, but the view you get as areward is really grand. The interior is alsowell worth a visit. You'll find the inside ofthis big sugar-loaf to be as hot as anything thisside of Eternity, and you can't help wonderinghow you'd get out if the top fell in. Bythe way, most folks when they speak of thePyramids seem to imagine there are only threein Egypt—those of Gizeh—yet there are several[Pg 93]dozens of them, big, medium, and little,scattered about the country. At one place(Sakkarra) I counted either fourteen or sixteen,ranging from little piccaninnies to the oldestone in the world, the Step Pyramid.

I also spent a most enjoyable day on theNile, in a native boat—feluccas I think theyare called, or our own particular craft mayhave been a smalldhow. We paid a visit tothe palace of Pharaoh's daughter (the onethat found Moses). The foundations andlower part of the original palace are still standing,the upper structure being more modern.The river washes the place on three sides,which, perhaps, accounts for it being fairlyclean and fresh-smelling. Littlefellaheen villages,partly fishing and partly agricultural,lie scattered here and there along the riverbanks just as they lay in biblical days. Wevisited one of these hamlets (they are all muchthe same), and breathed the usual mixed aromaof camels, goats, sheep, fowls, stale fish, and[Pg 94]stale native. I don't wonder that Moses wentto sleep there.

I had often read about the yellow Nile water:well, it is yellow enough, in all conscience.But it is a noble old river, and it slides placidlyalong as if well aware of the fact that Egyptexists on its good-natured benevolence. Itsaverage breadth near Cairo would work outat about 300 yards, I should say. There isno sign of hustle or flurry about the Nile, andif you live near it for a spell you'll have a toughjob keeping in the collar, for its spirit is aptto get into your blood some, and you'll findyourself dropping into as big a slow-go as theslowest of the natives who pray to it. Andyou'll enjoy the experience.

When the bank was good we used to makea point of visiting the show places that couldbe "done" during the hours of a Sunday.Thus we explored Sakkarra and the buriedcity of Memphis; saw and admired the excavatedstatue of Rameses; tried to read the[Pg 95]bird-and-animal writing on the walls (some ofwhich was paintedover 2000 yearsB.C., Ibelieve—and still retains its colour); inspectedthe Tombs of the Sacred Bulls, and were beatto guess how in thunder the huge sarcophagiwere got to where we found them. We alsopaid a visit to Barrage, the place of many damsand much engineering effort—not to mentionreally pretty gardens wherein one may picnicon lawns clothed with English grasses, andyet rest in the shade of purely tropical andsub-tropical palms and tree-ferns. Some ofthe chaps even managed to see Luxor, gettingthree days' leave for the trip. I drew a blank,however: the fare ran to £2 10s. or £3, andat the time I was dead up against it—much tomy disgust, as I should have liked immenselyto have had a look at the Fayyum, the Gardenof Egypt.

Taking it bye and large I don't think we didat all badly in the sight-seeing line, from theCitadel and the Tombs of the Mamelukes in[Pg 96]Cairo to the Pyramids, the Nile, and othershows farther afield. We sailed in nativeboats, rode ingharris, and bestrode camels,mules, and donkeys to further orders. I don'tthink there was much lying within range ofour purses that we failed to prospect. It is amighty queer country is Egypt, and I hopeto see more of it "when the Germans ceaseto trouble and the Turks are laid to rest."

Before closing this chapter I feel compelledto pay my grateful tribute to the many Frenchfriends we made while camped near Cairo.They were courteous and kindly at all times,and in the case of those who, like myself, hadnumerous opportunities of meeting them, theirwarm-hearted generosity and lavish hospitalitywill never be forgotten. They treatedus more like brothers than chance acquaintances,inviting us into their homes, and goingout of their way to show that they at least believedin the permanency of theentente cordiale.We were brothers-in-arms—just that. Surely[Pg 97]Briton and Frenchman shall ever remain so.That I know will be the abiding wish of everyman of the Australian forces. I had previouslymet many of our Gallic friends and liked andadmired them; now that we have had theopportunity of becoming better acquaintedI embrace this opportunity of expressing myadmiration and liking in the strongest possibleterms. I feel that I could not do less.

Vive la France!

"THE BATTLE OF THE STREETS"

I shall pass over the Turkish fiasco at theSuez Canal. Suffice it to say the thing wasforedoomed to failure. Whatever hopes theenemy may have cherished of breaking throughand causing a rising in Egypt were squashedby the arrival of the Australian and NewZealand Expeditionary Forces. With thoseforces actually on the scene it is hard to comprehendwhat devil of rashness and crass follyimpelled the Turkish leaders to go on withthe venture. Perhaps it was pride; perhapsGerman influence lay back of the move;perhaps some queer twist in the Eastern character—whoknows? Not I. But this I doknow: they came on bravely enough—as[Pg 99]Turks always do—and were slaughtered likesheep. It was just a glorified shooting match.Poor devils!

Reader, have you heard of the "Battle ofthe Streets"? That isn't its right name, butit's near enough. Anyway, it was fought inCairo, the scene being a locality much infavour by the painted ladies for residentialpurposes.

No one I have spoken to seems to be quiteclear as to what actually started the scrap.One yarn was to the effect that a New Zealanderhad been stabbed; another was that someAustralians had been robbed of a biggish lotof cash. Letting the reason go, however,there is no doubt that things were fairly livelyin Cairo that night, and at one time it lookedan odds on chance that the whole street mighthave been burnt.

I happened to be in Cairo that eveninghaving a run round in company with three[Pg 100]mates. We had got comfortably outside anA1 dinner and a bottle of light Greek winewhen the row started. As a matter of fact,we drove slap into the mix-up in agharri, andbefore we got shut of it the battle had developedinto a first-class slather-up. Thestreet was packed full of Australians and NewZealanders, with here and there little groupsof badly scaredeffendis working overtime intheir efforts to get clear of the struggling massof grim Colonials, who, to an ear-splittingaccompaniment of yells, cat-calls and coo-ees,were devoting their energies to an all-roundwrecking and smashing game.Crash! wenta wardrobe as it struck the ground with theimpetus acquired by a forty-feet fall from atop-storey balcony.R-i-p-p! went the balconyitself as it followed hard on the heelsof the bedroom furniture. Hither and thitherrushed the lightly-clad love-ladies screamingas only Eastern women can, and stopping onlyto hurl a bottle or other missile at some grinning[Pg 101]Vandal who ducked quickly, then went onenjoying himself. Soon the street bore theappearance of a West Indian town that hadbumped up against a cyclone. It was a workof art threading one's way through it with allthose household gods hurtling round one's ears.

Presently the street was illuminated with adancing red glare as the stacks of piled-upfurniture broke into flame. Soon a houseitself began to belch smoke and fire, the bone-drywoodwork responding eagerly to the lickingtongues of flame that ran lizard-like fromdoorway to eave, and danced merrily throughthe interstices of the sun-scorched shuttersand blistered piazza rails. In a minute thelofty structure was sheathed in rolling smokeclouds, pierced with darting spears of a ruddierhue; the whole house was blazing fiercely,the roar of the fire blending with the wildshouts and cheers of the excited incendiariesas they danced a mad corroboree round theburning wreckage in the street below.

[Pg 102]

Another sound—the clang of a bell—brokeon our ears as the fire-engines came racing up.Out came the hose; the police, who hadhitherto remained in a state of "armedneutrality," endeavoured to clear a way forthe native firemen. That settledthem; noColonial will stand the touch of a nigger'shand on his shoulder.

"Rush the adjectived, asterisked, double-starredsons of lady dogs, boys!"

The "boys" did so. I never saw a commandobeyed so promptly and with suchunanimity. The black police were just asquick to appreciate the general unhealthinessof the locality, and left with one accord.The firemen, bereft of their lawful guardianangels, followed. The hose was cut, and theengines were captured. This done the mobproceeded with the work they had set out toaccomplish—the cleaning up of one of Cairo'scesspools.

Another interruption! This time from the[Pg 103]"Red Caps," the military police, a littlecoterie of well-fed, rather pampered, andintensely self-consequential johnnies who wereopenly accused by the Australasians of sufferingfrom "cold feet." Perhaps this was just abit unfair, as they knew Cairo like a book,and knew all there was to know about theirown special job. But our chaps could neverunderstand why an active man of military ageand training should remain permanently on asoft town job (asthey did) instead of going onactive service with the other boys. Come tothink of it, who could? And some of themilitary police I have run into have had feetlike refrigerated mutton. They didn't jointhe army to be shot at. Not much! Whichperhaps accounts for their zeal in hunting downthe unfortunate Tommies who, coming homefrom the front wounded or on leave after apleasant little spell of "killing or being kilt,"may have neglected to salute an officer, to havebuttoned up their greatcoats, or committed[Pg 104]some other such grave military offence—runninghim down, I say, and seeing to it thatthe erring one received every single day of"C.B." that hard swearing could procurehim. Such, in far too many cases, istheirconception of soldiering.... And the previoussentence reads for all the world like an Irishbull. All the foregoing by the way, however.

The police behaved like looneys. Theyseemed to imagine they had a mob of EnglishTommies or niggers to deal with, but whenthey began trying to force their horses on topof the crowd they soon dropped down to thefact that they were up against somethingtougher. They were told pretty straight togo home and eat pie and not come meddlinground where they weren't wanted. Theydidn't like being treated that way and showedit, so they had to be shoo'd off. At this theyseemed to lose their top covering altogether,and, being armed with revolvers, opened fireon the crowd.

[Pg 105]

It was now hell with the lid off. A numberof the boys were hit, which sent the rest fairmad. You should have seen those Red Capsdo a scoot! I don't think they got awayunharmed; one I heard never got away atall. They had been looking for trouble, andI reckon they found all they wanted. Youdon't shoot down the chaps from the Coloniesand get away with it: "An eye for an eyeand a tooth for a tooth," is the motto of themen from Down Under.

Our little party now came to the conclusionthat it was time to take the back trail. Wecould foresee what was likely to happen.Already strong mounted pickets were comingin from the New Zealand camp. We madetracks for Shepheard's Hotel, but found allexits from the scene of hostilities barred bycordons of dismounted men. We looked ateach other. There were four of us, all six-footersand all at least thirteen-stoners. Therewas only one thing to do—and we did it.[Pg 106]When the part of the line we charged hadregained its formation we were too far awayto make pursuit worth while.

The "Battle of the Streets" eventuallyended through the combined effects of thirston the part of the law-breakers and the arrivalof strong pickets to the aid of the Powers thatBe. There was certainly a biggish lot ofdamage done, and the natives who saw thescrap got the scare of their lives. But I fancythere weren't more than a house or two burneddown—more's the pity! Had the wholequarter been gutted there wouldn't have beenmany voices raised in mourning, and it wouldcertainly have been no loss to Cairo.

One result of the row was the curtailmentof leave to visit the city. From this time onwe had to obtain special passes to do so. Signswere not wanting, however, to show that ourstay in Egypt was drawing to a close. No oneregretted it; the weather was growing hotterday by day; we had seen 'most all we were[Pg 107]ever likely to; we were in hard training,fighting fit, and were looking forward witheagerness to having a dust-up with the enemy.In a word, we had attained to that top-knotchpitch of condition in which we felt we mustfight some one—or burst. Hence when thecall did come we boarded the train for Alexandriawith hearts as light as our pockets, andthe determination to show "K. of K." thatthe trust he had placed in our "RagtimeArmy" would never be betrayed.

AT GRIPS

From now on I fancy this "history" of thedoings of the Anzacs is going to be more of adiary than anything else. I kept a rough noteof things as they happened day by day. Forone thing the diary style pins the various eventsdown to a kind of sequence and insures theirbeing told in the order in which they happened;for another it saves the author a dealof labour. This by way of explanation andapology. Here goes, then—

April 17, 1915.—Sailed from Alexandria intransportA26, otherwise the s.s.Goslar, acaptured German prize. We had a Danishskipper and a Greek crew—a poor lot as seamengo. We were quartered in the forepeak,[Pg 109]the quarters being rough, but on the wholefairly comfortable. We shared them with ahealthy and mighty lively lot of brown bugs.The tucker wasn't too bad.

