The Tale of a Trooper Part 12

CHAPTER XXIII

MAC IS WOUNDED

That August dawn revealed a ghastly scene on this Gallipoli hill-top, where the tired, outnumbered attackers fought desperately for the summit of the Peninsula, possession of which would mean victory and the command of the Straits. It seemed to Mac that decision must come soon, for this desperate, more or less continual hand-to-hand encounter could not last much longer. Bad as their position was, it could not be long now before those many thousands of Imperial troops would be taking the enemy in flank from the Suvla Bay direction, or at least would be strongly reinforcing them from the rear.

And now, even before it was full daylight, the activity along the line, though it had scarcely seemed possible, grew more violent, and Mac felt that each side tensely watched the other, expecting every moment a final, desperate coming to grips. The Turks appeared to be gathering in great numbers, and were even now on the point of making a whole-hearted attack. But the British artillery intervened. The sh.e.l.ling had been increasing steadily, and at this moment several men-o'-war close insh.o.r.e opened their broadsides and were joined by all the field artillery which could be brought to bear, and there broke along the crest such a tornado of bursting sh.e.l.ls as had never been seen during the whole campaign.

The battleships were concealed by a thick pall of brown smoke through which spurted the flashes of their batteries, field guns of all sizes barked from ravines and ridges; the sh.e.l.ls roared and shrieked up towards the summit, and burst in a continual shattering crash on those few hundred square yards of deadly battlefield, or pa.s.sed aimlessly beyond the ridge and exploded harmlessly far over enemy territory. The Turks, being mostly under the farther lip of the small plateau, suffered little from the bombardment except on the k.n.o.b which protruded into the line to Mac's left. It was torn constantly by high explosive, and Turkish bodies were flung high in the air, in whole or in part.

Equipment, earth and sandbags mixed with the sickly, murky green smoke which drifted in a choking cloud across Mac's line. Rapidly fresh Turks filled the places of their dead, and they in turn were blasted by the bombardment.

But many of the sh.e.l.ls were falling short; or may be they were not falling short, rather it was a position which should never have been bombarded in this fashion. The artillery was directed upon a hill high above it, lying between it and the breaking day. On its crest, separated by only a few yards, were both the defenders and the attackers. Few of the sh.e.l.ls were likely to hit the enemy, for the majority must either spend themselves in the air beyond the crest or else fall among our own men on the crest itself; so they fell thickly along Mac's line, and thus to the danger of an enemy on three sides was added the tragedy of our own artillery on the fourth. Helpless they were to shield themselves or to stop this mad destruction. They had red and yellow flags to mark their positions, and these they waved violently, but it could be of no avail in the dawn light, the dust and the smoke.

What telephone communication there was with the rear, Mac did not know; but, whether there was any or whether it had been cut by the enemy, no sign came that the artillery knew where its sh.e.l.ls were falling. One after another those sh.e.l.ls burst with a yellow glare and a fountain of black smoke, sending men, some alive, and many dead, flying upwards; and when Mac could see again there would be a s.p.a.ce in the line where one, two or more of his troop had taken the long trail. They rained faster, bursting incessantly on that narrow strip between them and the edge of the cliff, often falling behind and always odd ones and twos dropping into the trench itself. Mac felt sick with the fumes and the horror of it, and sometimes the blast of a sh.e.l.l sent him against the side of the trench. The helplessness of the position appalled him.

There were fewer and fewer of them left, and there was a growing gap in the line. Yet there was no means of stopping it; and he longed for the bombardment to cease. He sniped away at the Turks along the cliffs, and turned his attention at times to some who had been hunted from the k.n.o.b by the sh.e.l.ling. There were only three or four of them left in this corner and yet there was no slackening of that mad artillery fire.

Then swiftly there was an awful lurid flash close in front of him, on the level ground almost in his face, and it seemed he had been hit across the head with a bar of wood, and he could not see. He pressed his hand to his face and sank slowly to the ground.

