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The Auckland Regiment

XI. Rhododendron Spur

page 66

XI. Rhododendron Spur

"God," he said, "how painful is my life!"

The fighting died away. After the high strain of the un-natural excitement came the inevitable reaction. The remnant of the Battalion was in a shocking condition. Diarrhæa and dysentery grew ever worse and worse. Scurvy made its appearance. Men broke out in septic sores that would not yield to treatment. The flies tormented the sufferers. Men of splendid physique were miserable, bent scarecrows, their faces haggard and drawn. As they walked they staggered with weakness. There was no energy, no vitality. Yet they hung on, and by slow degrees dug deeper trenches and communications, until all the hill was secure. All night they watched and worked, and then could not sleep during the day because of the heat and flies. Life was full of a most terrible monotony. Great-hearted men weakened, but refused to go away. "Very ill, but still sticking it," they write in their diaries. "We are in a most miserable state, yet we must hang on." In these terrible last weeks of August and the first two of September was established that steadfast character which is perhaps the best of all New Zealand's war traditions. Men grew so ill that some of them died in dug-outs or even in the open trenches. It was cruel work for the doctors, for they could do little, not even send the sick away in sufficient number. The Ridge had to be held, even if all the New Zealanders died in the holding of it. Hard as the doctors were compelled to be, the leakage was still very great. Men went down by dozens and by scores. Wallingford himself was evacuated a complete wreck. A price had been placed on his head by the Turks. His value to the Anzac Army was above all price. Day by day the little company grew fewer, and the limit of endurance for the remainder came nearer every day. There page 67were continual rumours of a rest, but so long was it delayed that the men at last despaired of its ever coming. Working, watching, sickening, dying—surely they would all soon die, and there would be an end to this intolerable agony.

During these days Padre Taylor was a great source of inspiration. He was as sick as anyone, but was quite tireless in his unselfish devotion. He did not belong to Canterbury, he belonged to all of us. Here was religion! No white collar, broadcloth and silk hat, no exclusive theology, no overpowering sense of aloof respectability, but a man of like passions to ours, of like fears and hopes, a man of a most human and brotherly type, fired with Christ's passion of love for all struggling and suffering humanity. He buried the dead, comforted the sick, passed the ready jest along the trenches. Tireless shepherd of the sheep, he knew every yard of trench-line, every gully and sap where men lived.

On September the 2nd, Auckland were relieved from Rhododendron, which they had entrenched, and went into reserve behind Brigade Headquarters in the Chailak Dere. September 8th saw them once more in the line, holding the Apex. Two days later this position was heavily bombarded.

At last, on the 14th, came orders to concentrate in the Chailak Dere. "Hallelujah!" The spell had come at last. The Battalion staggered down the Dere, past the Outpost, along the weary way to Anzac Cove, and then took lighter to the Osmanieh. A small boat, not very much if any larger than the Manaia, she was easily able to take off the remnants of the New Zealand Infantry Brigade. In Mudros Harbour an antiquated paddle-steamer, which must have been in its prime about the time of the Crimean War, wheezed alongside and took men and stores toward the "wharf." As the old craft did not capsize on the way, everyone landed safely after scrambling over the allegedly ingenious obstruction the R.E.'s had erected for the purpose. The march to camp was three miles—they seemed like thirty. The Battalion went by fits and starts. There were many halts and many stragglers. Some finished the journey in two hours, others in ten, and not a page 68few strayed in next day. A marquee had been put up, and everyone crowded inside, too weary, done-up and miserable to think of anything else than resting. The floor was rough and stony, but that was a detail. The weather was threatening, but no one could summon the energy to dig ditches. Next day came a thunderstorm. Rain fell in torrents. In a few minutes the water was pouring down the hillside in streams. It flowed in under the tent curtains and turned the floor-space into a running stream. Everyone stood up, holding his most treasured possessions in his arms, and so remained for an hour, until the rain ceased, when all turned out and dug the drains which, completed earlier, would have saved the situation.