The weather was fine and the sea calm allthe way to Lemnos Island. Had a pow-wowwith the O.C., who read out aloud the General'sorders, informing us that we should land undercover of the warships' guns, that we were todrive the Turks back, secure a footing, andhold itat all costs. Anticipated heavylosses. When dismissed went and made ourwills.

Were met on the 19th by the cruiserDartmouthand escorted by her till the evening,when a destroyer took us in charge and sawus safely into Mudros Harbour. TheDartmouthinformed us by semaphore that transportB12, steaming one hour ahead of us,had been attacked by an enemy torpedo boat,three torpedoes being fired at her, all of whichmissed. A number of soldiers jumped overboard,[Pg 110]thinking the transport was doomed,and were drowned. The torpedo boat wasengaged by our ships, driven ashore anddestroyed.

We arrived in Mudros Harbour, in Lemnos,on the night of the 19th. It was just crowdedwith shipping, and looked for all the worldlike a big floating town. Were informed thatthere were over 200 transports and 60 warshipsgathered in the harbour. Had a splendidview of theQueen Elizabeth as she lay quiteclose to our old hooker. The anchorage wassimply alive with destroyers, torpedo boats,submarines, etc., both French and English.The French craft struck me as being a bitmouldy-looking, not so up-to-date as theBritish. You could always tell a Frenchdestroyer, she was so crowded up with allkinds of deck gear, and had a general Backof Beyond look about her—like a chap whohad stopped washing and shaving for a longishspell.

[Pg 111]

During our stay at Lemnos we amused ourselvesby practising boat drill, landing oftroops, etc. It was no joke swarming down arope ladder loaded up in full marching order—andit was just as bad climbing up again. Oneof our chaps let go his rifle; the rest contentedthemselves with language. No one wasdrowned.

It was while lying here we had our firstsolid day and night's rain, the first really heavyfall since leaving home. The temperaturerapidly dropped in consequence till it becamelike early summer in England. Were toldthat we should find no firewood where wewere going, and orders issued that each manwas to carry a bundle of kindling wood strappedon top of his pack. We shall look like a mobof walking Christmas Trees when we get allon. Living on bully beef and biscuits now;no bread.

April 23.—Had a rather pleasant sail in oneof the ship's boats to-day. Landed on a[Pg 112]small island in the harbour and cut a bigsupply of green fodder for the horses we hadon board. Found the formation of the islandto be volcanic in character, as all the landround about these parts seems to be. Notmuch sign of water, yet the sole of grass wasgood, and the colour a vivid green. Plentyof white clover, some of what looked likeEnglish cocksfoot, and a plant that struck meas Italian rye-grass. Heard the cuckoo andthe lark, and noticed some small green lizardsscurrying over the outcropping rocks.ThoughtI saw a tarantula spider, but wouldn't swearto it.

Coming back to ship found we had to beatagainst a head wind. Our craft was lug-rigged,the sail something like a dirty pocket-handkerchief.She had no use for beating;there wasn't a beat in her. Tried to ram anoutward bound mine-sweeper which refusedto get out of our way. Mine-sweeper's captaincalled us names that may have been true but[Pg 113]didn't sound nice. Doused the sail and rowedback. In the evening we watched the Frenchand English transports and warships leavingthe harbour. Rumours fill the air—the latestthat we leave for the Dardanelles to-morrow(24th).

April 24.—Preparations for the big event.Told that the staff were prepared to lose80 per cent. of the forces to effect a landing;also, that the fleet could see us ashore but thatit couldn't take us off again; once ashore we'dgot to look after ourselves. The fellowsstroked their chins and looked thoughtful fora spell; I reckon they were thinking of thepie that mother used to make—or of theirlatest girls. We were also told that as like asnot all the wells on Gallipoli would be poisoned,and that we should have to do on our water-bottlesfor three days. Three days on abouta pint and a half! And biscuits ditto! Webegan to cotton on to it that it wasn't a picnicor mothers' meeting we were out to take a[Pg 114]hand in. Were served out with a 2-oz. tinof tobacco between four men, and three packetseach of cigarettes. Handed in our blanketsand waterproof sheets, so will be going ashoreas we stand. Very stiff fight expected, as it isfairly sure that the Turks will do all that isin them to beat us back. Wonder how manyof the boys will go under?

Later.—Under way. All lights out andgeneral air of suppressed excitement on allhands. Some of the chaps making a book onthe event, and laying odds on the chances ofthe takers getting through the slather-upunharmed. Others tossing up to see if certainof their mates will finish up in heaven or hell!No one the least downhearted; all determinedto at least give the enemy the time of his lifewhen they come to grips. They are certainlyas tough a crowd as ever got into uniform.

Landing expected to take place just at daybreakor slightly earlier. Creeping along likea "mob of thieves in the night," as one of[Pg 115]the chaps put it. Distance from Lemnosabout 45 miles, I hear, so will be there inwhips of time. Funny thing to think thatone's folks will be lying in bed sound asleepat the moment we go into the enemy, andnever dreaming of what their men will betaking on. Just as well, too, come to thinkof it. Weather A1. Sea calm; nothing tocomplain of in that line, anyway.

April 28.—First chance of scribbling anythingfor three days. Been through hell—justthat. War! It wasn't war; it wasjust cold-blooded butchery. How the positionhas been held beats me. But held it has been—andit's going to be held—at a cost! Iwonder what the price of crêpe will rise to outin Australia and New Zealand! Here goesfor a shy at describing our amusement of thepast three days.

It was dark when we left the transports offGaba Tepe and crept in towards the denserblackness that represented the shore. The[Pg 116]night—or early morning, rather—was still;everything seemed in our favour; not a soundwelled out seaward, not a light twinkled in themurk ahead. Could it be that we had takenthe Turks by surprise? Or were they simplylying low and playing a waiting game? Soonwe were to know.

On—on crept the boats loaded to thegunwales with the citizen soldiers from theDominions. Every jaw was set hard asagate, every eye was fixed on the forbidding-lookingheights now taking form dimly asthe east reddened and the sky became shotwith lengthening spears of greenish-yellow.Minutes passed—minutes that seemed as hours—whileever shoreward crawled the fleet ofboats, and ever plainer and gloomier loomedthe frowning cliffs that dominated the Bayof Anzac. Back of the flotilla, away to seaward,lay the British warships, their greyhulls floating ghostlike in the first of thedawn—like couchant lions scenting blood. A[Pg 117]sense of protection, modified to some extentby the stretch of intervening water and theghostliness of their outlines, emanated fromthose cruisers and battleships squatting likewatch-dogs on the chain, alert and eager.Our gaze wandered ever and anon from theforbidding shore ahead to where those uncouthgrey hulls broke the sea-line. Wouldthey never give tongue!

... We were close to the land. Thewouff! of a gentle surf breaking on a slopingshingle beach, followed by thesoughing of theundertow, came plainly to our straining ears.Back of the crescent-shaped strand, now dimlyoutlined in a flatted monotint of leaden grey,rose the darker, scrub-clothed slope, its breastseamed and gashed bydongas and water-courses,that stretched to the foot of the sheerbluff whose summit cut the sky-line 400 feetabove our heads. As the minutes passed thescene changed. Sand and shingle took formand colour in the rapidly growing half-tones.[Pg 118]The blackness of the slope beyond mergedinto a velvet green. The serrated crest of theridge grew roseate as the first of the sun-raysstretched forth athwart the fields of Troy andtouched it with gold-tipped fingers. A newbornday begotten of early summer had sprungfrom the womb of an Eastern night—a dayfraught with much of suffering, much ofmutilation and death, but surely a day thatshall live in the history of the British Empireso long as that Empire stands....

Was it the surprise we all hoped for, afterall?—the surprise that seemed beyond thebounds of possibility. Were thereany Turksthere waiting to oppose us at all? And if so,where were they hidden? In trenches cuton the beach? In the scrub? Behind thecrest of the cliff? God! were they nevergoing to show themselves——?

Crash! Bang! Z-z-z-z-z-ip! It washell let loose—hell with the bottom out!The whole beach belched flame and spat[Pg 119]bullets. The scrub behind burst forth intoa sheet of fire. Maxims—maxims everywhere!The place seemed alive with them. It wasas if we had received a blizzard of lead in ourfaces. The physical shock was almost morethan flesh and blood could bear. For amoment it seemed as if the whole flotilla wasdoomed—a moment in which whole boatloadsof brave men were absolutely cut topieces and mangled out of all recognition—inwhich boats were blown from the water,smashed into matchwood and riddled fromstem to stern by the high explosive andshrapnel fire that came over the crest of thecliff hot on the heels of the rifle and machine-gunfire. Just a moment! Then the menfrom the bush, the plains, and the cities ofAustralasia showed the stuff they were madeof. In dashed the boats—in anyhow, nomatter how, so long as they touched Turkishsoil—some bow on, some stern on, somebroadside. All higgledy-piggledy, a confused[Pg 120]mass like a huge dismembered raft tossed ona sea that hissed and spouted as its surfacewas torn by the never-ceasing rain of leadand iron. Over the sides of the boats divedand rolled those splendid infantrymen, theirbayonets already fixed. They knew what todo; no need to give them orders. No timeto form—no time to think. The cold steel—nothingbut the steel! Off fell their packs;down dropped their bayonet points, and witha wild yell that rose even above the awfulbattle roar that made day hideous they hurledthemselves straight as their rifles at the unseenenemy. In sixes and sevens, in tens andtwenties, in platoons, in half-companies—justas they tumbled out of the boats—those great-heartedfellows dashed up the beach and intothat sickening inferno. They didn't fire ashot; they didn't waste a single second. Theyjust flung their heavy packs from their shoulders,bent their heads to the storm, and with everyinch of pace at their command they charged[Pg 121]the Turkish trenches, some fifty yards distant.Charge! I never saw a charge like it. Itwas a wild, breakneck rush, regardless of losses.Nothing short of killing every man of thatmagnificent soldiery could have stopped theironslaught. The machine-guns and rifles tooktheir toll—but they utterly failed to beat downthat desperate assault delivered by those iron-nervedmen—those men who openly boastedthat they feared "neither God, man, nordevil." In a moment they were into theenemy's front line of trench, machine-gunswere captured, and the Turks got a taste ofthe bayonet that will never be forgotten bythose who escaped. And they were few.Just a minute of hacking, slashing, and stabbing—oneminute of sickening yet exhilaratingbutchery in which no quarter was given;when tokill! andkill! was joy unspeakable—andthose long, lean, brown-facedmen with the square jaws and fierce eyeswere up again, their bayonets smoking, and[Pg 122]charging the second line of trenches with thesame dare-devil recklessness. What power onearth could stop such men? Not the Turks,anyway. With imploring cries of "Allah!—Allah!"they abandoned their trenches andscurried up through the scrub, the pantingColonials straining every nerve to overtakethem.

It is difficult to understand the Australasiancharacter. He will joke even in the midst ofdanger, nay, death. He is, as a rule, a "harddoer"; and even his best friends must admitthat he is often a hard, and fairly original,swearer. Nothing is safe from him when lookingfor a butt; very little is sacred, I fear,and his humour takes a queer bent sometimes:which accounted for the behaviour of thelanding force on this occasion, dear reader—thatand the desire to inflict all the Arabic heknew (picked up in Egypt) on the fleeingTurk.

"Imshi! Yalla!" yelled the now laughing[Pg 123]Colonials, as they followed hard on the heels ofthe enemy.

"Allah! Allah!" continued the Turks,and they put on an extra spurt.