"Old Mac's a goner," he heard the voice of one of his mates say in those same affectionate, final tones which had followed the disappearance of comrade after comrade on the left.

"Poor old fellow," said another.

"No," muttered Mac. "By G.o.d though, I'm blind for life!" He felt the blood rushing down his face, and he knew it. He sat up, and no one said anything. He thought for a second or two and decided on a course of action. "Well, it's no longer any good staying here. I'm off." So saying, he undid the buckles of his Webb equipment, and struggled out of all his gear, keeping only the case of his gla.s.ses, for he thought he might as well stick to them.

He remembered the way to the second line, and crawled along the shattered trench to the left, feeling his way past the legs of the one or two men who were left. They paid no attention to him, being too busy with the enemy to be concerned with other matters. He felt his way along on his hands and knees, down into holes, over dead bodies, avoiding wounded, across the open ground, until he came to where he thought the communication trench ought to be and turned to the left.

There seemed to be little of it remaining. It had never been much of a thing, and was now blown about and full of wounded and dead. He was finding himself in difficulties about getting past some wounded men, when some one came out from the second line and led him in. There his Captain took his hand and patted him on the back.

"I'm afraid I've lost my sight, sir," said Mac.

"I'm afraid so, old boy," replied he. "I'll send a chap back with you."

One of the boys took charge of him, and Mac stumbled off through the little piece of trench into the open, across which, from both sides, the bullets fled whistling and zipping. Jogging awkwardly short distances over the rough ground, then lying in hollows for brief rests, they covered at length that exposed slope of about one hundred and fifty yards which separated the trench from the shallow head of a ravine, wherein lay hundreds of wounded and dead. The trooper guided Mac carefully over a s.p.a.ce where bodies lay thick, and made him lie down on a sloping clay bank, took his field dressing from his pocket and bandaged his head.

Mac lay there through the whole of that long terrible day, a day of strange unearthliness, when he seemed to float away into a weird dreamland and at times into nightmare, and yet it was not a day of unmixed suffering. The sun glared down pitilessly through the hot hours, the tormenting flies swarmed in their millions, the dead lay thick around, already blackening in the heat, the dying raved in delirium for water which never came, and the battle raged on with unceasing violence. Lying uncomfortably on a slope, propped against a dead Turk, he scarcely seemed to feel the burning heat of the sun, the irritation of the flies, the torturing thirst nor the pain of his wound, for his spirit lay soothed in a strange restfulness, in the satisfaction of peace, in a manner like the weary wishing for nothing but sleep after a day of honest work. For Mac the fight was over; he had done what had been asked of him, and his spirit, serenely happy in this knowledge, seemed to rise above earthly discomfort and to concern itself little with the shattered state of his body, nor yet with the fact that he was far from out of the wood. Death was all around; and, had it come to him, he would have had no terror of it, but simply the resigned acceptance of a happy soul.

Early in the morning Mac had inquired whether he could not be taken on to the dressing-station, but learned that it was impossible as the enemy swept the country between with an impa.s.sable hail of bullets.

The lower end of the ravine was in Turkish hands, elsewhere there were unscalable cliffs, and the only means of getting back was by crossing a ridge close under the enemy rifles. There was nothing for it but to await nightfall.

The ravine was full of wounded. The more lightly injured had drifted towards the bottom, but those who had not been able to walk lay crowded close in the shallow head near Mac. Most of them were already dead, for many had been wounded two nights previously, and few so seriously injured could stand a second day of such torment. Mac asked sometimes if there was water, but there was none. Occasionally he inquired how the battle was going, and if there were any men near to hear him, they replied only with una.s.suming grunts. He sat up once for a change of position and moved away a little from the dead Turk, but the flying bullets sent him back. He may have been light-headed once or twice, but this he himself could not tell. Queerly enough, he troubled not at all about the form his wound had taken. Though he knew with absolute certainty that he would never see again, he was not worried by the horrors of a future world of darkness; and found himself in his vague wanderings of mind deeply pitying those round him, and his heart was full of grief at their sufferings.

