Off To The Dardanelles.

Stratford Evening Post, Volume XXVII, Issue 88, 13 August 1915, Page 7

Off To The Dardanelles.

EXPERIENCES of the wounded THE ATTACK AT CAPE BELLES. (From Malcolm Boss, Official War Correspondent with the New Zealand Troops). Alexandria, 17th Juno . They were sitting in the lounge al Shepheard’s. There-were four of them r—three New Zealanders and a longlimbed Australian—and they were sucking long cold drinks through straws with evident enjoyment, for the mercury had climbed above the hundred. The New Zealanders had been “out there,” and the big Australian was getting a few hints as to what it was like. He was the only sound man in the quartette. He had not yet been there. The lance-corporal had a paralysed leg and hand, the burly private had come back with pneumonia, and the third man the son of a Canterbury parson—was minus an arm. Three weeks ago they had had enough of war. Now they were all longing to get out to “the beach again, to have what they call anothei go.” It was clearly evident, however, that so far as war was concerned they wore, nil three, done with the unspeakable Turk and the even more unspeakable German. Hut they were taking (he situation with a philosophic calm and a grim humour that proved them men of the breed. The armless man had one complaint. He said it ua» rotten luck to have to keep all his money in the one pocket! Fortunately. it was the right-hand pocket. He told us his tragic story as if it were two acts of comedy. He had boon very badly hit in tne arm, hut he managed to walk down to the beach, and eventually found himself on a transport, about which the Turkish shells were bursting. There he met a doctor, and told him that lie was going to lose his arm. The doctor, to cheer him up, said that he wouldn’t lose it. “If you don’t know I’m going to lose that arm,” he replied, “you’re not fit for your job.” Most of the doctors and men on the transport were just going ashore, and Private K. was sent up on deck with some other wounded. There he became unconscious. At 2 o’clock he woke up, and decided to amputate. There was some trouble in getting him under the anaesthetic. Four hours later he came to and Jmind there was a sheet over Ids was a row of wounded lying aldptho depk. He pushed the sheet raised his head on his hand, and asked the man next to him —an Australian —for a. cigarette. The latter stared at him in blank astonishment. “Great Scott!” he said, “You were counted-out an hour ago!” But Private E. was by this time very much alive. He got his cigarette, someone lit it for him, and he started to, stroll along: the deck. Just then a doctor pme up and swore at him. “You have no right,” ho said, ,Vto he smoking a cigarette just after yon have come out of an anaesthetic,” and he seized tfie cigarette and threw it overboard. The surgeon had made quite a good job of the arm—under difficulties—and in three days it was healing splendidly. The operation was on the Monday, and on the following Sunday they had taken the stitches out. In a few more days the patient was walking about the steets of Cairo as jolly as a sand-boy, but regretting that he had to keep all his money in one pocket! One of these men, who was in the fighting at Cape Belles when the Brigade was sent down from Gaba Tepe, described how the New Zealanders went through the lines of the 2.oth Division to take a Turkish treiictl ahead, and of how the British Tommies gave them a rousing cheer as they went. Some brave deeds were done that night in bringing in wounded. When daylight came there was one man in the Canterbury trenches who stood up occasionally to get a shot at a Turk. “By Jove! I got one,” he would say as he diicked hack into the trench. He admitted it was rather a risky game for himself, hut said ho would have just one more shot . He stood up for that last shot and got three bullets! One of them went clean through his head.

While I was packing up for Gallipoli, the lance-corporal brought one of the trio up to my room. He had gone off into a faint— heart trouble after pneumonia. We left him in the hospital, and next day we wore all, scattered—one going to Gaba Tope, one to Cape Holies, one to England, and the onearmed man back to New Zealand. Such is war!

* GETTING TO GALLIPOLI. No. 1.

adventures on the way. , Au/.ac, June 24. It is one thing to start for Gallipoli; it is quite another thing to. get there, especially if you are not a fighting man. “You’ll never get there.” they told me in Cairo. “However, I interviewed colonels and generals and sent my credentials along to Sir lan Hamilton. Then I waited. It was all right. I could leave in a ship that was going to a certain island that day. But the ship caught fire in her hunkers; she had ammunition on hoard, and the crew began to leave in a hurry! That ship was out of the question, so I dashed about in a motbr-car, and in the afternoon found myself with a very limited amount of kit on hoard a Cunard liner, now a troopship. We got away next morning. That afternoon there Was an alarm, and we all took stations with our lifebelts on. Later the wake of the ship was a graceful curve in the calm waters of the Mediterranean, and it was clear that we were heading hack for Alexandria. But no one seemed to know the reason for our sudden recall. In the early morning we could see through the smoky haze blown up from Alexandria the low coast-line of Egypt. Two hours later we were slowly steaming to an anchorage inside the harbour. An order was posted that wo had turned hack because there was no more room for troops at the front, and for no other reason. The last words were underlined. The orders also stated that the.troops were to disembark, and proceed to Abonkir. Lnatttached officers would “probably” embark on another ship on the following day. We (the unattached, who were anxious to get out) possessed our souls in patience all that day and all the. next day. At noon we hoarded the other steamer and watchd them loading things—things that the Censor might deal with in an article. About 6 o’clock wo were ready. We were, glad to be at sea again. In the tents at Zeitonrn and at Alexandria it was 115 deg. F. At Khartoum the average daily temperature for three weeks — for three weeks, mind you I—had been HOdeg. in the shade. One day in Cairo it had climbed to 112 in the shade, or two degrees below the record of thirty years. The next day we had a cold snap—it fell to 90! One began to sympathise with the wounded man hack from the trenches, who said he would rather be dead at Gallipoli than live in Cairo! .