"Allah be d——d! Clean 'em boots!Eggs is cook! Three for a l'arf!Imshi,you all-fired illegitimates!"

Such, with the addition of ear-splittingcoo-ees, wild bush oaths, and a running fire ofblasphemy and unearthly cat-calls were thebattle cries of the men from Down Under asthey drove the enemy out of his trenches andup the hill, through the scrub, overdongas andgullies, right to the base of the sheer cliffitself, up which finally, all mixed together andsliding, crawling, and clinging like monkeys,scrambled pursuer and pursued in one looselystrung mob of panting, war-drunken men.It was the personification of grandeur: it wasthe apotheosis of the ludicrous. In a wordit was the old reckless, dare-devil spirit of theirancestors—the men who carved out the British[Pg 124]Empire—re-born in those virile youths andyoung men from that bigger and fresher andbrighter Britain overseas.

Meantime the guns of the fleet were pouringin a terrific fire, their shells screaming overheadand bursting well beyond the ridge. Itwas difficult at first to see what execution theywere doing, and at this stage of the fight Idon't think many of the enemy were bagged.As our chaps advanced farther inland theshells from the ships began to pitch amongstthem, so their elevation was raised and theirfire concentrated on the Turkish communicationsand on the dominating hills that lay onour flanks. They also tried hard to locateand silence the enemy's big guns, but theywere so well concealed that it was almostimpossible to silence them.

Once on top of the ridge our fellows pausedfor a minute or two to get their breath, then,as full of fight as ever, they doubled into thescrub and pursued the retreating Turks with[Pg 125]unabated ardour. It was now an open battle,and except for the fact that the Anzacs wereexposed to a heavy shrapnel fire, Jack was asgood as his master. In threes and fours at atime the shells burst over and swept throughthe lines of advancing men, taking their tollall the time. The Turks took full advantageof the plentiful cover; they knew the countryand we didn't. Now and then one caught aglimpse of a fleeing figure or two; that wasall. We had no field artillery to cover ouradvance, and the consequence was we sufferedheavily, our guns not coming into action tillthe evening, and then only one or two hadbeen landed. Add to this the natural difficultiesof a broken and rugged country whichwe had never seen before, and the reader willhave some conception of the task that facedthe Dominion troops. It was next to impossibleto keep in touch with each other, letalone preserve something approaching an unbrokenline. Thus the fight resolved itself[Pg 126]largely into one of units. Here and thereisolated bodies of infantry pushed far ahead,then lying down they held on grimly untilthe main force came up and eased thepressure.

One or two lots got caught in the beds ofdeep gullies, were opened on by concealedenfilade fire from machine-guns and rifles,and died to a man. But they died fighting.One party at least fought its way almost tothe Narrows, and then disappeared: not asingle man returned. The rest pushed on andon, trusting to the reserves coming up andenabling them to hold the captured ground—thosereserves that came in driblets only.The fact was that the men could not be thrownashore quickly enough to reinforce in thestrength required. Where battalions landedthere should have been brigades; wherebrigades, divisions. It was just sheer badluck. No blame attached to the fleet—everyman worked like a Trojan, worked on without[Pg 127]paying the slightest attention to the hail ofprojectiles falling around. They were whiteright through, those boys from the warships,from the plucky little middies and the jolly"Jacks" right up to the senior officers. I pitythe chap who ever says a word against them ifany of the Anzacs happen to be within coo-eeof him! Come to think it over, I don't seethat blame could be fixed on any one. Thecountry was just made for defensive purposes;it would have required division after divisionto have been thrown in on each other's heels inorder to reduce it, or to seize the ground tothe Narrows and hang on. We simply hadn'tthe men. And the natural difficulties in theway of getting up such reinforcements as wehad, not to speak of supplies, ammunition, etc.,were nigh insurmountable. There were notracks, much less roads; the guns thatwerelanded that first evening had to be pulled byhand through the standing scrub; the landingparties on the beach were open to continuous[Pg 128]shell fire, not to mention snipers—altogether Idon't think there was ever such a daring orhazardous enterprise attempted in the world'shistory.

And now strong Turkish reinforcementsappeared on the scene. Battalion after battalionof fresh troops joined the enemy firingline. It stiffened up: we failed to break it.Our men were falling fast; half our strengthseemed to be down, killed or wounded, whilethe remainder were beginning to feel theeffects of their tremendous gruelling in thefierce heat of a sub-tropic sun. Still on camethe masses of Turkish reserves. The navalguns, especially those of theLizzie, cut themup, but didn't stagger them. They took theoffensive. For a time it was charge andcounter-charge, give and take. But it couldn'tlast; the odds were too great. We retiredfighting—and in that retirement our losseswere something cruel. Machine-guns andshrapnel did the damage mostly, but the[Pg 129]Mausers took their share. Only in one thinghad we the advantage—the bayonet. Whenwe got to hand grips with them the Turkscouldn't stand up to our chaps, who went forthem with the cold steel like devils red-hotfrom hell.

No man who took part in that retirementwill ever forget it. Overhead burst the shells,underfoot the dust rose and the twigs snappedas the unending rain of rifle, machine-gun, andshrapnel bulletszipped! and spattered around.Men fell fast, killed and wounded; everytemporary stand we made was marked by littlegroups of grotesquely postured khaki-clad formsstill with the stillness of death. Here and thereone saw a sorely wounded man feebly raise hishead and gaze pathetically after the retiringline of hard-pressed men; others (and thesewere many) limped and hobbled painfullyalong in the wake of the retreating infantry,till in many cases another bullet laid them low.Most of our wounded fell into the hands of[Pg 130]the enemy. It was hard to leave them, butwhat could we do?

Time after time we tried to dig ourselvesin. In vain! The line had to be shortened,else we should be outflanked by the enormouslysuperior forces opposed to us. There wasnothing for it but to retire right back to theridge and hold the crest—or try to! Backthen we went, retiring by companies and half-companies.There was no running, no panicat any time. When the Turks pressed us tooclosely we gave them a shake-up with thebayonet. In many cases men had to rely onthe steel alone, their ammunition giving out.Time after time the enemy drew back whilehis big guns and maxims wrought their willon us. He didn't half like the steel.

We reached the ridge, and, exhausted as wewere, started to dig ourselves in. Our throatswere parched, for we dare not broach our water-bottleslest we should be tempted to finish themstraight away. Once a man begins to drink he[Pg 131]will keep on. In many cases bottles had beenshot through and the contents drained away.Others had left them with wounded comrades.For food we munched a biscuit—when we hadtime! There weren't many biscuits eatenuntil after nightfall.

We dug a line of holes, scratching fiercelywith our trenching tools, all the while subjectedto a withering shrapnel fire. Thenaval gunners seemed quite unable to locateand silence the Turkish artillery, so cleverlywas it concealed. Lying down as flat as possiblewe scraped away, working franticallyfor the much-needed cover that should enableus to hold the position, if it were possible tohold it. At times we dropped the trenchingtools—to lift our rifles and beat back theoncoming enemy. Yet it was evident that theTurks were beginning to feel the strain too.Perhaps they thought they had us anyhow,for their assaults began to lose a lot of theirsting, and we were enabled to get a half chance[Pg 132]to dig. As the day waned and nightfallapproached they came again, and we werehard put to it for a time to hang on. Chargeand counter-charge followed rapidly on eachother's heels, and all the time a deafening firewas kept up along the whole position. Thenthe brief twilight changed into night; the fireslackened off; the moon rose, and for the firsttime since early morning we were enabled toobtain a few minutes' rest before going ondigging again in the attempt to connect upand deepen the shallow holes we had scratchedinto one continuous trench.

We stuck to it hard all through the night,grafting away for all we were worth. It wasour only chance. Yet at times we were absolutelyforced by sheer fatigue to drop ourtools and stretch out for a spell. Sixteenhours of hard, solid fighting through a brokenand hilly country, followed by a whole night'sdigging; then stand-to before daybreak, andall the succeeding hours of the second day[Pg 133]hold the trenches against intermittent attacks.At night go on working at strengthening thetrenches; stand-to again before daylight thethird day—and from before dawn till well onin the evening of that day do your bit at beatingoff the enemy's attack in force with a fresharmy that outnumbers you by five to one—theattack by which he means to seize your positionat all costs! Just do the foregoing, dearreader, and you will realise what those Australasiantroops endured. And do it (as theydid) on a pint and a half of water and a fewbiscuits.

It was on Tuesday, April 27, that EnverPasha launched the attack against our linesthat was to drive us into the sea. All throughMonday and Monday night our transports werelanding fresh troops under heavy and constantshelling from the Turkish big guns; undercover of the darkness these troops were marchedup and placed, some in the fire trenches tofill up the many gaps caused by the enemy's[Pg 134]shrapnel and machine-guns, others massed inreserve at the base of the cliff. Yet not a manof those who had stormed the position thefirst day, and who had been hard at it eversince, could be spared from the front line.Come to think, I don't fancy a single one wouldhave left it. The feeling had got abroad thatthe change was going to be taken out of theTurks this time (it had leaked out that the bigattack would certainly take place on Mondaynight or Tuesday morning), and the chapswere fair mad to get a bit of their own back.They did, too.

Our position as finally formed extendedalong the very crest, or rim, of the cliff for adistance of about two miles, or rather better.Here and there deep gullies, or cañons, raninto and cut the line, or caused the line itselfto "bulge" considerably towards the enemyposition. Such was "Shrapnel Gully," atthe head of which lay "Quinn's Post," whereour trenches had to be pushed perilously forward[Pg 135]owing to the configuration of the ground."Quinn's Post," in fact, formed the key tothe whole position; it lay right in the centreof the line, and had it been carried the wholebag of tricks would, in my opinion, havecrumpled up badly, and a big disaster mighthave occurred. When your centre is piercedit's no picnic. To the left of "Quinn's" was"Dead Man's Ridge," held by the Turks, andfrom which they were able to snipe right down"Shrapnel Gully"—and, incidentally, ourcamps and dug-outs. It was from "DeadMan's Ridge" that General Bridges was shotclose to Brigade Headquarters down in the"Gully." No man was safe from thosesnipers; they seemed to be everywhere—before,alongside, andbehind our lines even.Hence no supplies could be brought up in daylight;everything had to be done at nightwhen there was only shell-fire to worry about.Afterwards we got those snipers fossicked out(they met strange deaths sometimes!), but[Pg 136]in the meantime our life wasn't anything tohanker after.

Now had the enemy only succeeded in pushingus over the rim of the ridge, nothing wouldhave saved us. Below lay the open beach.We couldn't possibly have been taken off withthe heights in the hands of the Turks. I guessit would have been one of the biggest and finestwipe-outs in history. Old Enver Pasha thoughtit would look jolly well in the morning papers,I expect. Anyway he had no end of a hardtry—and to give him and his men their due Idon't mind admitting that they weren't sovery far from succeeding.

I don't pretend to describe that struggle.No man could. It was grit, tenacity, andgameness opposed to overwhelming numbers.A battle of giants. It was sickening; brutal—andyet splendid. Men fought that daystripped to the waist; fought till their riflesjammed, picked up another—and went onfighting. Men with broken legs refused to[Pg 137]leave the trench, cursing those who wouldhave assisted them—went on firing until asecond bullet crippled their rifle arm. Yetstill they clung on, handing up clips of cartridgesto their mates, all the time imploringthem to "give the sons of —— hell!" Theyweren't Sunday-school models, those big-hearted,happy-go-lucky toughs from the Backof Beyond. But they knew how to fight—anddie. They were men right through, notkid-glove soldiers. They lived hard, foughthard, and died hard. And what if they diddie with curses on their lips! Who shall dareto judge them, dying asthey died? And it maybe that the Big Padre up aloft turned a deafear to those oaths begotten of the life they hadlived—or perhaps He failed to hear them inthe noise of battle!

