Even as the military feat of the landing was unparalleled, so the situation now presenting itself to the staff was unique. Nowhere in history could be found any precedent. This was not an ordinary strategical or tactical retreat. With our farthest post about 3,000 yards from the sea; with a No Man's Land in many places only 20 yards wide; with the opposing trenches held by an unbeaten enemy—we had to disengage ourselves, march down narrow defiles, and embark from flimsy piers, each one of which was liable to be heavily shelled during the operation. This was no time for muddling through. Cool and ingenious brains propounded plan after plan. The orthodox thing would have been to attack everywhere but at Anzac and Suvla, and under cover of these diversions, seek to beat a retreat. But for many reasons this method did not commend itself. Already indiscreet people in high places had openly talked of evacuating the Peninsula. The Press of England had discussed the matter, and the Turk was bound to be suspicious. So it was decided that the enemy must be deceived as much as possbile. A rumour became persistent that Lord Kitchener, with a great new army, would land and make one last grand effort on Christmas Day.

Secret instructions were issued to officers that the evacuation would be accomplished in three distinct phases. First: all surplus men, supplies, and animals were to be sent away. Secondly: during December 13 and 14, a whole battalion and regiment should go out of each brigade—this alone would reduce the force by over a fourth. Thirdly: on the nights of December 19 and 20 there should embark the last rearguard, specially selected men, in numbers just strong enough to hold the line.

With the memory of the blizzard and its accompanying wind—the wrecked piers at Imbros and Anzac were mute evidence of its fury—General Munro decided to accelerate page 279 the evacuation of Anzac and Suvla. On December 8, General Birdwood was ordered to prepare a detailed plan for the daring and perilous enterprise. Almost everything depended on the weather. Unless anything unforseen happened, Rear-Admiral Wemyss undertook to remove all the troops by the night of Sunday, December 19.

Men who had battled on with complaints, only parading sick for treatment, now found that if they complained of the most trivial ailment they were sent away to the hospital ship. It was announced that only the fittest men were to be kept on the Peninsula during the winter. Every night saw the outgoing barges crowded to their fullest capacity; but as it grew light a great show of landing troops would be made—an effort that was not lost upon the Turks, who erected barbed wire more vigorously than ever.

[Lent by Lieut. Moritzson, M.C., M.M., N.Z.E.
Preparing for the Evacuation.
The small trestles prepared by the engineers, ready for the decking. They were only to be used in case of emergency.

The evidence gradually became too strong for most men. Parties visiting the beach found ordnance and supply officers astonishingly openhanded. Tinned fish, condensed milk, different varieties of jam and other rarities could be had for the carrying away. Officers' coats, leather leggings, puttees, and many pairs of boots were appropriated. Men going back to the front line looked like itinerant hawkers. Toiling up one of the deres a trooper called to a friend “How's this for evacuation?” A brigadier overheard the page 280 remark and bounced out of his dugout. “Who's that talking about evacuation? Don't you know there's an order against using the word? Anyway, there is no evacuation!” The trooper, while lugubriously examining his assortment of ordnance stores, preserved a silence so eloquent that even the attendant staff officer had to turn his face away. “What have you got to say for yourself?” said the brigadier, who felt that he was losing ground. “Nothing,” said the quiet trooper, “but I never signed for these,” and he held up a pair of gum boots. The brigadier retired before the evidence of such unparalleled generosity.

The Order to Evacuate.

On December 8 it was decided to withdraw those guns that were not required for a passive defence. On December 12, 19 guns of varying calibre, belonging to the N.Z. and A. Division, were embarked. On the same day it was announced that a Rest Camp had been formed at Imbros to which units would go in turn during the winter. Some men still thought it was all a big bluff, but were inclined to be convinced upon the departure of the 3rd and 10th Australian Light Horse Regiments, the Auckland Mounted Rifles, the Otago Infantry Battalion, the Maori Contingent, the 15th Australian Infantry Battalion and other details from the New Zealand and Australian Division.

But the decision could not be concealed indefinitely, and the following order was issued on December 16:

“The Army Corps Commander wishes all ranks of your Division to be now informed of the operations that are about to take place, and a message conveyed to them from him, to say that he deliberately takes them into his confidence, trusting to their discretion and high soldiery qualities to carry out a task, the success of which will largely depend on their individual efforts.

If every man makes up his mind that he will leave the trenches quietly when his turn comes, and sees that everybody else does the same, and that up to that time he will carry on as usual, there will be no difficulty of any kind, and the Army Corps Commander relies on the page 281 good sense and proved trustworthiness of every man of the Corps to ensure that this is done.

