Read Ebook: The Dardanelles: Colour Sketches From Gallipoli by Wilkinson Norman

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The most interesting place on the ship while firing was in progress was "Monkey Island." This is the platform above the chart-house used in ordinary times for navigation and from which a clear all-round view can be obtained. It was surrounded by a thick protection of canvas packed with cotton-waste, rope, and other odds and ends to render it proof at least against shrapnel and rifle bullets, whilst overhead a thick mat was suspended for the same purpose. It is from this position that the directions are handed on to the guns by voice-pipe from the control on the foremast, where the gunnery lieutenant is stationed.

Soon after the first shot is fired, the tinkle of a bell can be heard. This is the telephone from the wireless-room, where the aeroplane's spotting correction has been received, and the Captain's voice is heard at the voice-pipe from the conning-towers to the fire-control, giving the gunnery officer the correction. Assuming the aeroplane's signal to have been, say, 200 short 50 left, the gunnery lieutenant then gives the corrected range via "Monkey Island" to the guns, or whichever particular gun he wishes to use. The message is handed on by a boy to the gun below, and there repeated by one of the gun's crew back to the fire-control in confirmation. A moment's pause, and the order "Fire" is again given. Immediately a sheet of bright orange flame, and an ear-splitting crash are followed by a vibrating rush of the shell through the air, gradually dying down to a distant sigh. Then just over our point of aim a dirty yellowish cloud rises slowly, showing roughly the spot on which our shell has fallen. At last, after possibly four or five shots, the aeroplane makes the signal "O K," showing that one of our shots has got home in the gun emplacement, and rapid fire opens from all guns which bear on the side engaged.

An instance of the unfailing supply of the lighter side of things was afforded one day when the ship was under fire from Turkish batteries. Everyone was under cover more or less, though it is a very difficult matter to get men who have never been under fire to take cover adequately. The human is a curious animal when he wants to see what is happening, and, as a rule, it was not until a ship had been badly hit and men killed or wounded that the necessity to seek cover seemed to be taken to heart. On the occasion already mentioned the Turks were doing some very good shooting, and a fairly large high-explosive shell burst on the water close to us on the starboard side just abaft the bridge. A large number of shell fragments came inboard, scattering groups of men, who were watching events, without injuring any of them. Their hurried flight caused much hilarity amongst the gun-layers and others already in cover, but any sense of fear on the part of those so dispersed rapidly gave place to a desire to collect souvenirs in the shape of shell-splinters. A piece of shell which has actually come aboard your own ship while you are in her possesses a value to the finder which is peculiarly personal. Consequently the fo'c's'le and waist of the ship immediately became a hunting ground for eager collectors; and as most people know the amount of gear on a ship's deck, it will be understood that there were possibilities of a find in a variety of places. However, the first men on the scene rapidly collected all that could be found, and a large number sought in vain for a memento of the occasion. Amongst these was a member of the crew whose late arrival precluded any chance of finding souvenirs, but whose brain was not slow in supplying a substitute for the much-sought-after booty. Every warship carries a blacksmith's forge, and scattered about in its vicinity are nearly always to be found a number of small pieces of iron of all shapes and sizes, many of them remarkably like shell-splinters. The late-comer quickly turned his attention to these, and, making a rapid collection of the most likely looking fragments, he joined the still eager searchers. Presently, as the enthusiasm waned for want of spoil, he produced a number of deadly looking fragments, some of which he gave to empty-handed shipmates, while others he parted with for small sums. These are now probably looked upon in sundry homes as the "bit o' shell that nearly wiped out poor Bill."

I suppose active service always brings with it periods of dullness and monotony, when any little incident like the foregoing is welcomed with relief. Another event of this kind which seems to me worth recounting caused a good deal of amusement at the time.