The Turks attacked gamely, like the big,brave soldiers they are and always were. Ledby their splendid officers, they came on inmasses, shoulder to shoulder, and did all that[Pg 138]in them lay to rush our trenches. They weremet by a storm of bullets that would havestaggered anything born of woman. It didstagger them: they recoiled before that leadenblast that piled their dead and wounded up inghastly heaps and ridges like broken-down walls—beforethat smashing fire delivered at twentyyards range. They recoiled—yes. But run—no!They charged, charged right throughthat hurricane of machine-gun and rifle fire—chargedright up to our parapets.

And now it was our turn. Like one manthe colonial infantry leaped from their cover.Crash! They were into the Turks. Followeda wild hurly-burly of hacking and stabbingwhile one might count twenty slowly; thenthe enemy were beaten back, and the defendersran, limped, and crawled back to their trenchesand took to their rifles again.

Thus it went on from before dawn till towardsevening. Charge and counter-charge, till menreeled from sheer exhaustion, and their bloodclotted[Pg 139]weapons slipped from hands stickywith the same red paint. I am not exaggerating;those who were present on that awfulTuesday will bear me out.

We were hard pressed. The strongest menin the world are only human. Loss of sleep,insufficient food, and practically no water,combined with the exertions we had alreadygone through, began to tell their tale. Ourlosses were also very heavy; and owing to theslippery state of the clay soil, following on anall-night of rain, our reserves could not getup quickly enough. Thus yards and yards oftrench were at times empty of all save deadand wounded men, and in some cases the Turkseffected a footing in them; they were alwaysdriven out again, however, or bayoneted to aman. Our fellows were simply magnificent;budge they would not. To capture thosetrenches meant the killing of the men whoheld them; you couldn'tdrive them out. Andthe officers were just the same.

[Pg 140]

But it was cruel to hear the continual criesof—

"Stretcher bearers!—Stretcher bearers tothe right!"

"Stretcher bearers to the left!"

"Ammunition! Send up ammunition—wehaven't a —— round here!"

"Reinforce!For God's sake reinforce!They're into No. 8!Christ! boys, get amove on!"

At this time we had neither support trenchesnor communications— just one thin line, which,if broken, meant the loss of the ridge with allthatthat meant. We were also so clogged upwith dead in our trenches that to make roomfor the living we had to throw the bodies outover the back. In many cases where our linewas cut on the edge of the ridge these bodiesrolled right down to the foot of the cliff. At"Quinn's Post" things were about as bad asthey could be. There was only the merestapology for a track from the "Gully" up to[Pg 141]the trenches situated on the very lip of thecrest, and at one time when reinforcementswere making their way in single file up thistrack they had to scramble in and out throughand over dead men lying tossed about anyhow,while all the way, right down to the valley thewounded were lying "heads and tails" awaitingtransport to the beach. It wasn't themost encouraging sight in the world for thefellows coming up straight off the transports.

In one place quite a little stack of bodieshad been huddled together to one side of thetrack; there might have been eighteen ortwenty in the lot. Owing to the water runningdown this stack began to move, and kepton moving till it blocked the track up altogether.I don't know how many chapstumbled into that heap and got tied up in it,but eventually a fatigue party had to be toldoff to build up the bodies as you would buildsheaves on a wagon. We had no time to buryour dead for the first few days—and in that[Pg 142]climate you don't want to keep them aboveground for manyhours.

As the day wore on it became evident thatthe Turks had shot their bolt. The attackdied down, then ceased altogether, and save forthe heavy rifle and artillery fire they kept upon our trenches, we weren't troubled by themfor some time. They had lost tremendously;the ground along our front looked like a heavycrop of wheat after the binder had been throughit—either 4000 or 7000 dead lay there. (Andthey lay there unburied forthree weeks.) Atlast we were able to get a little sorely neededrest. We had been pushed to the extremestlimit of human endurance.

THREE WEEKS

April 28 (Wednesday).—I am writing thisin the shelter of my little dug-out, with thebig guns roaring away like billy-o and the rifle,maxim, and shrapnel bullets pitching all round.One is comparatively safe in a deeply cut dug-out;if you shove only your head up somesniper lets go at it. And thisbehind our owntrenches. We aren't likely to die ofennui here,anyway—nor old age.

Heard that the Turks are mutilating our deadand wounded, but haven't seen anything ofit myself. Strange yarns going the roundsthat some of our chaps have been indulgingin reprisals. "An eye for an eye and a toothfor a tooth" is the motto of the men from[Pg 144]Australia and New Zealand, so if the enemyhas been playing up in a way of that kind he'llget his own back—with interest. Woundedcoming in steadily. Tried to get a few hours'sleep last night. Got one. Spent the nighttrenching, or sapping, rather. Engineers don'tneed rest seemingly.

Infantry holding the enemy all right now.Very big Turkish gun shelling the warships atlong range. Doesn't seem to be making muchof it. Heard that theLizzie sank a Turkishtransport yesterday. Rifle fire not quite soheavy just now. Heard that the British Tommieswere advancing strongly, driving theenemy down on us. Just had orders to go ontrenching at "Quinn's Post" to-night, advancingnew saps and making a new advancedfire trench. Raining hard, a cold rain. Nocoat or blanket. Sure to be pretty miserable.

29th.—Came back to dug-out at 1.30 a.m.,very wet, very cold, very miserable. All stickywith mud. Got some sleep.

[Pg 145]

Weather cleared up later. Battle still goingon, we holding the enemy safely. Went onsapping at "Quinn's," in four-hour shifts.Very lively and "jumpy" work—enemy crawlingup at dark and firing at fifteen to twentyfeet range. Periscopes now being used, madein most cases from glasses cut from largemirrors taken from the ships. These periscopesdon't last many hours at this part of the line,as a rule, and many nasty scalp wounds havebeen received through the glass being shatteredby rifle fire. We have had to make them assmall as possible—simply a lath with two smallpieces of mirror about two inches by one. Insome cases, even, a walking-stick with thecentre cut out has been used with good results.Miss my overcoat and blanket greatly, thenights being cold. Haven't seen them sincewe discarded our packs at the landing.

30th (Friday).—Still the same: battle goingon. Sapping continued under difficulties.Stench from enemy's dead lying near the[Pg 146]trenches very bad. Fed up with continuoussapping work. Tucker improving a bit. Nomail yet arrived. Heard that Goorkhas hadlanded to assist us. Removed to new ready-madedug-outs further up the hill. Cameback again on hearing that the late owner hadbeen shot while lying in it. Message of congratulationfrom Lord Kitchener to Colonialtroops. British Tommies reported to beadvancing strongly, and due to join us to-morrownight. First bombs thrown into ourtrenches to-day—the cricket-ball variety fittedwith time-fuses. We amused ourselves bymaking "catches" of these bombs and slingingthem back into the Turks. It was lively work,and certainly exciting. I'd much rather playcricket on the Auckland Domain, however.RUM to-night—the first issue since landing.It went down slick.

May 1 (Saturday).—Sapping: still sapping.Getting quite close to enemy, their nearesttrench being now only about twenty feet[Pg 147]distant. Plenty of Turkish bombs to enliventhe time. One I picked up yesterday andpulled the fuse out of was sent down to headquartersfor inspection. On my asking tohave it back—I thought of making an ink-bottleout of it, or a spittoon—I was informedthat it was now Government property, butthat I mightas a favour get it back again.Shan't let the next one I get hold of fall intothe hands of the Government! Turks attackedour right flank in force, but beaten off byAustralians after suffering heavy loss. Ourmachine-guns simply mowed them down inhundreds. Things looked bad for a bit asthe enemy shrapnel got well home into theopen ditch that is supposed to be a trench,and our losses were heavy. Also, some freshtroops (not Anzacs, thank heaven!) sent up tohelp our fellows didn't play the game, lettingthe Australians down badly. Why the dickensdo they enlist boys of seventeen in some ofthe Home corps? They are only in the[Pg 148]way when it comes to cold-blooded bayonetwork.

Some of our fellows are now partially deafowing to the all-fired row that goes on day andnight. Changed camp to-day, shifting toother side of "Shrapnel Gully," about aquarter of a mile away from "Quinn's." Madea boss dug-out for four—myself and threemates. While eating dinner a piece of shellas large as my hand (No. 11 in gloves—when Iwear them!) bumped straight into our happyhome, just grazing ——'s back. Made ourselvesfairly snug with sandbags, etc. Havenow got a greatcoat (late owner past caring forsuch things), but no blankets. Got our firstwhole night's sleep last night since landing,rather broken owing to unusually cold nightfollowing extremely hot day. Snipers verybusy; one said to have killed over a dozen ofour chaps to-day down at a water-hole in the"Gully."

May 2.—Fight still going on: 8th day of it.[Pg 149]Shell fire not so heavy, but rifles talking awayas merrily as ever. Very trying in trenches,owing to stench from dead men. Read thefollowing scrawled in blue pencil on a crossmade from biscuit-box wood just outside ourcamp: "In loving memory of 29 brave soldiersof the King." We are living practically on abig graveyard. Our dead are buried anywhereand everywhere—evenin the trenches. Ittakes a lot of getting to like. Had a boncerbreakfast this morning, firewood being fairlyplentiful. Haven't had a wash, my clothesor boots off, since we landed eight days ago.Wonder what I look like! Made a road formules from valley up to firing line, followinga winding course. Came back to camp andheard that a big general advance is to take placeto-night, commencing at 7 p.m. My sectionis to be divided into two half-sections, eachunder command of a non-com., and appointedto a separate unit. My party appointed tothe 16th Battalion, Australian Infantry. Sure[Pg 150]to be a hot picnic. Wonder how many of uswill draw rations to-morrow!

May 3.—Am back in camp again with asmack in the right shoulder and a useless rightarm—and jolly glad to be back, too. Am theonly tenant of our dug-out, my three chumsbeing knocked over—all seriously wounded.Can just manage to write.

We had a crook spin. The big guns of theships and the shore batteries started the ballby shelling the enemy heavily and driving himfrom his front trenches with some loss. Wefollowed the infantry to the attack at dusk,advancing up a dark and evil-looking gully ornullah, the track being only fit for amphibiousmonkeys to follow, and so narrow that singlefile had to be adopted. We didn't enjoy ourselvesa little bit, as added to the natural difficultiesof the passage—we were up to the thighsin mud and water one minute and scramblingover roots, branches, and rocks the next, allin pitch darkness—we were sniped at point-blank[Pg 151]range all the way, losing several men.At last, after a very trying time, we gained thetop and found that the leading companies ofinfantry had carried the position and wereengaged in digging themselves in under oneof the hottest fires I ever ran up against. Ourlittle half-section of about eighteen men wereordered to spread themselves along the line,their duties being to advise and assist the infantry.We did so, and at once men beganto fall. The Turks were only about fifty yardsaway, and although it was dark they couldsee our chaps fairly well against the backgroundof stars. In a few minutes half ourlot were down, I myself being put out of actionby a bullet glancing off a pick and getting mein the right shoulder. At the same instant mywater-bottle was shot through and the rifleblown from my hand. It wasn't at all ahealthy climate. It was just a shambles. Menwere lying killed and wounded as thick assardines in a tin. I remember apologising to[Pg 152]a poor chap for treading on his face. But hedidn't mind—being dead.

Although my wound was only slight, itsettled me for doing any more work, so I wassent back with a message to the O.C. in camp.I shan't forget that trip in a hurry. Owing tohaving to make a detour to avoid the reinforcementsthat were coming up, I cut across theback trail without knowing it, and almostwalked into the Turks, who were out on a flankinggame. One son of a gun tickled the backof my neck with a bullet, and another put oneso close to my ear that I felt the organ to makesure it was still hanging to my head. That wasgood enough for me; I wasn't greedy; so Ijust ducked and ran, never stopping till I hadto —— head down in three feet of mud atthe bottom of a ten-footdonga! However,I got my bearings at last, hit the trail, andstaggered into camp, more dead than alive,at about midnight. Delivered my message,had my wound dressed, and after a pannikin[Pg 153]of tea turned in and had a smoke and anhour or two of sleep. Shoulder hurt abit.