Gradually a lessening of the heat told of coming evening. A little water arrived and was distributed in small potions. Mac was conscious that those who came periodically to the hollow to do for the wounded all that lay in their power were performing fine actions of self-sacrifice. It grew cool, and Mac stirred himself to expect aid from the rear; word had come, too, that a large Imperial force would be sent up at nightfall to relieve the tattered remnant of the garrison, who had dwindled to a desperate handful from attack after attack by the enemy through all the long day, and who were almost light-headed from fatigue. The hours still dragged on without anything happening, and Mac almost feared they had been forgotten. At last, shortly after he had heard a voice say it was eleven o'clock, some one came into the ravine, and inquired in the dark who were there. Few answered, for, it seemed to Mac, most of them were too far gone. All those who could look after themselves had long ago drifted farther down the ravine.

"Who are you?" sang out Mac.

"I'm an Auckland stretcher-bearer."

"Well, if you can show me the way, you can take me back. I can't see, but I can walk all right."

"I dunno how I'm goin' to get you out of there. There are too many wounded round you."

"Oh, if you show me where to tread I'll be all right. You might as well take me back. I'm the only one here who can walk," said Mac appealingly.

After a little more persuasion, he picked his way over the bodies, and, Mac, swaying a little, stood up. He forgot to take the case of his gla.s.ses which he had been using as a pillow, though he had remembered afterwards that the gla.s.ses themselves were still on the parapet where he had been wounded. He picked his steps carefully over the prostrate forms, and then, grabbing the Ambulance man firmly by the belt, stumbled after him up the slope. They toiled down the long ridge, falling frequently into hidden holes in the thick scrub; and all the time the rifles blazed along the ridges and the bullets zipped past them in the darkness. They reached the dressing-station, where, from the sounds which reached his ears, it seemed to him many men were lying, and a crowd pa.s.sed constantly to and fro. A medical officer took Mac in hand, dressed his wound as well as might be--for there was no water for such purposes--and gave him a drink. Though Mac protested he could quite well walk, the M.O. insisted on putting him on a stretcher, giving orders to the bearers to take him without delay to the hospital life-boats. And so, swaying precariously, he was taken away down the rough, steep slope, the bearers halting often to regain their breath. Then, taking not the slightest heed of his mild protests, they dumped him off the stretcher after they had gone about half a mile, spread a blanket over him and departed. He lay there peacefully for an hour or two, and then, becoming thoroughly fed up at this lack of progress and seeing no point in such delays, called out to some one he heard near him, to know what possibility there was of a further move.

"None, old boy," came the discouraging reply. "Stretchers are just about finish, and there 're dozens of stretcher-cases lying everywhere.

From the looks of things you might be here for a day or two yet."

Mac thought for a minute or two and decided to take matters into his own hands. He heard some one pa.s.sing along the path.

"Hullo you! Come over here," he called.

Some one approached.

"What's up, cobber?"

"If you're going to the rear you might as well take me along with you.

I can walk all right. I only want a helping hand. What about it?"

"Well, I'm a Fifth Reinforcements just landed, an' I dunno where all my mates are gone."

"All right. You might as well come along with me." And so saying, Mac stood up, shed his blanket, and went off with the man who had lost himself.

It was broad daylight again, and the Artillery activity was steadily increasing. They wandered down the dusty bottom of the ravine, Mac directing the way as best he could. At the bottom of the ravine, near a battery in furious action, they had to halt for some time owing to a congestion in the traffic through the big communication saps. Mac wanted to go along the top, but the other fellow refused flatly as there were too many bullets flying, and so they had to progress when opportunity offered through the hot dusty crowded saps. They were close to the sea by No. 2 Outpost, but the hospital boats had ceased taking wounded off from there, owing to the heavy rifle fire. Mac decided to go on to Anzac without delay as, with weakness growing, he wished to keep going until he reached a hospital-ship. Dragging one foot after another, he plodded on through the interminable trenches, though swiftly his strength was going and he had to rest every twenty yards.