In case by any chance we are attacked on either days, the Army Corps Commander is confident that the men who have to their credit such deeds as the original landing at Anzac, the repulse of the big Turkish attack on May 18, the capture of Lone Pine, the Apex and Hill 60, will hold their ground with the same valour and steadfastness as heretofore, however small in numbers they may be; and he wishes all men to understand that it is impossible for the Turk to know or tell what our numbers are, even up to the last portion of “C” party on the last night, as long as we stand our ground.”

Officers who knew the state of affairs were greatly relieved at the decision, but sick at heart now that the blow had fallen. To give up Anzac and all that it meant! To leave the place where our brothers and friends were lying! Out there in No Man's Land graves were marked where men had fallen, but no cross had been erected, and now the chance was slipping away. Men crept out at night to pay their last visits to those lonely graves. One soldier writing home voiced the undisguised emotion of many:

“My goodness, Mother, how it did go to our hearts—after all we had gone through—how we had slaved and fought—fought and slaved again—and then to think that we had been sizzled in the heat, tortured by flies and thirst, and later nearly frozen to death. It was hard to be told we must give it up. But it was not our wasted energy and sweat that really grieved us. In our hearts it was to know we were leaving our dead comrades behind. That was what every man had in his mind. We thought, too, of you people in New Zealand and what you might think of us. Believe me, it is far harder to screw one's courage up for running away than it is to screw it up for an attack!”

But now that the decision had been made, everyone worked with a will. The horses and mules, valuable vehicles and guns were mostly embarked before the last two nights. The Division withdrew 53 guns in all, only 12 being page 282 left for the last night. The batteries were ordered to continue firing in “an extraordinary erratic manner” in order to mystify the enemy. The gunners were busy burying and otherwise destroying surplus stores. The enemy gunners were very energetic during the last three days. Round Russell's Top their shells arrived in myriads, and quite noticeably of better quality. Each battery was reduced until only one gun remained. The New Zealand gunners were determined that they would get all their horses away, and every gun. In order to facilitate an uninterrupted passage for the last night, resourceful and hard-working artillerymen prepared bridges and cuttings to get their beloved pieces away. The last gun from Russell's Top had to cross a perfect maze of communication trenches, but the men refused to rest until the ten improvized bridges were ready for the eventful night.

Preparing for the Big Bluff.

Thursday and Friday nights came, and in the darkness, crowded barges were towed out to the transports lying out to sea. On Friday night an accident occurred that certainly invited disaster. Great piles of stores in all the depots were soaked in kerosene and petrol and made ready for firing just before leaving. By some mischance the heaps at Anzac Cove burst into flame, lighting up the scene like day—with the troops waiting on the beach; the picket boats with their loads puffing in and out; and away out to sea, the waiting transports and the destroyers, ever vigilant. So light it became that the embarkation of troops had to be discontinued. Still the Turk made no sign beyond directing a few shells towards the long tongue of flame. It transpired afterwards that he was under the impression that the valuable stores had been set ablaze by his shell-fire!

By day there was little rest. There seemed to be a thousand things to be done in the short time available. Much material had to be destroyed, rather than let it fall into the hands of the Turk. Ammunition was buried or dropped into the sea. Condensed milk that would have been invaluable earlier in the campaign was destroyed page 283 by punching holes in the tins with bayonets. Jar after jar of rum was smashed. Blankets by the thousand and piles of clothing were saturated with petrol ready to be burned. Everything of value to the Turk was made valueless.

“Safe Road to Beach.”

At Suvla where there was more room than at Anzac, an inner position was prepared by the erection of a strong barbed wire fence eight feet high, with great gates across the roads. At Anzac, barricades were made in all the principal deres and communication trenches. A final covering position, manned by machine gunners, was page 284 prepared. Its left flank was on No. 1 Post, and ran by way of Walker's Ridge, across to Plugge's Plateau and so down Maclagan's Ridge to the sea, very much the lme decided on when the re-embarkation after the April landing was momentarily considered. Oh! the what-might-have-beens of those eight tragic months!

There were now only two nights to go, Saturday night and Sunday night. The 20,000 troops remaining at Anzac and Suvla were to be evacuated at the rate of 10,000 per night. The numbers from our division were 3491 on the second last night, and the final 3000 on the last night.

