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Chapter VIII Of the Holding of the Line

—Tennyson.

After a month's furious fighting the British had won a foothold upon the Peninsula but were not able to do more than hold the ground that had been won. No fresh attack could be made until heavy reinforcements arrived. Both sides settled down to consolidate their positions and to wait. It was trench warfare as on the Western Front.

Trenches were deepened and fresh support and reserve lines dug wherever possible. Secret saps were made sometimes in front of the main line. Communication trenches were dug, wherever possible, to make for greater security. Sandbag screens covered many of the corners that had been most heavily sniped. Cunningly concealed "possies" were constructed for the machine-guns—especially for those that were never to fire except in the event of a great enemy attack. Snipers were hidden away in holes and corners and behind cleverly camouflaged loopholes.

At dawn a man in the line exposes himself a page 74thought too long. Crack! a bullet pierces his brain and he collapses a limp heap in the bottom of the trench. But a sniper in the New Zealand line has picked up from the sound of that single shot the general direction from which it came. With his fieldglasses he searches the enemy parapet. There seems no break, no sign of a loophole. A few yards to the rear though are patches of scrub that might conceal isolated rifle pits. Slowly the scorching day wears toward evening. The very twigs on the bushes seem motionless and so night falls. Next morning a cap is raised on a bayonet point. Crack! it flies in the air. A moment later and a periscope is shattered but the enemy marksman in his eagerness to follow the result of his shot shakes one of the stunted bushes. It is seen and the New Zealander settles down grimly to wait for the next move and again the day passes.

But that night Hussein Aga, the Turk, receives bad news from his family. His brother's wife is dead and the brother conscripted. His daughter is in trouble and his own wife is pleading for money. He is preoccupied and allows himself to be drawn into shooting at periscopes, and this time his exact position is marked. A dummy head is exposed and then rapidly withdrawn. It goes up again cautiously. The Turk fires and then quietly collapses for a New Zealand bullet has caught him between the eyes.

"That will set some bint weeping in Constantinople," remarks the Sunday-school teacher who had waited for two days to kill a man. He cuts a notch page 75in the butt of his rifle and goes off to breakfast to receive the congratulations of his mates.

On great battlefields there are always points upon which the whole fury of combat seems to centre— where the war is always alive and the slaughter never ceases. Of such was the Dead Man at Verdun, Delville Wood on the Somme, Polderhoek Chateau on the field of Ypres, Rossignol Wood— the Copse 125 of Junger—and Quinn's Post at Anzac.

Quinn's Post had at all costs to be held for it covered Shrapnel Valley the vital artery of the Anzac position. The day of the landing the first rush had gone well beyond the crest, but the attackers had been thrust back until behind them there was only the steep cliff falling down to Monash. So close were the front and support lines that the earth from the parados of one was touching the parapet of the other. Tunnels were dug from trench to trench to make the passage secure. In places, these had been sapped through the bodies of the dead. The Post was noisome and pestilent. Loathsome and terrible vermin crawled about. The winds blew continuously from the Turkish trenches across No Man's Land where lay the unburied dead. The air was poisoned with the stench.

The Turks had pressed close up. At the nearest point their trench was distant only fifteen yards. Neither side would budge an inch. We held on for dear life—the Turks to retain a vantage point from which they might strike a blow at the heart. Attack and counter attack succeeded each other with bewild-page 76ering rapidity. Once the Turks rushed the front line but were bombed out after a bloody struggle. On other occasions their front line was lost and only by desperate efforts could they restore the position. A mine explosion would blow the whole Post down into Monash—so they mined. But mine was met by countermine.