His companion, taking the wrong turning, led him over an unnecessary hill, which nearly exhausted his walking powers, but about nine o'clock they at length reached the Cove and the clearing station. Mac's head was again dressed, he swallowed with the deepest joy many cups of tea, bid farewell to his escort, and lay down on some bales of hay to await the arrival of a hospital-ship, of which there were none at present off the landing.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE END OF MAC'S CAMPAIGNING DAYS

About midday a hospital-ship anch.o.r.ed off the sh.o.r.e, and some one led him along the pier to a barge, from which he was transferred to a mine-sweeper, and at last was swung upwards by a crane on to the deck of the ship. He was almost the first on board. Kind hands and affectionate voices welcomed him, and tender hands led him along the deck to a surgery. The fresh cooling sea air had revived him, and here at last, with skilled hands and cool lotions easing his aching head, he felt supremely happy.

The blood and grime removed from his face, and a neat white bandage round his head, a sister took him in charge and guided him far down to a ward low in the ship. She gave him a comfortable bunk, and swiftly set about spring-cleaning him. She speedily unclothed him by running a pair of scissors along the sleeves and legs of his blood-clotted garments, giving him his precious bandages and identification disc wrapped up in a handkerchief; then sponged him all over in deliciously cool water, decked him in a shirt, and spread a sheet over him. Next came a large bowl of hot soup, which Mac lost no time in putting within his hungry frame, and finally a gla.s.s of port. The fine sister chatted away the while with pleasant little laughs and entertaining remembrances, as if she had not been working in those steamy holds for days and nights with scarce a rest.

Many others were brought into the ward, and it was soon full of seriously wounded men, Imperial, Australian and New Zealand. M.O.'s and sisters worked incessantly at the heavy dressings.

The hours drifted slowly by, for though he had had no sleep for four days and nights, and little for several nights before that, he did not sleep, and the pa.s.sage of time was marked only by the arrival of meals and the pleasant relief of fresh dressings. He was always hungry from long under-feeding, and relished everything which came his way. For him there was no difference between night and day, and he often lost count of time. There was only one sister in the ward, a splendid Queensland girl, who toiled for almost all of the twenty-four hours in the hot, steaming atmosphere, going steadily the round of the heavy dressings, starting again at the beginning as soon as she came to the last.

The ordinary routine work had to be left to the orderlies, and these men angered Mac so at times that he wished they might be lined up in a row and shot. Recruited, it seemed, from the lowest order of some community, they made use of this opportunity, when all senior ranks were too fully occupied with more immediate work of their own, to loaf, to rob the wounded sometimes, and to ignore many simple duties which for many men made all the difference between pain and comfort. Most of the wounded suffered from dysentery in a more or less acute form, and frequently seriously wounded men had to struggle out of bed to attend to the wants of those incapable of moving. Some exceptions there were, but the casual neglect in Mac's ward made him fume with anger.

But the sister and the padre were splendid people. The padre came to the ward to a.s.sist the sister with her dressings, and came to Mac to break gently the news that he would never see again. Mac had no illusions on this point, and laughed at the padre and his serious, funereal att.i.tude till he resumed his normal cheery manner, when he and Mac soon discovered that they had many great friends in common in New Zealand, for the padre hailed from those parts too. The padre and sister became great friends of Mac, and in odd moments they sat on his bunk and yarned away with him, the padre about the Sounds' country which he and Mac knew so well, about what work Mac might do in future, and about all sorts of things, and with the sister he arranged some day to stay on the far back Queensland station.

The evening of the day he came on board they left Anzac and for some hours the engines rumbled away, when again there was silence. Mac was told they were at Mudros alongside the _Aquitania_ putting all light and medium cases on board that vessel. Then for an indefinite s.p.a.ce of time he again felt the vibration of the engines, and he thought they must be bound for Alexandria. When the vessel stopped, without having the vaguest notion how long she had been steaming, he took it for granted they were at Alexandria, and was rejoicing inwardly. He was deeply disappointed to hear they were again off Anzac.