On our ship there was a small coterie of non-executive officers, whose particular duties were not called into use when the ship was under fire. The novelty of being fired at having worn off, and the danger of unnecessarily exposing oneself realised, they decided, after interrogating sundry experts on the subject, that the safest place in the ship, short of the indignity of descending below the armoured deck, was the gun-room. We carried no midshipmen, so that the gun-room was occupied only by one or two warrant officers whose duty, during action, mostly lay on deck. It was here, therefore, that the aforesaid coterie gathered as soon as we came under fire, to indulge in a quiet game of bridge. The prolonged immunity of this particular spot from shell-fire had lulled into a sense of security any feelings of apprehension as to the likelihood of a shell finding its way there, the more so as it was not only on the lower deck but on the disengaged side. But the joyful band of card-players received a severe shock. Firing had been in progress for some time, and a few shells of the enemy had pitched near the ship while a game of bridge was in full swing. Suddenly a terrific crash on the starboard side, followed by a big explosion, denoted the arrival of a shell in their immediate vicinity. It had penetrated the side exactly opposite the gun-room, and, bursting, fortunately in a store-room , hurled several large fragments through the open door into the midst of the players without actually touching one of them. The luckiest escape was that of an officer who was standing in the doorway at the time leaning with one hand high up on the side of the entrance. A fragment of shell passed beneath his arm close over the heads of the players and buried itself in the casing on the inside of the ship. The whole flat outside was filled with dust and d?bris, and it was some moments before the occupants could get sufficiently sorted out to realise that no injuries had been received. Needless to say, this rude disturbance caused a somewhat hurried exit from the "safest" place in the ship, and great was the chaff which had to be endured by the erstwhile inhabitants, the more so as this was the only hit scored by the enemy on that day.

TRAWLERS IN THE DARDANELLES

The work of the trawlers in the Dardanelles demands special mention. The men running these vessels are in the majority of cases elderly, and the ships themselves were never intended to come under fire; yet these men have constantly been in very hot places, and have gone there knowing what was in store for them.

The ships have been used for every conceivable kind of work. They have carried stores, troops, mails and munitions. They have been engaged in mine-sweeping, patrolling and towing nets. They have tackled the elusive submarine; in fact, they have done everything that can be thought of short of bombarding forts, and they would cheerfully take this job on if required. Here is the typical day of a trawler during general ferry work, on which I took passage.

We left Kephalo early in the morning, calling first at Anzac, then at Helles; from there to Rabbit Island and Tenedos; back to Helles, and, if required, to Anzac again. Generally from Helles this trawler would go direct to Kephalo. The round is seventy odd miles. Every morning on starting, the skipper knew the ship would come under shell-fire at Anzac almost without fail, as the anchorage is commanded by the Turkish guns, and any sign of movement, or of ships arriving or leaving, invariably brought its accompaniment of shells. I gathered from him that this had been his daily lot for four months.

He was a fine type of North Sea skipper, and took everything as it came with a stoicism which was admirable. He didn't like it--nobody does; but it was his job, and there was an end of it!

The day on which I took passage with him was typical of all the others. We left Kephalo at seven in the morning, the sun well up and already hot, blue sky, blue sea and a very light breeze. Anzac, our first port of call, showed up clearly some twelve miles off, standing out, by reason of its distinctive character, from the rest of the coast. Rising between the flat sandy beaches--C beach and Brighton beach--it looked as if the Sari Bair range had suddenly been chopped off or slipped into the sea. Here were no foot-hills sloping gently to the coast, but abrupt sandstone precipices looking very unfinished in the brilliant morning light.

The fact that our reception, of which I had already been warned, would be as usual, was borne out on nearing the coast. The Anzac water-steamer, lying some 3000 yards out waiting for lighters to come off, attracted the attention of the enemy. When we got fairly close to her we heard a distant bang, which told us the Turks were awake. Now a gun being fired at you is unmistakable and quite different from one of your own guns, though the latter may be much louder. In this case, although only a second or two intervened between the report and the splash of the shell, it gave time for speculation as to what was the enemy's objective. The shell fell about fifty yards short of the water-boat, and was followed immediately by another which straddled her, pitching about the same distance over. On this, she rapidly got under weigh and stood out to sea, followed by a number of rounds which were ineffective.

Anzac, as we left it with the morning sun right overhead, looked a most forbidding spot. The deep, gloomy shadows of the gullies were accentuated by the brilliant sun lighting up each knife-edged ridge. One could picture the scene on that morning of April 25, when the gallant troops from Australia and New Zealand made their wonderful landing on this inhospitable shore.