The captured position was held all day, butowing to being commanded by some risingground on which the Turks were stronglyentrenched and from which they were able toenfilade our chaps, it was abandoned at dark.Hard lines after the heavy losses. But lifeis cheap here. Heavy firing towards evening.Stayed in my dug-out smoking and nursingmy arm.

May 4.—Very heavy firing all along the linemost of last night. Distant bombardment byfleet heard. Stayed in camp all morning, butwent up to "Quinn's" in the afternoon andsupervised infantrymen sapping. Very shortof engineers now. My section is just aboutwiped out. Enemy threw in a regular cloudof bombs, then attacked strongly. They succeededin getting a footing in the front linetrenches, and some hard hand-to-hand bayonet[Pg 154]fighting had to be put in before they werecleaned up. Shoulder won't be "fit" for sometime; however, I can always boss up othersalthough doing a loaf myself. Had a very"scratch" tea to-night.

May 5.—Up to sap again at 3 a.m., and satrifle in hand on a cartridge-box for four solid(and weary) hours keeping guard. Turks onlya few yards off. If one had showed his noseover the parapet I doubt if I could have raisedthe rifle to my shoulder; however, the workingparty didn't know that. Nothing very livelyhappened. Sap head ran into a dead Turk,who was so tied up in the scrub that he couldn'tbe shoved to one side except at great risk.Only one thing to do: we sappedthroughhim. It wasn't the nicest job in the world,seeing the time he'd lain there. Came backto poor breakfast. Could have done with a"go" of rum. Didn't get any.

In the afternoon bossed up a whole companyof London infantrymen at road-making.[Pg 155]There is plenty of variety in the engineeringline I find. My company certainly didn'tknow how to go about the job they had takenin hand, and they had never even heard of acorduroy road, while their ideas on the questionof drainage would have shocked Noah. Theirofficers thought they knew all there was toknow, but really didn't know enough to knowhow little they did know. I had a slight differenceof opinion with those officers. I got myown way.

The country here is rather pretty—deepgullies and cañons with high hills clothed withdwarf oak (we called it holly) and firs; in thegullies one runs across the arbutus, the floweringthorn, a kind of laurel, and a wood thatresembles the New Zealandkaraka. Wildflowers bloom in profusion; my dug-out isgay with a little pink rambler rose that threatensto engulf it in its tendrils. The growth israpid. We have evidently struck the righttime of year for visiting Gallipoli. In a way[Pg 156]the Peninsula reminds me of parts of the NorthIsland of New Zealand.

In the way of bird and animal life there arelarks, doves, pigeons, hawks, turkeys, cuckoos,and tortoises. The latter animals caused oursentries many anxious moments. I shouldn'tcare to calculate how many tortoises were"halted," nor how many were shot at. Theywere big fellows as tortoises go, and when achap got a squint of one mooching along thesky-line in the moonlight, it was all the odds toa tin-tack he let go at it.

In the insect line we could count quite atidy little collection. We had flies by thehundred billion. They were everywhere,from the heaps of dead to the cook's pots.Put jam on a biscuit and it was always a sprintto your mouth between you and the flies, theevent usually ending in a dead heat. Therewere other insects not quite so plentiful asthe flies, but even fonder of our company—atleast, they stuck close to us; they're not[Pg 157]usually named before ladies, except in thepulpit.

We had snakes, scorpions, centipedes, andbig hairy tarantula spiders; and when theyelected to drop into the trenches things gotfairly lively. We liked them just about asmuch as they liked us. A state of war existedbetween us: we took no prisoners.

——AND (a very big "and")there is goldon the Gallipoli Peninsula. There is. It'sthere—for I myself panned off the dirt andfound the colour! I know the spot, and someday, perhaps, I'll have a try for the big seam.I have a fairly good idea—— But that'sanother tale.

There are other things in our trenches thatwe don't care overmuch to have as company.Maggots—maggots crawling in battalions abouta chap's feet and dropping from the sides ofthe trench down his neck. Maggots from thedead! You can't sit down hardly withoutflattening a dozen or two out. It's bad for[Pg 158]one's uniform. Something will have to bedone, or we'll all be down with disease. It'sa good job we were all inoculated againstenteric, anyway. The smell is worse than aglue factory. We have dead Turks right onour very parapets. Only this morning a bulletpitched into one lying close handy, and theputrid matter (of the consistency of porridge)was "spattered" right over us. They sayyou can get used to anything. Well, maybeso. But it's hard to get used to that. Nonews yet, and no way of sending any.

Later.—First part of a mail arrived at last.Two letters for me. Am going to try to getletters sent off; they will be strictly censored,of course. The sergeant of my section killedto-day—a really nice fellow and a generalfavourite. I'll soon have no chums left at all.Enemy is now using explosive bullets. I haveseen their effects.

Driven out of sap every time we entered itby bombs. One burst within three feet of[Pg 159]me without doing any harm. Firing goingon as usual. Managed to get a change ofsocks to-day. Needed them. Rumoured thatthe British or the Turks have presented anultimatum, calling on one or other to surrenderwithin twenty-four hours—no one seems toknow which. Also that the French have takena big fort at the Narrows. Air full of rumours—andprojectiles. Big guns almost splittingthe drum of my ear as I write. Very heavyMaxim and rifle fire this evening. Quite sickof it all; the Turks take a lot of beating.Weather beautiful; sea calm and of an azureblue colour. Rum issued to-night. Big event.Things looked brighter afterwards.

May 6.—Heavy cannonade, but lighter riflefire. Lots of bombs. Fellows getting quitedeaf. Was down at beach to-day. Navy menvery busy landing stores, etc. Officers (Navy)very fine fellows, and both they and their menswear by our chaps. No side or laddy-daabout the officers. One—a lieutenant—informed[Pg 160]me that our fellows were born fighters:"But you want to give them plenty to do,"he went on; "for when they're not fightingthey're looking for trouble." Afterwards Ioverheard him describing the landing to a newcomer."They're not soldiers," he finishedup, "—— they're not men! They're justwild devils let loose from hell! The instantthe boats grounded over they went, head first,came up with fixed bayonets, and rushed thosemachine-guns like runaway steam-engines!It was the most reckless, grandest slap-dashcharge that I or any other man ever witnessed.Oh, they're beauties to scrap! And theirvocabulary would raise your hair!"

May 7.—Weather still beautiful. Positionjust the same. Fire from all arms still goingon. Enemy sapping in line with us. Moreof my section laid out; only a few left. Beingreinforced by volunteers from our mountedcrowd—drivers, etc.

May 8.—Heavy fire all night. Fancy considerable[Pg 161]waste of ammunition. Rather quietday. Some artillery fire from enemy tryingto locate our guns, which are well hidden.Mail supposed to come in to-morrow. Hopeso, as many letters are due. Posted a lettermyself to-day—in a haversack hanging to abush. Hope it goes all right. Rum to-night.Very welcome, but short ration. I wonderwhy?

May 9.—Very quiet night, with occasionalbursts of rifle fire. Enemy tried hard with hisguns for one of our batteries this morning, butfailed to get it. Notice posted that Britishwarships have forced the Narrows and are inthe Sea of Marmora. This should hasten theend. Hope so, as we are all fed up with stickingto the trenches here. Rumoured that theRussians are in the Bosphorus: don't believeit. Heavy, distant cannonade last two daysand nights. Fleet, I suppose. As I writehardly a shot being fired. Arm still queer.Got a short rifle to-day in place of the old long[Pg 162]one I selected. (Prefer long rifle for goodshooting, sniping, etc., but short one betterfor the trenches.) There is a history attachedto the one I have now. It was picked up justoutside a new sap by one of our chaps, and whenfound the bayonet was fixed and a single shothad been fired, the cartridge case still remainingin the breech. A dead Australian waslying beside it.

Memorable event: had a shave to-day, thefirst since leaving the transport. The razorwas a borrowed one; my beard was like a mop.Both suffered.

Was detailed as one of party sent to superviseinfantry digging trenches. Went out at8 p.m. and came off at midnight. Did nothingbut lie about and get miserably cold, as I hadno greatcoat with me. Infantry made anotherattack on position they captured last Sundayand retired from. Carried it again—and againretired, owing, it is said, to lack of reinforcementsat the critical moment. Truth is, it is[Pg 163]almost impossible to bring up reserves quicklyenough owing to the nature of the country.Hard lines, all the same, considering what itcosts to capture these entrenched positions.

May 10.—Fairly quiet. Artillery still throwingshrapnel over our camp and right downto beach. Did another four hours to-day—from8 a.m. till 12 noon. To go out at 8 p.m.again. Tobacco and cigarettes issued to-day,the latter in bad condition—very mouldy.Went out from 8 till 12 midnight to fix apump and deepen a well. Had no tools, itwas pitch dark, dare not light even a match,so did nothing but lie around and growl.Mail in.

May 11.—Heavy rifle fire all night. Wasout from 8 a.m. till noon bossing up RoyalMarines at trench-digging. Quiet morning,but heavy rifle and artillery fire in theafternoon. Yesterday, I was told, shrapnelpitched all round me in camp, tearing up theground and smashing a rifle close to my head.[Pg 164]I took no notice of it. I was asleep. Nicesafe camps we have in these parts! The29th Division (Irish) reported to be only twomiles from our right flank to-day. Reportconfirmed later. Good news; somethingought to be doing soon. Heavy naval firinggoing on in the distance. Heard that 4·7"naval guns had been placed in position on"Pope's Hill", to our left. Wish they couldlay out the Turkish guns—especially "AsiaticAnnie"—that keep warming us up in our dug-outs;we are getting tired of the beggars.Heard that theLusitania had been submarinednear the Irish coast. Poor devils!—it'sa one-eyed kind of death to be drownedlike rats in a trap. I'd a dashed sight ratherbe shot any day. "Commandeered" a can ofbutter, some cheese, jam, and potatoes, so havelived high to-day. "Virtue rewarded"—thestuff just smiled at me as I was passing thecommissariat. I couldn't resist its blandishments.Anyway, the Quartermaster is always[Pg 165]complaining about the "non-keeping" qualitiesof his provisions. And, when all's said anddone, it's simply a raiding of the Philistines.How does the water get into our rum? Somerain to-day, cloudy, overcast skies, and not atall warm.

May 12.—Rum—and not watered! Rainedall night; place a quagmire this morning. Gothold of some sacks and managed to sleep moreor less dry. Have neither waterproof sheetnor blankets. Heard that all our blanketsleft behind on ship had been taken for wounded.If that is where they have gone we don't mind;sick men need them more than we do. Ratherquiet night; expect both sides too wet andmiserable to worry about killing each other.Didn't go out last night; thought I might aswell stay in and nurse my shoulder, which isdoing real good. First night in for longishspell. Went out this morning and bossed upa lot of marines at trench-digging. It rainedall the time and the ground was as sticky as[Pg 166]fish-glue. Climbing up to "Quinn's Post" inthis kind of weather is like the Johnnie inPilgrim's Progress who found his swag growingbigger and heavier the farther he went. Youcan hardly lift your feet owing to the amountof Turkey sticking to them, and for every twoyards you advance you slide back more thanone. And coming down is just as bad,although a deal speedier. You start off gingerly,sit down suddenly—squelch!—and whenyour wind comes back you find yourself at thefoot of the hill with a sniper biffing away atyou and enjoying the joke. It's quite funny—toread about.

My clothing is getting sadly in need ofrepair. Nothing to repair it with, however.Enemy's shells passing barely twenty feet abovemy dug-out—a bit too close for comfort.Thinking of shifting my camp. To-day thecap from one of our own shells passed cleanthrough a man in a dug-out just above my own,and injured another. Our gunners do things[Pg 167]like that of a time: perhaps they imagine weneed a little more excitement—or have a pervertedsense of humour. Heavy distant firing:the fleet at it again, I suppose.

