XIV. The Evacuation

—Capt. C. E. W. Bean "Anzac Book."

The decision to evacuate the Gallipoli Peninsula was reached soon after Earl Kitchener's visit. It was necessary to mystify and mislead not only the Turks, but also our own troops.

For two days, November 25th and 26th, the men were ordered to refrain from firing. During the night of November 30th much wire was placed in front of the fire-trench. A great deal of work was done "to prepare for the winter campaign." Deep dug-outs were constructed.

Rhododendron Spur itself was made very comfortable. On the lower part of the slope was Captain Graham's store tent. A little further up lived the Battalion's two donkeys. These donkeys are noteworthy, because their driver was reputed to have the most forcible and fluent command of the Australian language in the Brigade. To hear the two little "donks" being "praised up" and called by their "Christian" names was to receive a lesson in the artistic use of language not readily to be forgotten. Dr. Addison had a most palatial residence, presided over by Davies and McDonald, the chief of the stretcher-bearers. The one drawback in connection with it being the fact that the roof consisted of one thickness of corrugated iron, and was therefore not to be relied on when the big shells were dropping round. In terraces on the slope lived the stretcher-bearers, signallers, ration-men, water-fatigue and the reserve company. Battalion Headquarters rejoiced in two very deep dug-outs, quite capable of keeping out even the heaviest shells.

Rumours of all sorts were about. Dunlop was an adept in the gentle art of rumour-mongering. He served out rumours and rations indiscriminately; his masterpiece probably being the yarn of the fifty ships of Japanese troops, with twenty-five shiploads of rice, all lying off, ready to be landed as soon as the cargoes of curry should arrive.

Rhododendron was shelled on the 4th, 5th, 7th, and 8th of December, but comparatively little damage was done. Heavy, high-explosive bombardments were a new type of frightfulness, not at all appreciated. Many a man who had stood everything else was not ashamed to admit that big shells were not to his liking.

At this time the men had not the remotest idea that the attempt to force the Dardanelles had been abandoned. Some thought we would hold on through the winter, and attack again in the spring. Others expected heavy reinforcements and another great effort before the bad weather set in. It became obvious that a move of some kind was on foot. Working parties were continually being sent down to move guns. Batmen and others on foraging expeditions to the beach found stores of all sorts thrown open. Several battalions of the New Army went away for a rest. Sections of the Field Ambulance moved away, none knew whither. More guns were moved. Fresh stores were thrown open. Rifles and ammunition were destroyed. The secret was becoming more open, but still men refused to believe the inevitable. The ground had been so hardly won, surely it would not be abandoned?

December 16th a small advance party left for Mudros. So it had come. The feeling amongst both officers and men was bitter in the extreme. "I am no lion-heart, but I would sooner go over the ridge in frontal assault, with all its chances of death with honour, than do this thing."

In these last few days R.S.M. Moncrieff was carried out, suffering from an attack of appendicitis. To the surprise of everyone he walked back next day from the Field Ambulance, very ill, but resolved not to spoil his record.

The most elaborate arrangements were made for the evac-page 79uation. The success of the whole movement depended on accurate timing and on everyone knowing just exactly when and where he was to move. The evacuation, as far as Auckland were concerned, was to stretch over two nights—Saturday the 18th, and Monday the 20th of December. The first night two parties were to leave, one at six, and the other at nine o'clock. On the second night the remainder of the Battalion were to leave in three parties—one leaving at six, the second at nine, and the last—a small covering party of four officers and thirty-nine men—at two o'clock in the morning. It was generally thought that the movements set down for the first night would work out according to plan, and that the first two parties on the last night would, perhaps, reach the boats after very hard fighting. As for the small covering party, they were looked upon as the men who were to die for the sake of their comrades. Scores of men begged for a place in this little band. The Main Body and those who had seen much fighting were the keenest of all. They begged for a place as a privilege. They demanded it as a right. They entreated and cajoled—everything that could be done they did to secure a place in this fellowship of sacrifice. None expected them to come through alive—they, least of all, had any hope of life. It was a supreme act, made without fuss or show of emotion, in a fashion typically New Zealand. The names of the officers and men of this last party were:—Major Alderman, Lieutenant "Jock" McKenzie, Lieutenant Holland, Dr. Addison, Lieutenant Page, Sergeant Gasparich, Sergeant Francis, Sergeant Thompson, Sergeant Wilson, Sergeant Seddon, Sergeant Brook, Q.M.S. Stunnell, Sergeant Todd, Corporal Richardson, Corporal Cowan, Corporal Smith, Lance-Corporal Smith, Lance-Corporal McCready, Private Harding, Private Lander, Private Lynn, Private Raymond, Private French, Private Rogers. (Other names unobtainable).

Main Body men who were refused for one reason or another were bitterly disappointed.

The first half of the Battalion moved away in two sections. From the heights the remainder looking down could see page 80the dark shapes of the transports lying in close to the shore. Next morning the sea was clear, the transports gone, and only the destroyers in sight. It was a day of tension. At 9 a.m. Monday the Turks commenced to bombard the Rhododendron trenches. Their ranging was very accurate, and but for the fact that there were so few men about very considerable casualties must have been inflicted.

The day passed. At six o'clock another big party moved off, and now the trenches were very thinly held. It was the most dangerous time of all. The next three hours were perfectly quiet. Nine o'clock came. The files assembled in Manukau Road. Rolls were carefully checked. There were quiet farewells. The rearguard stood to arms in silent, deserted trenches and waited for the sudden shout, the rush of Turks, the last bitter struggle and then Quiet Death, to whom they had given themselves that their friends might go free. The larger party Tiled down the steep slope to Chailak Dere, and there at the precise moment met the files of Wellington and Canterbury passing downward from the Apex and Cheshire Ridge. Chailak Dere had never seemed so quiet before. Scarcely a bullet fell anywhere. In the brilliant moonlight every familiar feature showed clearly out, the angles, the bends, the bracken, the scrub, and the graves of men. There were so many of them, the poor little graves, marked with the rough crosses of boxwood. So many sleep on the bloody, bitter slopes of Sari Bair, so many beneath the frowning Outpost Hill, so many by the margin of the Blue Ægean. These men elevated the Cross. They blazed a great trail. What valour was theirs, what steadfastness of purpose, what uttermost sacrifice of self!

The long file of men passed by the graves of their dead with no spoken word, but with a reverence that needed no words. In the hour of defeat men reconsecrated themselves to victory.

The lighters were ready. In half an hour all were on board. At two o'clock the rearguard withdrew. Just before their time was up a shout ran along the Turkish line. Surely the page break

Brigradier General C. H. I. Brown,, D.S.O.

page break page 81enemy were coming now? They must have seen the transports in the moonlight and the boats moving to and fro between the ships and the shore. The rearguard "stood-to," ready to die like men. The slow minutes ticked past. They had offered themselves, but the offering was not taken. Nevertheless, their heroism is not lessened. In quietness they, too, reach the water's edge, where Colonel Plugge was waiting. All embarked.

The dark mass of Sari Bair stood out clear against the sky. The outline slowly vanished.

It was the last of Anzac.

"We only know from good and great
Nothing but good can flow;
That where the cedar crashed so straight
No crooked tree shall grow.
That from their ruin a taller pride.
Not for these eyes to see,
May clothe one day the valley side
Non nobis, Domine."