"During the day every inch of parapet was watched by the snipers of both sides. A second's exposure was instant death. Men stood-to all day, bayonets fixed, bombs ready, watching through the periscopes for the slightest movement. A bomb flies up from the enemy line. It is seen in the air. The nearest man runs to the spot and throws an overcoat over it as it touches the ground. Everyone rushes madly away, throws himself flat on the ground, feet toward the coming explosion and waits with set teeth and muscles tensed for the splitting crash. It comes —a blast of devilish noise, a cloud of smoke, dust and flying splinters. The owner of the coat investigates the tatters and finds a plug of priceless tobacco has been ruined. 'D———————the b———————b——————s!' And then, before the words are out of his mouth there is a shout of warning and another explosion. Now the jam-tin bombs, packed with explosives, old nails, odds and ends of various sorts are flying back in retaliation. For ten minutes the air is full of smoke and noise. There is a scream from the Turkish line: 'Allah! Allah!' and then quietness again. But there is a very still figure to be carried out to the little cemetery behind the hill and a couple of others to be helped down the steep track to the page 77dressing station. The trench is straightened up, more bombs brought in and some bloody equipment passed out.

"It is dusk. Between the lights is the most dangerous time and every man is standing-to. Darkness falls. The sentries are up on the firestep now, rifles ready, peering out into the darkness. At any moment may come a shower of bombs or a sudden rush of men, or a mine may be sprung and the whole Post blown out. The night passes slowly. Every now and again a burst of machine-gun fire sweeps the parapet or crackles viciously overhead. The double report of a Mauser rings clear and sharp; a bullet whistles past, or perchance finds lodgment in heart or brain. Dawn comes at last—another anxious hour—then 'stand down' the rum issue and breakfast, followed by another fusillade of bombs."—2/A.R.

On the night of 5-6 June a hundred volunteers from Auckland and Canterbury attacked from Quinn's. Very quietly the parties of assault filed into the line. Bayonets were fixed and magazines charged. Supports were ready to take over the fire trench immediately the attacking parties had gone over. Carrying parties were standing by with loads of filled sandbags, picks, shovels, bombs and everything necessary for consolidation.

"It is eleven o'clock. The batteries from Plugge's Plateau and Walker's Ridge are firing on the Turkish communication saps. The howitzers on Ari Burnu Point join in; so does the little Japanese mortar and an Indian mountain battery. In so many seconds page 78the assaulting parties reach the enemy parapet. The loopholes blaze with fire and the bombs come over. The attackers fire somewhat at random into the dark slit below them. A bomb is hurled into the trench and three loopholes are silent. Another bomb and another; the fire slackens and the men go in with the bayonet. For the first time here is opportunity. At the Landing and at Helles their mates were shot down helplessly and never a Turk would come within reach of the cold steel. But now! 'A-a-ah! a-a-ah!' the old primitive blood-lust is surging up in the hearts of men who, six months before, were wellnigh the flower of civilization. The Turks are beaten. … Their trench is a death-trap. 'Into it! into it! Kill the b——————s.' Now the New Zealanders are all in, stabbing, shooting, bayonets red with blood.

"Thirty Turks surrender and are sent back. Fifty more are dead and their bodies flung out of the trench form a rough parapet in front. The carrying parties rush over with filled sandbags. Turkish bags are torn from the old parapet and changed over. On the extreme left men work feverishly to make a block. It is completed, and two riflemen fire continuously down the dark trench to keep back the enemy who endeavour to work back to bombing range. Three Turks emerge from a dugout and make a desperate attack on those they find nearest. They are very brave men and die fighting rather than surrender. By two o'clock the work is all complete, and if things have gone well elsewhere the position will be held.

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"However, it is not to be, for the Australians have failed above Steele's Post and from there comes an enfilade of machine-gun fire. The Turks are reinforced. Their picked bombing parties are attacking up every communication sap. Dawn breaks and with the clear light the enfilade from Steele's became deadly. One man endeavoured to build up a barricade of sandbags, but the bags were blown from his hands by bursting bombs. Nevertheless he perseveres until he is wounded and can do no more. Men are falling fast The bombs rain in. The enfilade cannot be stopped. The raiders are driven back step by step. At last they were holding only thirty yards of the captured trench. At nine o'clock came the order to retire."—2/A.R.