May 13.—Came in at midnight after a spellof sapping—or, rather, watching others sap.Went on camp fatigue carrying water, fetchingfirewood for the cooks, etc. Can do this allright with one good arm. Otherwise had alight day. Australian Light Horse Brigadearrived from Egypt (minus horses), and nowmanning trenches as infantrymen. Employedmy spare time in deepening my dug-out andfixing things up generally in my camp. Tremendousfiring by ships last night; somethingdoing. Fairly quiet day, with occasionalbursts of rifle fire by both sides; also a littleshelling. Noticed the following painted onsome of our shells: "Turkish Delight: distributedfree!" Went out at 8 p.m. to dig communicationtrench from "Shrapnel Gully"up to firing line on "Pope's Hill."

[Pg 168]

The position was a very exposed one, as wehad to carry the trench up over a ridge opento enemy fire at fairly close range. It couldn'tpossibly have been done in daylight, so we weresent out to get a hustle on and complete thejob before morning. Even as it was the Turksmust have taken a tumble to our game, forthey kept up a hot fire on the crest of the ridgeall night long. As I couldn't use my arm Iwas put on sentry-go, and spent hour afterhour lying in the scrub with the bullets hissingand spitting in the air round my head or knockingsparks out of the flinty soil. It wasn't abit jolly. We ran into a dead man while wewere working—a Ceylon chap—who must havelain there since the landing. One of our chapswent down to camp and fetched up a padre—afine old sort—who stood up and read theBurial Service under fire, and remained on theridge until we had buried the corpse. I forgetthe parson's name, but I fancy he was thesame man who worked at stretcher-bearing all[Pg 169]through the first night in company with aRoman Catholic priest. There was a yarngoing the rounds about this priest having takenpart in a bayonet charge near "Quinn's": hedenied it, but—well, from what I saw of him,I feel more than half inclined to believe it.We also found a dead Turkish officer. Hehad evidently been sketching round aboutthese parts, his sketching wallet containingmany drawings lying beside him. I wasn'tlucky enough to get away with a specimen.

May 14.—Quiet morning for this locality.A little shelling plus some bombing. Enemynow taking to writing messages on pieces ofpaper, wrapping a stone in the paper and chuckingthe things into our trenches. They seemto imagine we have lost touch altogether withthe world at large, and have taken it on themselvesto furnish us with news. We are surprisedto learn that fourteen British battleshipshave been sunk by the forts at the Narrows,that Egypt is in a state of revolt, and that the[Pg 170]Germans are preparing to invade England.They asked us to treat our prisoners well, andthey would do likewise with theirs. In afurther message (an ultimatum) they called onus to surrender with our whole bag of tricksinside sixteen hours, and on receiving our reply—moreforcible than elegant—some merry dogchucked back the following: "Well, if youwon't surrenderwe will. Suppose we bothsurrender!"

Were served out with a new kind of biscuitto-day. It looks and tastes like stale bread,but when soaked in water and fried in fat itgoes down well. I now save all the fat I canfrom my morning rasher of bacon, storing itin a jam-tin. I find it useful for cooking"chips" (when there happens to be any"spuds" about); also for greasing the boltof my rifle. Speaking of bacon reminds meof a little picnic that happened a few nightsago. Two of us were passing the A.S.C. storesdown in the "Gully." There was much store[Pg 171]of jam, bacon, cheese, etc., piled in boxes onone side of the track. Now the back of thislordly stack of cases rested against a high butslender bank. In front was the camp of theattendant satellites. The thought seemed tostrike us both at the same time. We acted onit right away. Putting in a short drive throughthe bank we struck oil—spelled, in this case,J-A-M. Since then I have done anotherlittle bit of prospecting round about that claim.I feel like having ham for breakfast; thereforeI shall pay another visit to our drive, removethe bush that secures its entrance, and——!

Our stores are mostly brought up from thebeach by mules, Indian drivers having chargeof the stubborn animals. I am bound to say,however, these Indians seem able to do anythingwith their charges. They are very fondof them, too, and they (the mules) look fatand well cared for. I believe the drivers wouldalmost as soon die as see such a fate overtaketheir beasts. Here is a case in point which I[Pg 172]witnessed myself: a shell exploded bang abovethe track on which a transport team was makingits way beachward. A mule staggered andcame down on one knee, then righted itself.The driver examined the limb carefully, andfinding the damage only amounted to the lossof a bit of skin, he threw his arms round theanimal's neck and kissed it on the nose. Icouldn't help wondering if he'd have kissed hiswife in a like case.

Weather growing hotter daily. Flies increasingall the time. Flowers coming intobloom fast. Eased my feet by changing socksfrom left to right—the only change I couldmanage. Rockets thrown up by the Turkslast night. Wonder what the game is? Fancyhoming pigeons are being used by the enemy,as I have noticed quite a lot flying about lately.May be wild ones, of course. Went on trenchingsame as yesterday.

May 15.—Heavy firing during night. NewZealanders stormed enemy's trenches to the[Pg 173]left of our position last night and held themagainst strong counter attacks. Reported loss500. A good bit of work well carried out.Antwerp and Ostend reported to be recaptured.Submarines said to be cruising off Anzac Cove,and all transports have left in consequence.H.M.S.Lion said to have been torpedoed;didn't know she was nearer than the NorthSea. Went up to "Quinn's" at noon to goon sapping, etc. Some sniping, but littledamage. Wish we could get the dead buried:the stench takes a lot of getting used to. Fairlyquiet night.

Three weeks to-morrow since we landed!As lively a three weeks as any man could wishfor. It seems like three months. But it's gotto be done. And if I am lucky enough to getthrough this slather-up I mean to live a manof peace for the rest of my natural: get onto a tidy little place, grow spuds and cabbages,and raise early chickens—and kiddies!

SITTING TIGHT

May 16.—Went on sapping, this time at"Pope's Hill." Had a man killed here inrather curious way. He was in the act ofthrowing out a shovelful of dirt when a bulletstruck the blade of the shovel as it appearedfor an instant above the parapet, came rightdown the handle, and knocked the poor chap'sbrains over his tunic. Rough luck! Cameoff work at noon. Quiet evening; someartillery and machine-gun fire. Another ofour officers killed by a sniper to-day. A smartsort he was, too, and popular with all in thecorps. Rum and tobacco issued—always anevent. But why do they give us "mediumstrength" when nine out of ten of our chapshave been used to hard tack? This soft stuff[Pg 175]only burns our tongues and makes us say ourprayers backwards. Got to bed early and waslulled to sleep by the music of bursting bombsand heavy rifle fire in the neighbourhood of"Quinn's" and "Courtney's." Our campis at the foot of the cliff to the left of "DeadMan's Ridge," only thirty yards behind thefiring line; all day and night we hear the songof bullets and the scream of shells passing overhead.I expect we'll miss them when we retireinto private life again—if any of us are left todo the retiring stunt. One of our cooks shotdead while bending over his pots. Oh, it'sa sweet spot, is Anzac!

Weather growing much warmer. Seems toagree with the flies. Wonder what part in thescheme of Nature flies play?

May 17.—Very heavy rifle and machine-gunfire in early part of night, followed by bombsgalore. It seems that a company of Australianinfantry stormed an enemy trench, but hadto retire from it later on with considerable[Pg 176]loss. Queer that such small bodies should besent to attack a strong position. Did a five-hourspell of sapping at "Pope's." Snipersactive, but were well protected, suffering noloss. Fairly quiet day. Some artillery fire.One of our naval guns got on to the enemy'strenches and blew them about in fine stylewith lyddite. Rumoured that Italy has comein on Allies' side. Also that Bulgaria hastaken off the gloves, but on which side noone seems to know. My own opinion is thatshe'll side with Germany, simply because sheseems so friendly towards the Allies. I wouldn'ttrust one of those Balkan Staters farther thanI could see him. Rumania will probably jointhe Allies—when it suits her. As for Greece,from what I saw of the Greeks in Lemnosand elsewhere, I reckon she doesn't count inthe deal. Her men were born with deflatedrubber tyres instead of backbones. Rumoursfill the air. Stuck up the Q.M.S. for a shirt.He has promised to do his best. Hope I'll get[Pg 177]one, as at present I don't possess such an article,and in this weather a knitted woollen cardiganimpregnated with sweat and powdered clayisn't the most comfortable garment to wearnext one's skin. Ordered to go on again onthe old four-hour shifts at "Pope's," bossingup infantry at trench-digging. Would ratherdo a bigger spell right off the reel, as we getmore sleep.

May 18.—Enemy throwing 10´´ or 12´´ shells(howitzers) right into the "Gully" amongthe thickly clustered dug-outs. The explosionsare fine to watch (so long as your ownhome doesn't suffer), dirt, stones, etc. beinghurled 200 yards around. I don't think theykilled very many, but the Light Horse chapsare fair mad at the way their camp has beenknocked about. One fellow whose dug-outhad utterly vanished, its place being nowoccupied by a crater like a young volcano,wanted to know what the Government wasthinking about.

[Pg 178]

Navy officers inspected our lines yesterday.Heard that they weren't much impressed withthe work of our field batteries. This morningthe troops were withdrawn from some ofour trenches and the warships bombarded theTurks just in advance of our firing line, blowingtrenches, sandbags, etc. up in fine style.The enemy kept pretty quiet afterwards;expect they were cleaning up things. Heardthat the naval chaps are mounting 4·7´´ and6´´ guns here; also that the Royal Artilleryhave arrived with two 12´´ howitzers. Theyare badly needed, as we don't seem able tosilence the Turkish big guns.

Easy day on the whole. Still waiting formy shirt. Rumoured that the enemy hasbeen strongly reinforced, and may try a bigassault at any time. Also, that 20,000 well-armedArmenians have risen against the Turks.Also, that Italy has certainly joined in—notconfirmed. Also, that Greece wants certain"guarantees" before coming in with the[Pg 179]Allies. Turkish losses since war started reportedas 60 per cent. Hard to credit. More"Jack Johnsons" this afternoon. An enemybig gun discovered to be using a tunnel; whenabout to fire she is run out on rails, being runback into the tunnel the instant the shot isdischarged. One up for the Turks! Theyare as 'cute as a cageful of monkeys.

May 19.—Enemy attacked in force lastnight. The rifle and machine-gun fire wassomething to write home about! The Turkscame on in their usual close formation, andwere simply mown down. They just meltedaway in places like a snowball in hell. Mostlythey failed to reach our trenches, being cutdown and beaten back by the terrific fire.In some cases, however, they did actually getinto our front fire trenches, but were immediatelybayoneted to a man. In other placesthey reached our parapets—only to be pulledby the legsinto the trench by one man andbayoneted by another. It was a queer, mixed-up[Pg 180]style of fighting, that suited our Australasiantroops right down to the ground. The attackwas repulsed all along the line, finally dyingaway at about 2 a.m. Two hours later theyhad another try to push us over the ridge,advancing under cover of the heaviest artilleryfire we have so far experienced. Again theyattacked our whole line, finally concentratingon our right flank. At one point a NewZealand crowd left their trenches and chargedthe advancing Turks with the bayonet. Theydrove the enemy back in fine style, but sufferedconsiderably themselves. Otherwise, however,the attack was repulsed with heavy loss to theenemy, our own casualties I hear being slight.I should think the Turks must be getting fedup with these attempts to drive us into thesea.