The base camp from the sea gave an impression of a burnt-up waste. The long occupation had removed every sign of vegetation, and nothing remained but yellow sand and clouds of dust driving seaward in the freshening breeze.

The place was teeming with life, apparently oblivious of the falling shells. The whole face of the sand-cliff was honeycombed with dug-outs and roads cut for transport, and the beaches were covered with the endless paraphernalia of a camp in war-time.

Our next place of call was Rabbit Island, to the south of Helles. As we left the end of the peninsula, a wonderful panorama could be obtained of the whole position. Achi Baba loomed over all, while to the right Seddul Bahr, the entrance to the Dardanelles, and the Asiatic shore showed clearly. It was here that the disastrous attack of April 18 took place, which showed us the futility of forcing the Narrows without an adequate landing force acting in co-operation.

Our stay at Rabbit Island was short. Only one or two ships lay there. The island itself is a barren hummock of very small extent, and of little value except for the special use to which it is being put. Some ships' boats came off for fleet letters and a few mails, after which we took our departure for Tenedos.

Tenedos, one of the most flourishing of the islands in the vicinity of the Dardanelles, is used by us and the French as an aeroplane base. The picturesque harbour is surrounded by quaint buildings, with an ancient fort dominating the whole. A short stay here completed our business. The return journey to Helles and Kephalo was uneventful. True, our reception at Helles was disturbed somewhat by a 6-inch shell, which fell immediately astern of us as we were approaching our anchorage. Fortunately, this was a solo, for, though we momentarily anticipated the usual chorus, nothing further occurred to disturb our peace of mind. None the less, I must say I looked forward to an early departure; but this was disposed of temporarily by the arrival of a picket-boat with orders to wait for two naval officers. However, this only delayed us some twenty minutes, when we took our leave of Helles, arriving at Kephalo at dusk.

BEACH-PARTIES

In the various landings in Gallipoli it naturally came about that the Navy, after the actual disembarkation of the troops, had a great deal of work to do in connection with the incessant stream of material, stores, etc., and this necessitated more or less permanent beach-parties, composed of bluejackets who lived and had their being with the soldiers at the base camps. A naval captain, as beach master, one or two lieutenants and midshipmen to run the picket-boats, and a number of seamen ratings comprised these parties. It was their duty to see to the handling of the transports, landing of stores, and the various other jobs which come natural to a sailor where sea and shore meet. The bluejacket takes a different view of life from the soldier. This is not surprising, for his mode of life and training is peculiar to the Navy. Certainly the sailors on the beaches were generally regarded with considerable interest by their military companions. A Major with whom I came in contact gave me an entertaining account of the naval camp situated close to his dug-out. It appeared at the commencement of activities on shore that the collecting of souvenirs, in the shape of shell-splinters, shrapnel cases, or anything of this nature, was greatly in vogue, and developed into something of a fine art. As a rule, when the Turks began to shell the beaches, every one whose occupation would allow, dived into his dug-out and remained there until the firing had ceased. The sailors' camp was no exception to this; but however hot the fire, one or more heads would invariably be seen projecting from the entrance to the dug-out somewhat like a tortoise looking out from his shell. An instinctive knowledge seemed to be possessed by the owners of the heads where a shell in flight was likely to pitch. The moment the explosion had taken place a number of men carrying spades would emerge from the dug-outs, race across the sand and scrub to the spot and begin a furious digging competition for fragments.

Sailors have been trained from youth up to regard anything and everything, from a piece of string to a traction engine, as likely to be of use at some time or other. Consequently their dug-outs were museums of all the flotsam and jetsam which a military base provides in war-time, and, I imagine, a good deal which does not come into this category.

The Major, who seemed so entertained with the beach-party and its doings, told me that immediately after the Suvla Bay landing, and during the advance on the left flank, it was his duty to take charge of a considerable amount of unused Turkish field-gun ammunition amounting to some 700 rounds. Now there is probably nothing which appeals to the collector of battlefield souvenirs so much as a complete cartridge case and shell. This makes a beautiful trophy when polished and gives the possessor somewhat the same feeling as a schoolboy who obtains a rare unused stamp which he knows to be genuine.