The line from Suvla to Chatham's Post was held as follows:

9th Army Corps—The Suvla front up to and including, Hill 60;

N.Z. & A. Division—from the right of Hill 60 to the Apex;

1st and 2nd Australian Divisions—from Walker's Ridge to Chatham's Post.

The Suvla Army embarked from the piers in Suvla Bay and on the Ocean Beach. The New Zealanders and Australians on the left of Anzac had to come down the three principal deres to the piers on Ocean Beach. The Australians from the centre and right of Anzac naturally moved down Shrapnel Gully and along the beach from the extreme right towards the piers at Anzac Cove.

The New Zealand Brigades were now disposed as follows:

The Mounted Rifles would come down the Aghyl Dere, and the N.Z. Infantry down the Chailak Dere to the Williams Pier on North Beach.

A divisional rendezvous was formed at No. 2 Post. Here the troops paraded according to a timetable, and were drafted into groups of 400—the capacity of those big motor lighters that the men had christened “beetles.”

All through the night of that last Saturday at Anzac the little groups assembled, and were packed into the lighters. By 4.30 a.m. on December 19, the last beetle cleared from the shore leaving the “Diehards” of the Division, only 3,000 strong, to hold the line against a mighty army.

It was an anxious day, but there was much to do. Men devised all sorts of mechanism to keep rifles going mechanically after the last party had left. The favourite method was as follows: It takes a certain amount of pressure to pull the trigger of a rifle. After many experiments a device was perfected whereby an empty tin was suspended by a piece of string to the trigger of a loaded rifle. Another tin full of water, but with a small hole in it, was placed above the empty one, so that the water leaked into the bottom one, thus gradually increasing the weight until it was sufficient to pull the trigger!

Actors at Anzac.

In an endeavour to mystify the Turk observers, the few men left at Anzac became very energetic. With packs up they marched uphill wherever the Turk might see them. Like actors impersonating a crowd in a moving picture studio, these small bodies of men passed ostentatiously backwards and forwards until they were tired.

Reinforcement drafts always went in reserve for a time after their arrival, so down in Reserve Gully and Waterfall Gully enthusiastic parties entertained themselves and mystified the enemy by spreading out blankets to dry even as the new arrivals did! The innumerable small fires that smoked incessantly were made to smoke more copiously than ever, for the Turks must fully understand that the great new army was now arriving in strength.

Every man ate as much as he could of the tinned goods now so plentiful. Pennies were tossed freely in the air— “Heads for Constantinople; tails for Cairo!” Everybody was in great spirits and betrayed no anxiety. There was little departure from the normal, except that at the Apex there was heavier shelling than usual.

A, B, and C Parties.

The 3,000 men of the Division still to be withdrawn were divided into three: A, parties totalling 1,300; B, parties totalling 1,100; and C, parties totalling 600. All of A and B were to withdraw and embark as the parties of the preceding night—they came to the divisional rendezvous and embarked in their groups of 400. It was quickly decided that if A parties were for Alexandria, B parties must be for the Beach, and C for Constantinople.

Up the deres, great wire gates had been erected so that if the force was attacked the gates would be shut down and the garrison left to its own resource—to fight where it stood and cover the retirement until 2 a.m., and then retire down the ridges to the beach. It would not be possible to come down the ordinary communication trenches in the deres, for on the sign of an attack, the great barbed gates were to be dropped into place in the entanglements and the deres themselves heavily shelled by the warships. The “last ditchers” were to be sacrificed for the army. There was no lack of volunteers. Australians and New Zealanders; New Army men and Yeomanry; men who had been there since the landing, and men who had recently arrived as reinforcements; men of Anzac and Suvla alike—vied with each other in the endeavour to become included in the “Diehards.” These men—whether they came from Midlothian or Yorkshire, Queensland or far Taranaki—were all volunteers, proud of their race and the Empire, and convinced of their personal superiority over the seemingly victorious foe. Messages were left warning the Turk he was on the wrong side, exhorting him to look after our scattered graves and the unburied dead of No Man's Land, and promising to return again and punish all the allies of the Germans.

A rear party of the No. 1 Field Ambulance was detailed to look after the wounded should disaster overtake the rearguard. They were each equipped with a surgical haversack containing field dressing and morphia. The dressing stations were left equipped with the necessary instruments, so that if the Turk did appreciate the situation and come page 287 over in force, the wounded might be tended by our own men. It was thought that life-boats from the Hospital Ships might be allowed to approach the shore and take away the serious cases. Luckily there were no casualties in the division, nor, in fact, in the Army Corps.

Watching for the Turk.