Heavy firing going on at all points as I write—rifles,Maxims, and artillery. The row issomething awful! Enemy using shrapnelchiefly, and sweeping the "Gully" right down[Pg 181]to the beach. Heard that the "Jack Johnsons"yesterday killed only about six men andwounded a few more. It seems almost incredibleconsidering the way they pumpedthem into our camps. The soil here is mostlyclayey and fairly free from rock, and the bigshells, like our own lyddite, simply blow ahuge hole, or crater, in the ground; andalthough the effect is rather fearsome thedamage, unless close in, doesn't amount tomuch. If they pitched in rocky country Ishould say there would be a very differentyarn to spin. Heard that theLizzie pitcheda big shell slap into the tunnel in which aTurkish "Jack Johnson" was hiding and thatshe hasn't given tongue since. Also that theenemy tapped one of our field telephone wiresbehind our lines, and gave the General Stafftwenty-four hours in which to clear us offthe Peninsula, failing which he would blowus into the sea with big guns. Got my shirtat last, and feel a new man. If I could only[Pg 182]raise a pair of trousers I'd be satisfied. I likeplenty of fresh air and ventilation—but notin my nether garments.

Later.—A tremendous rifle and artillery firetook place this evening, continuing for an houror so. Accounted for by New Zealand infantryattempting to capture some Turkishguns. They didn't go on with the venture,however, as the guns were too well guarded.Rather quiet evening afterwards. Been orderedto go on sapping at "Quinn's Post"to-morrow at 7 a.m.

Still Later.—Rather a funny thing happenedto-night. We were ordered to rig up portableentanglements in front of our fire trenchesat "Quinn's." Now as the enemy's trenchand our own were separated by only a fewyards it meant a quick death (and a verdict of"suicide while temporarily insane") to anyone attempting to even mount the parapet,much less starting in to a job of the kind outin the open. You should have seen the chaps'[Pg 183]faces (and heard their prayers) when the ordercame along. Of course they all realised it wasa mistake, the order being cancelled later on.The entanglements were there, however, soour officer thought it would be a bright ideato shove them out in front by means of longspars. After a lot of trouble we managed this,and they looked real good standing heads andtails along the front of our trenches. Butwhen the Turks threw out light grapnelsattached to ropes and dragged the things backto do duty forthem, they didn't look half sogood. And the infantry laughed some. Wewent to bed.

May 20.—Quiet morning. No enemy artilleryfire and only a little of our own. Latersome shelling by both sides. Worked at erectingoverhead cover on the support trenches at"Quinn's"—originally the fire trenches, theoutcome of the line of holes dug after thelanding. Funny kind of job: every time youshowed a hand above the parapet the Turks[Pg 184]had a shot at it. From 6.30 till about 7.30all firing ceased on both sides. It was thefirst time we had experienced absolute quietsince our arrival here, and the sensation was astrange one. It was still stranger to hear thesong of the lark; I reckon the birds sized it upas the end of the Great War, for they seemedto all slip out of their dug-outs at once.Heard it was a truce to allow the Turks tobring in their wounded. When the firingbegan again it was something to listen to!Big guns and little guns, they all seemed to beworking overtime. They kept it up most ofthe night, too.

May 21.—On overhead cover same as yesterday.Fairly quiet all round. More rumours!Another truce talked of. Heard that quite alot of prisoners surrendered to-day. Orderssent round that everything possible was to bedone to encourage enemy to desert. Whichreminds me——

A few nights ago three Turks were captured[Pg 185]by a patrol and brought into camp. Theysaid in broken English that they'd been tryingto surrender. They were taken down toheadquarters to be questioned, and later onsent back to our camp, the O.C. receivingorders to feed them up well, then give thebeggars a chance to escape. The idea wasthat they would return to their own lines,tell their chums of the fine time they'd had inour camp, and thus cause a lot of desertingfrom the enemy. Nothing of this was to besaid to them, of course.

Well, we took our prisoners down to thecook's quarters and gave them the time oftheir lives. They ate about a tin of jam each,ditto of condensed milk, showed a markedappreciation for the army biscuits, and (theycouldn't have been true believers—or else theywere just as much in the dark as ourselvesregarding the contents) tackled the bully beefwith gusto, finishing up with Woodbine cigarettes.They weren't game to sample the[Pg 186]rum, however, but it wasn't wasted. Whenthey were full up to the back teeth we askedthem if they knew where there was any firewoodto be got, as most of the big stuff hadbeen cut out of the "Gully." Yes, they didknow of some, but to get it they would haveto crawl up close to their own lines. Thingscouldn't be better, we thought; they weretold to clear out and get some. Away theywent, up a deep nullah that bisected our lines—andreturned a couple of hours later loaded upwith brushwood like walking Christmas Trees!At their own request we led them back to thecookhouse, saw them started on a fresh supplyof jam and condensed milk, and gave the thingup as a bad job. Catch them letting theirmates into the secret of all those good things!

Indeed, most of our prisoners were only toopleased to remain with us once we'd caughtthem. We set them to various jobs, and, todo them justice, they worked away quitecheerfully, never, so far as I know, attempting[Pg 187]to escape from a place where they were sowell fed and got free smokes. The Australiansinstalled one as camp barber, and the blue-jacketsfrom the fleet used to grin at thespectacle of a big husky Turk going round hisenemy's throat with a keen-edged razor.

About this time most of us had grown fullbeards. I don't know who originated thestyle, but it got to be the fashion to trim ourbeards to a pointà la His Majesty. Then ourslouch hats underwent the trimming process,the result being a far-fetched jockey's cap.Then nearly every chap cut his slacks or breechesoff well above the knee, and a great many discardedputtees. Others shore their shirt-sleevesoff shoulder high. Still others went withouttheir shirts altogether in the daytime, goingnaked from the waist up. So you can guesswhat the Anzac Army looked like! No wonderthe Turks did a bolt when our ragtime mob oftoughs rushed them with the bayonet! Theylooked like a crowd of sundowners who had[Pg 188]struck an out-back trail and got badly bushedin a dry season.

May 22.—Went up to "Quinn's" at 7 a.m.to go on with sticking up overhead cover.Rather rainy morning. Mud—and such mud!—everywhere.Work of art climbing hill owingto feet caking inches deep with the sticky claysoil. Just got started to work when taken offto make loopholes in a new front fire trench—enemy'strench being only about fifteen yardsaway. Trench badly exposed to cross-fire frommachine-guns well placed on rising ground.All around were splashes of blood. Australianofficer informed us that a number of his menhad been shot while lying at thebottom of thistrench. Did what we could, but as fast aswe stuck the sandbags up they were cut topieces and blown down by Maxim fire. Bombedout many times. Had many narrow shaves.Forced to give it best and wait till dark, whenwe'll have another try. All these dirty jobsseem to fall to the engineers. Rain cleared[Pg 189]off in afternoon. Mail came in to-day. Gotfour letters—very satisfactory. "Jack Johnsons"at work again. Snipers also busy;bagged quite a lot of our chaps to-day.Oursnipers are beginning to thin them down,however. Our trench mortars emptied bombsfinely into enemy's trenches lately. Fairlyquiet night, with rifle fire going off in burstsnow and then.

May 23.—Went on at "Quinn's" again,loopholing and strengthening fire trenches.Curious state of affairs here:we sapped outtowards enemy's lines some time ago—andmet the Turks doing the same towards us.Result:a communicating trench from our linesinto his, which is guarded night and day ateither end by each party respectively, theintervening distance being about ten yards!Didn't dare to expose ourselves, as sharp-shooterswere sniping all the time from twosides, a cross-fire at a range of about fortyyards. Got back to camp and found issue of[Pg 190]rum awaiting me, also ration offresh beef.Cooked it on a grill made of twisted fencingwire and had an A1 blow-out. More lettersto-day. Wonder what the navy is doing atthe Dardanelles? Rumours; the air is full ofthem. Here are three: (a) Turkey has demandedeither £40,000,000 or £50,000,000from Germany, otherwise she will join theAllies; (b) we are going to be relieved and senthome to England on the 25th instant, torefit; (c) submarines are cruising about quiteclose.

To-day the warships bombarded the enemy'strenches just in front of our own, first givingus warning to keep our heads well down.Didn't need the warning, as shells simplyskimmed our parapets. One plumpedinto atrench full of Australians. Didn't do muchdamage luckily, but upset the harmony of anice little card-party playing poker. Result:the loss of some money and several tempers.Got a blanket served out to-day. Could have[Pg 191]done with it a long time ago. Still waitingfor trousers; the pair I own now on theirlast legs.

Talking of legs, I bumped into one to-daysticking out into one of our support trenches.You had to duck to pass it. Seems that ourchaps when building the cover found a deadTurk badly in their way, and as they wouldhave had some difficulty in removing him theydecided to build him upin the roof; his legslipped through, however, so they just let ithang. Quiet night; hardly any firing at anypart of the line.

May 24.—Just finishing breakfast when rainstarted. The worst of it is that even a slightfall turns this country into a kind of clay bog,owing to the top soil clogging on one's bootsand then slipping over the subsoil. It is likeclimbing a greased egg to scale the hills—andour position here is on top of a high ridgerunning round a deep gully. Coming downone generally does a joy slide on one's hindquarters.[Pg 192]Have been ordered to stand by,pending a rumoured armistice supposed totake place at 7.30 a.m. Heard that Italy hascome in on Allies' side: this time it seems tobe credited. Hope it is true.

Later.—Armistice did take place, lasting till4.30 p.m., for the purpose of burying thedead—or "planting stiffs," to give the occupationits local name. It was about timethis was done. I never saw so many bodiescrowded into the same space before; therewere literally thousands of them. And thecondition they were in! I dare not describethe sights I saw. We scraped out shallowholes, edged the things gingerly in and coveredthem up as quickly as possible. It paid tosmoke hard all the time. I picked up a Germanofficer's sword (broken off at the hilt), aTurkish ditto, and dozens of other war curios.I noticed a magnificent diamond ring on aTurkish officer's finger, but he was in such astate of putrefaction that I allowed him to[Pg 193]retain it. One cannot be too careful whenworking with decomposed bodies; if a cutfinger happens to get into contact with putridhuman flesh you'll know all about it. Wemixed together, the enemy "undertakers" andour own. Some of the Turkish officers handedus cigarettes and spoke in fluent English.They were a fine, jolly-looking lot of fellowsdressed in swagger uniforms. The Germans,however, stood at a distance and scowled.Our fellows returned their scowls with interest.They also favoured them with a salute (understoodof all men) in which the thumb andfingers of one hand act in conjunction withthe nose. The Huns didn't seem to appreciatethe honour. A quiet night followed.

May 25.—Working at same job as before—loopholingtrenches and generally strengtheningposition at "Quinn's Post." It wouldn'tbe difficult to get laid out at this game, forthere is an almost continuous cross-fire playinga few inches above your head, and as fast as[Pg 194]you stick up sandbags the machine-guns cutthem into shreds.

Saw theTriumph torpedoed. She had beenacting the part of dry nurse to our crowd offAnzac Cove, and it was like a death in thefamily when she went to the bottom. I wassitting in my dug-out at the time it happened,eating the mid-day meal, and had a first-classview of the whole thing at a distance of abouttwo and a half miles. From the height of ourcamp above sea-level we could even see thesubmarine, like a shadowy fish, below thewater. She was reported to have been struckby two torpedoes; I saw only one, however—orits wake, rather. The projectile seemed tohit the warship right amidships, going throughher nets as if they were made of paper. Atremendous cloud of dense brown smoke mixedwith steam sprang aloft like a geyser, and thebig ship listed over at once in the directionfrom which the torpedo had come. At thesame time she seemed to settle down in the[Pg 195]water with a jump. The submarine couldn'thave been more than 200 yards away whenshe launched the torpedo, which appeared tocut the water at a great bat. A destroyer wascruising about close handy, and she at oncebacked in against the battleship, the crewjumping and tumbling on board like rats.Meantime she (the destroyer) opened fire everytime the submarine shoved her periscopeabove the surface. One shot was fired at adistance of only about fifty yards. The seawas soon alive with all kinds of small crafthastening to the work of rescue. In tenminutes theTriumph turned completely over,showing her bottom for all the world like abig whale, finally disappearing in about twentyminutes from the time of the explosion. Shedidn't dive—just slowly subsided. Many ofthe crew jumped overboard; through glasseswe could see them struggling in the water.Almost immediately a whole flotilla of torpedoboats and destroyers seemed to spring from[Pg 196]nowhere, and started to hunt down the submarine.As I write they are steaming roundand round in a big circle, an aeroplane hoveringoverhead and evidently directing operations;at the same time the enemy is pumpingshrapnel into the bay from long range for allhe is worth, evidently in the hope of baggingthose engaged in the work of rescue. I havesince seen it stated in the papers that theenemy's artillery was directed against thedestroyers, and that the drowning men andthose assisting them had to take their chance.Then why in the name of common sense didhe use shrapnel? The contention is absurd.The Turks on the whole were clean fighters,but when the poor oldTriumph went downthey put a dirty blot on their record. I hopenever to see another ship torpedoed; it wasone of the saddest sights I ever witnessed.