The ammunition in question was to be sent down to the base, where instructions would be given as to its disposal. Oddly enough, soon after arrival it appeared to be slowly and steadily diminishing, and reports reached the Major of dark figures having been seen flitting about the store at night. On his return to the base the number of shells had been reduced to some 300, and for a long time their disappearance was wrapped in mystery. One day, however, when on his way to call on a brother officer, the Major's direction lay through the beach-parties' camp. Whilst passing one of the dug-outs he was surprised to hear a sharp explosion and to see four sailors hurl themselves into the open through the diminutive doorway. One had a somewhat blackened face and very little eyebrows or front hair, whilst the others were in the evident enjoyment of a good joke. Inquiries elicited the fact that the hurried exit was caused by the premature explosion of a shell-fuse which was being coaxed into yielding up its active properties with the aid of a jack-knife or some similar weapon. A closer inspection of the dug-out disclosed the fact that amongst many other trophies of war a considerable number of the missing shells played a large part in the decoration of the interior. Most of them had already undergone the aforesaid operation, and, with charges drawn, now stood ready to be sent home, when opportunity should offer, to grace the parlour mantelpiece.

In the matter of clothes the sailors showed a marked disinclination to wear anything provided for them. They were supplied with khaki, as white would be far too conspicuous; but, being ashore, and feeling, I suppose, something of a sense of relaxed discipline, it was almost impossible to get them to wear the clothes served out. Consequently you saw the strangest collection of garments being worn in the beach-parties' camp. An order to wear the clothes provided would produce a return to regulation dress for a day, or possibly two, after which most of the men would again be wearing the kit which suited their particular tastes. It was found hopeless to try and enforce the rule. After all, in a case of this kind, and under the peculiar circumstances, it is perhaps better to indulge a man's fancy as long as it does not affect the work in hand and keeps him cheerful and happy.

A naval officer, whose duties lay on shore, told me this story one day which I think is good enough to relate.

He was outside his dug-out one afternoon and chanced to see two men passing in strange raiment. The combination of gait and the fact that both were wearing navy flannels told him at once that they were blue-jackets. Anxious to know what their special mission might be, he stopped and questioned them.

"Where are you going?"

"Motor-lighter K--, sir."

"Do you belong there?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Well, sir," "we've just been up to the trenches."

"Were you sent there with orders?"

"Er--no, sir."

"How long have you been up there?"

"'Ow long, sir?" "When was it we went up, Bill?" "I should say about four days, sir."

It is difficult to imagine the point of view of men leaving the trenches with regret.

I believe I am right in saying that at the original landing at Helles many blue-jackets in charge of the landing-parties, whose boats had been sunk by the terrible fire, though they themselves escaped uninjured, joined with the soldiers in the advance on bare feet and with boat-hooks for weapons.

Here is an incident which came under my personal notice, and though not really belonging to this chapter on beach-parties is nevertheless indirectly connected with the subject. It serves to illustrate the humorous spirit obtaining in the fleet, and occurred on a ship to which I was attached for some time. Our gunner, a man who had seen a great deal of service in almost every part of the world, was blessed with a large sense of the ridiculous. Now, the ship's carpenter seemed to possess an extraordinary attraction for shells, inasmuch as in whatever part of the ship he happened to be when we were under fire a shell invariably seemed to arrive in his close vicinity. This had happened so often that it got on his nerves. It occurred to the gunner that the shining hour might be improved by a little gentle attention on his part. It must be understood that what he did was done entirely to amuse himself and not from a wish to play to the gallery. One day, when several shells had fallen near us and to which we were not replying at the time, he ensconced himself behind an iron door leading from the battery on to the quarter-deck, which door was standing open at right angles to the doorway itself. Having provided himself with an iron bar, he kept vigil there in the hope that an occasion might arise which would take the carpenter past his hiding-place. His wait, though long, was not unrewarded. The unwary carpenter came along the battery and out on to the quarter-deck, and at the moment of passing the gunner the latter delivered a tremendous blow on his own side of the iron door with the bar. The effect on the carpenter exceeded the gunner's wildest dreams, and caused infinite amusement amongst those of us who witnessed the incident, for we had been wondering what could be the meaning of the gunner's manoeuvres.