The day was fairly quiet, but at about 11 o'clock in the morning the kinema actors had so impressed the Turks that much heavy shell was dropped into the communication trenches leading from the beach, and into the gullies where the reserves usually bivouacked. Thanks to the great dugouts constructed for the winter, there were no casualties.

At 4 o'clock that afternoon, the Turkish shelling increased very much in intensity. Was this a preliminary bombardment before the attack? But the shelling ceased with the sunset, and everything became normal once more.

The Last Night.

The sun went down that evening on a wondrously peaceful scene. The peaks of Samothrace and Imbros were bathed in the glow of a glorious golden sunset. The sea was unruffled by the faintest breeze. Faint wisps of clouds floated lazily across the sky, fitfully obscuring the moon. As soon as it was dark men became very busy.

At ten minutes past six the last gun fired its last shot from Russell's Top, and its removal to the beach commenced over the temporary bridges, down through the wider trenches, past much barbed wire entanglement—over cliff-sides and down Walker's Ridge the proud gunners triumphantly brought their charge, and before eight o'clock were safely embarked on their waiting transports.

Two much-worn guns—not New Zealand ones, but attached to our division—were rendered useless and abandoned. One was a 5-inch howitzer in Australian Valley, the other a 3-pounder Hotchkiss in the Aghyl Dere.

All the men were travelling very light. Previous parties had taken the “Diehards” kits and impedimenta. With a rifle and bayonet and a stock of hand grenades the men of the rearguards took up their positions in the front line. Machine guns were carefully looked to. Ammunition was plentiful. If the Turk did come over he would pay a big price. As one of the normal smells of Anzac was that of tobacco smoke, men smoked packet after packet, and pipe upon pipe. Out to sea, the traffic was quite noticeable to the anxious watchers on the hillside.

A and B Parties Leave.

Soon after dusk the men of the A parties at Anzac and Suvla said goodbye to their comrades of B and C, marched to their respective divisional rendezvous, and passed down the sandbag-muffled piers to the waiting “beetles.”

Early on that last night many were confident that the Turk was completely fooled. If he had wanted to attack he would have attacked before dark: if he attacked at dawn he would be too late. If he had known, as some clever people say, that we were leaving, would it not have been a page 289 “tremendous victory” if he had come boldly on and overwhelmed the “Diehards?” He certainly would have taken no prisoners—the men of Anzac would have attended to that. But the fact is: the Turk helped us at the evacuation in the same degree as he helped us at the landing!

B party commenced to leave at nine o'clock. It was very hard to go. What might happen to the waiting men of C? However, the barges were waiting and the timing could not be arranged otherwise. So, with a “Goodbye, boys! see you in Cairo!” on their lips, but with misgivings in their hearts, the second last parties left their posts and made for the rendezvous. By 11.25 all of A and B parties were safely embarked without a casualty.

Those left moved quickly from place to place, firing their rifles in order to preserve the “normality” of things. The old trench mortars coughed spasmodically, and the Turks returned the compliment. Away on Walker's Ridge several very heavy bursts of firing broke out. Men could not help questioning themselves. Was Quinn's Post holding out with so numerically weak a garrison? Quinn's that had cost so much to hold all those weary months. It was hard to give up Quinn's!

And Lone Pine! Where the glorious men of those veteran battalions made such a sacrifice for the sake of Anzac—and for the sake of Suvla. These last men, with their boots muffled in sandbags, crept back and meditated at Brown's Dip with its rows of silent eloquent graves. The dead men took Lone Pine from the Turks, the survivors held it against angry hordes, to-night the rearguard was to hand it quietly back!

The men of the New Zealand Infantry Brigade looked out towards The Farm and the fatal crest above it, and thought of those boys who in August went straight for the ridge of Chunuk and doggedly waited for the help from the left, the help that never came. Here the last New Zealanders stood fingering their trigger guards—holding the line at the Apex, only 2,000 yards from the sea. Eight months of incessant striving, a gain of 2,000 yards of bare clay hillside, a loss of so many valuable lives!

And Hill 60! Where the New Zealand Mounted Rifles had refused to be worsted when others fell back! Hill 60! Now honeycombed with galleries hewn out with such an expenditure of blood and sweat. These men of the C parties could not help feeling that the dead deserved a better fate than this. Yet what could be done? No men could have achieved more. If the men of Anzac had failed, they certainly had been faithful failures.

