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Chapter XII. Valley of Torment.

Rarely have men suffered as the wounded of those days suffered, particularly those who were helpless. Away up in the desolate ravines they had to lie until the over-worked stretcher bearers could carry them to the beach. Afflicted with thirst—not the parching thirst that heat and dust and perspiration produces, but the agonising thirst that follows bleeding wounds; the thirst that makes the tongue swell and fill the mouth, that thirst that fills the body with the fire of hell, the thirst that makes men mad. Nor was thirst all. There was the burning pain of open wounds, the torture of the flies around them, the constant fear of again being struck. How awful it is to lie helpless and wonder where the next shell will land! Some of these sufferers lay there until a shell came, and no trace of their bodies was ever found. Others lived to be carried to the beach, lived till they saw across the water the comforting green and red lights of hospital ships, and then died. Some men lay beside the tracks of the pack mules, choking in the dust of the hoofs, but the muleteers could not succour them. The line had to be supplied with ammunition. The wounded must wait. Many of these tortured souls, despairing of the aid they so badly needed, attempted to crawl down the gullies, dragging broken limbs, remaining alive by sheer will and indomitable courage. For thousands of the "fortunate" ones the decks of transports were their hospital. Many arrived at Alexandria and Malta with maggots crawling in the wounds that had never been touched since the field dressing carried by page 78all soldiers had been hurriedly wrapped round them. It was not the result of neglect of anyone—unless the shortage of medical staffs was due to neglect. The officers and crews of these transports did all they could for the men. Firemen, just relieved from the stokehold, became volunteer orderlies, but practically all they could do was to carry food and drink to them, and give quick burial to the dead. But, be it remembered, the big majority of the wounded who got away were under the belief that the crest had been gained and held, and that the campaign was to succeed. Imagine, therefore, their feelings when they learned a week later that the crest had been lost, and that all their suffering had been of no avail. John Masefield, in his epic work "Gallipoli," has given expression to the bitterness that possessed them in the following passage:—"They went, like all their brothers in that Peninsula, on a forlorn hope, and by bloody pain they won the image and the taste of victory; and then, when their reeling bodies had burst the bars, so that our race might pass through, there were none to pass; the door was shut again, the bars were forged again, all was to do again, and our brave men were but the fewer and the bitterer for all their bloody sacrifice for the land they served." But it was never done again. The door was shut and kept shut, until it was opened by the destruction of the whole Turkish Army in Palestine years later. Only the mounted rifles regiments, of the N.Z.E.F., shared in that final victory against the foe that barred the way on the bloody crests of Gallipoli.

Between August 10 and 21, the A.M.R. remained on No. 3 Outpost, the trenches of which they deepened and improved. Two drafts of reinforcements arrived, but not sufficient to bring the page 79Regiment back to full strength. Indeed, the reinforcements were hardly sufficient to make good the wastage caused by sickness and the daily casualties from shell fire. Diarrhœa became very prevalent, or rather more prevalent than usual. On some days half the men of the Regiment attended sick parade from this cause, and there is not the slightest doubt that most of them would have been sent away to hospital had the need for men not been so acute. But not a man could be spared if he was fit for any kind of duty.

The position was that the Commander-in-Chief had been refused fresh reinforcements from England for another attempt for the all-important crest, and he had to set about the task with the broken brigades he had, plus a yeomanry division from Egypt. These troops, of course, were to fight dismounted. His plan was to assault Scimitar Hill, the fatal stumbling block of the Suvla Bay attack, from Chocolate Hill, while Kaiajik Aghala (Hill 60) was assaulted from Damakjelik Bair by the Anzac troops, the success of which would open the way for a combined converging attack against the W Hills, the last obstacle to the objects of the original scheme. These attacks were made, but neither the A.M.R. nor the W.M.R. participated, owing to their weakness in numbers. New Zealand was represented only by the C.M.R., the O.M.R., and the Maori Contingent. It need not be repeated that the plan failed. The attack against Scimitar Hill cost 5,000 lives, but achieved nothing. That against Hill 60 was only partly successful, and then only from the standpoint of certain units. The New Zealanders gained about 200 yards of the Turkish front line on Hill 60, but neither the Indians and Englishmen, on the left, nor the Aus-page 80tralians, on the right, were able to reach their objectives. This action cost the South Island regiments many men, and they were now no better off than the Auckland and Wellington regiments.

On the 22nd, Major C. R. Mackesy, who had just returned from hospital, went out with 50 men to relieve the remnants of the Otago Mounted Rifles in the precarious foothold on Hill 60, being joined the following day by the remainder of the Regiment, which felt that it was again to be considered a fighting unit, seeing that another 50 men and three officers had just arrived from Egypt. The following few days have been described as "very quiet in the official diary, and, as there is no desire to reflect upon the veracity of the recording officer, the statement must be accepted. It is a fact, however, that during these "quiet" days men were wounded by bombs, and seeing that the Turks were still disregarding the possibilities of the aeroplane for bombing, the inference is that "quiet" is used only in a comparative sense. It is more than likely that everyone had lost all sense of proportion, and after the recent struggle would have classed ordinary shelling as enemy amusements. But the days of alleged quiet were to end suddenly, for another assault was being planned for August 27.