SUBMARINES

It is, of course, a debatable point in this war, the first in which submarines have played a large part, to what extent they have justified their existence. Certain it is that as a moral force they are in a very strong position. Our own main battle-fleets have had to take very complete measures for protection against this form of attack. Any excursions to sea must always be done at high speed with an advance guard of destroyers and other light craft, though there is consolation in the fact that the fleet of the enemy have chosen to remain in more or less land-locked harbours with elaborate boomed defences. At the same time it is certain that the war at sea cannot be brought to a final end by the submarine, but must eventually be settled by the Capital ship.

If it could ever be known, which I fear is impossible, how many torpedoes have been fired at warships without taking effect , it would only go to show the difficulties encountered by the submarine and the immunity of the fast vessel. Add to this the large number of enemy submarines destroyed, nearly all by means evolved since war began , and it is only reasonable to presume that, when times of peace come again, it will not be long before means are arrived at which will render surface vessels almost entirely immune from this form of attack.

Everyone is agreed that one of the brightest spots in our campaign in the Dardanelles has been supplied by the British submarines. If there are still people at home who ask what the Navy is doing, one can point to these vessels as an example of what the whole Navy would do had they any scope in which to exercise their activities.

But we are dealing with an enemy who feels that he has nothing to gain and everything to lose by seeking an engagement. The impossibility of forcing his stronghold must be obvious to the least enlightened.

Our submarines out here have penetrated what most naval men would have declared to be an impassable barrier until it became an achieved fact. Think of the obstacles their crews have surmounted: rows of mines susceptible to the lightest touch, nets completely across the Narrows, and last, but not least, a strong current flowing seawards. Only then can you begin to realise the difficulties and dangers in endeavouring to gain an entrance into the Sea of Marmora and the main sea route for the Turkish water-borne supplies. The following signal, typical of many others, "E-- arrived in Sea of Marmora without trouble, torpedoed a steamer in False Bay on her way," furnishes an indication that these desperate ventures are undertaken as a matter of course.

I met Commander Nasmith one afternoon at Kephalo. He had just returned from an aeroplane flight up the Narrows after an investigation of the net defence placed across at that point to prevent submarines from penetrating into the Sea of Marmora. He did not seem very much impressed, and his judgment was justified next day when he took E11 through the defences and arrived in Marmora without mishap. The train-like regularity with which our submarines have accomplished this task is apt to make the venture appear commonplace to the newspaper reader, who may imagine that there is some easy road which, when once found, is plain-sailing. Nothing could be further from the truth. Every submarine that goes up does so with the full knowledge of the dangers to be faced, and the occasional loss of one of them shows the perils incurred.

In the early stages of the operations the net across the Narrows could be negotiated by diving under it; but, on a subsequent occasion, a submarine returning to the open sea found that the Turks had placed a deeper net in position. This particular submarine fouled the net at a depth of over one hundred feet, and was actually hung up by stout wire for upwards of fifteen minutes. It is impossible to imagine anything more likely to unnerve men than to be caught like herrings in a net below the surface, and actually to hear, as they did, hydrostatic bombs exploding around them. The Turks would know, of course, by the agitation of the net above, that a submarine was caught; however, by going astern and then ahead, and allowing her whole weight to come on the net, the vessel broke through and returned in safety.

Possibly at some future time a fuller description may be written when all the facts become known of the adventures of our submarines in this inland sea. These should certainly supply the historian with some of the most romantic episodes of the war.

WOUNDED

The handling of wounded in the Dardanelles has been a difficult proposition, which the nature of the country has not tended to lessen. The injured men have to be taken off the shore by small boats and then transferred to hospital ships.

These ships are obliged to lie off some distance clear of rifle-bullets and shell-fire. Even then, several cases have occurred of men already wounded receiving further injury through stray shots reaching the ships.

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