No pains were spared to make everything appear normal. Some men went round lighting candles in the empty dugouts, others concocted placards to welcome the Turks. The soldiers bore no malice. “Goodbye Johnnie, see you soon in the Suez Canal;” and “Remember you didn't push us off, we simply went,” are typical. Others were more amusing if not quite so polite! Men wandered up and down firing occasional shots, and at 11.30 the message came round to the men in the line that everywhere the plans were working without a hitch and well up to time. In front of the Apex and near Hill 60 the Turks were putting out more wire in anticipation of the big attack on Christmas Day. They evidently interpreted the shipping off the coast as the prelude to a big attack.

The Last Anxious Moments.

Midnight came and the firing died down as was the normal custom. Slowly the minutes crept by. One o'clock! Still there was no alarm. Some men began to feel the tension very keenly. Everybody else was safe. Would C party get away? At 1.30 the first of the C parties commenced to come in. At 1.45 the duty machine gun at the Apex fired three shots three times in rapid succession. This was the signal for all the machine guns of our infantry brigade to withdraw. With a quarter of the remaining infantry, the gunners marched down the gullies and joined up with the other detachments. The organization worked like clockwork. One party was two minutes early in the Chailak Dere and was halted by its captain until, to the second, the little party resumed its march and dovetailed into the long column now winding down the gully towards the muffied piers.

At two o'clock another party left. The men of the last group were now looking anxiously at their wristlet watches, page 291

[Photo by Capt. Wilding, N.Z.F.A.
Off Anzac: A Gun of the 6th Howitzer Battery.

which had been carefully synchronized. At about 2.15 each man in the trenches quietly walked out into the nearest communication trench. There was little time to lose. The gate in the Chailak Dere was to be closed at 2.25. Here a staff officer carefully checked the numbers and made sure that all were accounted for.

The New Zealand Mounted Rifles.

Between the 4th Australian Brigade on Cheshire Ridge and the Welsh Horse at Hill 60, were the New Zealand Mounted Rifles. They had the farthest to march from the left flank. But officers had stepped it out and carefully timed the journey from their front line trench to the pier. With careful timing of watches, they got away their A and B parties to the minute.

Last of all came the Canterbury Mounted Rifles, who were steadily sticking to their schedule time of 2 miles per hour. Hand-grenades were tossed into the sea. The motor barges were quickly crowded. As the loaded “beetles” moved slowly out from Anzac a deafening roar and a blinding explosion occurred. Our great mine on the Nek had been detonated. The Turk trenches instantly burst into flame.

[Lent by Lieut. Lockyer, W.M.R.
The Wastage of War.
Boots dumped on the wharf at Alexandria after the evacuation.

Fires broke out among the piles of stores. The bay seemed crowded with motor barges and flotillas of trawlers.

Once on the warships the men were hurried below to a meal of hot cocoa, steaming pea soup, and every delicacy the ships' stores could offer.

By 3.40 a.m. the embarkation was complete. Men could hardly realize that the work was accomplished without a terrible disaster. Restraint was thrown aside. New page 293 Zealanders from the Apex and the Lone Pine rearguard of Australians danced wild measures with the sailors on the iron decks.

As the ships moved over towards Imbros, Suvla and Anzac burst into flame. All the stores were afire now and the great tongues of flame seemed to reach to the very heavens. Right along the line Turkish rifles and machine guns opened, but caused no casualties, as most of the bullets plopped harmlessly in the water.

So we said good-bye to Anzac. Next morning the Turk rubbed his eyes and proclaimed a great victory.

The Evacuation of Helles

It was thought that we might hold Helles as we hold Gibraltar, but Mudros was considered an easier base for a naval power. The poor souls of the 29th Division, after being withdrawn from Suvla, hardly had time to rest a day at Mudros before they were ordered to return and hold the line at Helles. They were bitterly disappointed, but were they not tried and trusted Regulars? The Territorials they relieved went back to Egypt for a New Year's dinner in peace; the brigades of the 29th went back to the firing line. This perhaps was the greatest test of the 29th, for the men were sure that the bluff of Anzac and Suvla could not be repeated. They made ready for a heavy rearguard action to cover their retirement. During the days of waiting, it rained and blew until they were perhaps the most miserable men on earth. At least they should have been—but they were British regular soldiers, and there was nothing to do but stick it. So the troops who bore the brunt of the bloodiest landing were to bear the brunt of the evacuation. But a miracle again happened! The Turk could not make up his mind when we were going, and he could not make up his mind to attack. On the night of January 9, the coup came off. There was much heavy shelling of piers and landing places, but the casualties were infinitesimal, though much equipment was lost. The enemy was again baulked of his prey!