Later.—Reported that the submarine wasbagged after a long chase. Heavy rain thisafternoon, and the whole place a bog. Hot[Pg 197]sun afterwards which turned the bog into aglue deposit. Things fairly quiet, as they havebeen for the last two or three days. Enemydoesn't seem to like our bombs thrown fromtrench mortars. They are a Japanese invention,and when they pitch into the Turkishtrenches they fairly raise hell—and humanremains! Heard that over 400 were lost intheTriumph: hope it isn't true. Findingenemy was mining towards our trenches weput in a counter mine. Enemy explodedhis—and ours at the same time.W-o-o-o-o-uf!she went. So did the writer—bringing upwaist deep in a heap of soft sticky clay, hardjam tins, and discarded accoutrements at thefoot of the ridge. Felt a bit "rocky" afterbeing dug out. Left ear gone. Head queer.Hope it will come all right again. Hadanother issue of fresh beef this evening, thesecond, I fancy, since we landed. Cooked iton my own home-made grill and found itkapai. More rain.

[Pg 198]

Still Later.—Heard that losses onTriumphwere very slight: about twenty or thirty.Rain cleared off and ground now drying fast.Fairly quiet night, except for some bombing.You get queer things in bombs sometimes,especially Turkish bombs. For instance: Iwas working in one of the advanced saps.There was a good deal of bombing going ona bit to my right. In the traverse next towhere I was sapping a captured Turkishgramophone was being made to work overtimeinThe Turkish Patrol, for the edificationof an Australian audience. Presently—Bang!It was a bomb, thrown slap into the concertparty. The music ceased. Followed the customaryvolley of blasphemy in back-blocksAustralian. Then, to my surprise, a roar oflaughter echoed round the traverse. NaturallyI waltzed along to see what had happened—andfound a very profane Australian seatedin the bottom of the trench nursing hiswounds. He looked for all the world as if[Pg 199]he had been scrapping with a whole colonyof porcupines, and was bleeding from a scoreor two of wounds.

"It's needles from the bomb," laughed oneof his mates, in answer to my astonished look."The poor devil's that full up of gramophoneneedles, if we only had asomething recordwe could play asomething tune on him!"

But we weren't a bit slow at faking upbombs ourselves. I have known rusty nails,bits of shells, flints, cartridge cases, fragmentsof broken periscopes—anything, in fact, thatcame along shoved into a home-made jam-tinbomb. Once some of the chaps heaved over a7-lb. jam-can filled with ham and bacon bones.You ought to have heard the jamboree in theTurkish trench when the unclean animal'smortal remains blew round their ears! Theydidn't half like being shot by pig. On anotheroccasion some Australians informed me thatthey wanted "a hell of a knock-out bomb," asthey had located a Turkish listening post close[Pg 200]up to our front line trenches. I manufacturedone of the "hair-brush" variety, usingtwo15-oz. slabs of guncotton, and packing round theexplosive about three pounds of assorted projectiles;the whole thing I wrapped up in awhole sandbag and wound it round and roundwith barbed wire. When completed it lookeda pretty little toy about the size of a respectableham. I own I had some misgivings aboutbeing able to throw it the required length.However, the distance was only a matter of afew yards, and I got it fair into the desiredspot. When she went off bang there wasn'tmuch of that listening post left, while as forthe Turks who manned it—well, I guess they'regoing still!

"Quinn's Post" was always a rotten shopfor bombs. At first the Turks had thingspretty much their own way in that line.Time after time they cleared our front trenchesby bomb-throwing, and then rushed the position;and I can tell you it called for some hard[Pg 201]hand-to-hand fighting on our part to get themout again. But we always did it; goodsoldiers as they are they couldn't live in thesame township with our chaps when cold steelwas the order of the day. There isn't muchfun left in life once you've had eighteen inchesof rusty bayonet shoved through your gizzard.The Turks don't fear death; if killed in actionthey believe they go straight to Paradise andhave a high old time with the girls. But youcan't blame a man if he wished to have alittle more practice on earth—nor for being abit particular about the manner in which hestarted on the long trail. I reckon that's howit was with them. I don't blame them,either; it's a sloppy kind of death, the bayonetone.

After a time we got top-dog in the bombingline. Our system was a simple one: for everybomb the enemy threw into us we gave himat leasttwo in return. He didn't like it alittle bit. At first we used to throw the bombs[Pg 202]back again as fast as they came in, the fusesbeing timed a bit too long; afterwards, however,that game didn't pay, quite a lot of poorchaps getting laid out through the thingsexploding in their hands. Dropping a sandbagor an overcoat on them took most of thesting out of the beggars, and it wasn't longtill every third man's greatcoat looked as ifit had been in a railway accident—or a cyclone.

One night I shan't forget in a hurry. Itsimply rained bombs. Man after man wentdown. The trench was a shambles. On camethe Turks, carrying our fire trench with ease;there was really nothing to stop them. Theygot right into our support trench. Then ourchaps got to work. We bombed them back.They came again. Again we cleared them out.The position was carried and re-carried fourseparate times, eventually remaining in ourhands. Reader, I wish you had seen thosetrenches when the picnic was finished. It tookus a long time cleaning them up. There were[Pg 203]all kinds of queer things sticking to the sidesand to the overhead cover. One of our chapsput the thing in a nutshell. "I don't give asomething what the padre says," he observed,"there'll be an all-fired mix-up when they goaloft!"

"Quinn's" was in truth the limit. I reckonyou could get killed there a dashed sight easierthan anywhere in the whole line. It was justfair hell with all the doors open. It was theplace where V.C.'s were earned—but notgiven! Come to think of it, it would havetaken a sackful to go round. Yes, that musthave been the reason.

THE ORDER OF THE PUSH

Several Months Later.—I have just beendischarged from my second English hospital,and am at present on "leave pending dischargefrom the Service, 'Permanently Unfit.'" Ifeel pretty well that way, too. My soldieringdays are over: henceforth I am a man ofpeace. Well, I've had a goodish innings andcan't complain, even in spite of the fact thatI'll never be quite the same man again. And,after all, things might be a deal worse: I mightbe one of those grotesque-looking bundles ofkhaki and rat-picked bones now lying unburiedand forgotten in the scrub of Gaba Tepe, forinstance. And I'd go through it all again—aye,a hundred times—sooner than have thewomen call me "slacker"! I say "women"[Pg 205]advisedly: the "men" are all wearing khakinow; those "she-men" who aren't don'tcount—they are just white-livered, cold-footed,rubber-spined swine! That's straight Anzac.I'd cheerfully forfeit a month's back pay towatch one of the slacker brigade read theselines, and to know that away down in thelittle dried-up kernel he calls his heart therestill exists enough red blood to pump a flushof shame into his white girl's cheeks. "Girl,"did I say? Then I ask the "gentler" sex toforgive me, for well I know that nine out ofevery ten women in the British Empire havefar more true pluck and sand in their littlefingers than the whole slacker brigade have intheir useless tender-footed bodies. What righthave these damned cowards to go to theatres,dances, football matches, and concerts; to liewarm in bed at night and eat soft tucker byday—to live their soft, easy-going useless lives,while I and the like of me have to go out andlive, fight—aye, and die—like beasts? True,[Pg 206]we volunteered; we just had to—beingmen!What right (I put it straight to any slackerwhose eye now rests on this page—if he hasn'talready chucked this little volume into the fire)—whatright have you, you little white-liveredcur, you slimy maggot—what right have youto wear the dress and ape the bearing of aman? What will you say to themen whenthey return from doing their bit—when theyask whyyou didn't roll up and help them intheir need? That you were a conscientiousobjector? That you didn't believe in sheddinghuman blood? That you had to stay athome—and make money—whilethey werefighting and sweating that the old home mightnot be polluted by the shadow of the Germanbeasts, the ravishers of poor little Belgium?Well, you can say what you like. But I knowwhat they will call you—a name that no manworth calling a man ever takes unchallengedfrom his fellows—what I call you right now:COWARD!

[Pg 207]

I was going to add: What will you sayto your children when they ask you whatyou did in The Great War? But surely nowoman will ever call you husband and bearyour children! If such women are to befound, and I only had the power, I'demasculate you all rather than see yourdirty breed perpetuated.

That's some more straight Australasian.But to come back to the matter in hand, asthe public tub-thumpers say——

I got in the way of some bullets. I didn'twant to, but they were flying round prettylively and I bagged a few—one through thearm, another through the shoulder (it's stillsticking somewhere down under the blade),two pieces of explosive bullet in my righthand (still there and letting me know it whenI write), plus an assortment of small splintersdistributed round about my figure-head. Myleft ear is gone; I don't sleep too well; thereis a fitter's shop doing great work day and[Pg 208]night in my head, and when I walk out totake the air things are apt to spin round some,and I fancy the dear old ladies imagine Isuffer from chronic alcoholism. Altogether Idon't feel quiet as good as I did before I wenton tour with the Anzacs. Neither did themedical board, so they're giving me the tin-ware.Funny thing: my appetite is quitegood, and I look as strong as a horse. Hencethe aforesaid old ladies are always tellinghow well I look, and hoping I amquite recoveredfrom my wounds. At first this sortof thing used to bore me; now, however, itonly amuses me. It's a boncer gift is thesaving grace of humour, and keeps a fellowfrom getting into the blues when he comparesthe man he was once with the man he is now.However, that's by the way.

I have been in six hospitals altogether. Idon't want any more, not being greedy. Iam fed up with hospitals, fed up with doctors,fed up with nurses ("sisters" we called them),[Pg 209]and, above all, fed up and surfeited with theold blue suit! Not that we weren't welltreated in hospital. I have nothing much tocomplain of (although they did in some casestreat us like kids): I have much to praise.The doctors were on the whole a decent crowd;the sisters were just angels! I take my hatoff to them wishing them a long and jollylife on this old planet and a featherbed inHeaven when they hit the long trail.Kia Ora!

After being hit I was taken in a fleet sweeperto Lemnos Island, about forty-five miles fromAnzac. I was in two hospitals there. FromLemnos Island I went in a hospital ship toAlexandria, and on by hospital train to Cairo.I put in a spell there, and was then shipped(by train!) to Port Said. From Port Said Iwas consigned to England, where I brought upin Cardiff. Finally I did a spell in a SouthCoast hospital. Then they got sick of me.The feeling was mutual. So I'm getting theorder of the push.

[Pg 210]

Taking it all in all I've had a kind of a Cook'sPersonally Conducted Tour. I've had goodtimes and bad times, the good fairly wellbalancing the bad. On the whole it has beena most interesting trip. It has also been to acertain extent an exciting trip. I reckon it'sup to me to remember the good times andforget the bad. And I wouldn't have missedit, good or bad, for worlds.

For, dear reader (please don't think I'mbragging), I'd rather be lying this moment inan unknown grave in the Gallipoli Peninsulathan be branded for life as a God damnedslacker!

That isn't swearing. It's a pious expression.And, take it either way, it's pardonable.

THE END

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