BATTERED.

Taranaki Daily News, 27 November 1915, Page 12 (Supplement)

BATTERED.

MEN WHO FACED DEATH. / (Sydney Telegraph Correspondent.) Lcmnos, Sept. 20.. The skeleton of my battered battalion lias been withdrawn from the trenches, and verv tired men are "spelling" here within 40 miles of the firing line. Who among us thought, when our invalided colonel addressed 113 so encouragingly from the deck of the about inidApril, that within five months we should be returning to this Aegean islet with only 10 per cent.—this an optimistic figure—of the originals left. And of this 10 per cent., some are men who were badly wounded, and who, recovering quickly in the hospitals of Egypt, Malta, and England, have enthusiastically rejoined the fold. I liall been away some eight weeks through illness, and going back two days ago I found myself among a body of "men almost complete strangers. En route by ferry to the camping ground, ■I was drenched by one of those terrific morning storms, for which the Dardanelles is unrivalled. The big tents had Ibeen pitched on the foreshore of a shallow inlet, in the -very trough of the watershed from the hills of no mean eminence. A quite pardonable blunder, since the men for- months have been leading the subterranean life, which means safety under varying circumstances. As one approached them, the soldiers were seen working up to their knees in gushing torrents trying to dig channels and throw up miniature mud parapets about the tent 3. But it was all too late. The storm, heralded by fork lightning and thunder claps, had hurst with sudden fury, and the rain, driven obliquely on a south-east wind, fell in jets. It was a relentless enemy downpour. With few exceptions the tents were flooded, just as they were on that wild Saturday night about a year ago when our camp was pitched on someone's paddock, Randwick. That midnight experience, wading in shirts and great coats to the refuge of Payten's stables, was, to hundreds of earnest cub-warriors, one of the worst that could fall to the lot of any patriot. The men took little notice of this Aegean flood. They were not angry, but moved about quietly with heads bent and affecting the stoop which comes of wearying weeks in trenches and dugouts. The set, stern faces, told of the strain and all that they had seen and done, and when an old friend looked toward yon he. furtively peered for a second and then refocussed to make sure. Not a single original of my section was to be found; but here was one of my platoon non-coms., a sergeant now, and looking twice his age. A smile of greeting, and then the lines of his face hardened. He knew what questions were coming "And the boys?" I asked. "How did Hnghie fare?" He was hit in the foot at first," he replied, "and was laughing, thanking his lucky stars to get off like that; but while lying down waiting for a good chance to get away, shrapnel caught him twice in the leg, and he was in a pretty bad way.'' "And young Alec, the railway lad?" "Poor fooy," he said, speaking very low, "died in my arms. Took him through the jugular. Tried hard to mutter something, but — it was all over in two or three minutes." . "And his chum, Keith?" "Gone, too; we got his body and buried him all right." "How's R.?" "Officially posted missing, though one chap of B Company, who was wounded, says he saw him carried out by the bearers. We hope to hear of him from some hospital." "WJiere's little G., the Cornishman?" <He was beside me on the battle outpost for the first four days after landing, and did magnificent work.) "Posted missing; no trace," he said, ruefully. "And handsome George?" "Put out at once; shrapnel bullet through the heart." To me this last news came as a particularly bad shock. Other names went right out of mind. It was all too sad, too much to bear in the minute of telling. Hardened, callous, and all that, the lumps would fill the throat. I did not feel inclined to ask more questions. Turning away, I came upon another sergeant, who, wounded a3 a lancecorporal, was baek again He was a rough, irresponsible youth a year ago; now his face was drawn and its expression impassive. Having already seen me in conversation he asked: "Did they tell you about T. and S.i" (They were bosom pals.) "Gone; the one shell got them both." "Did Dick come through all right?" "He's missing." And so on. Greeting other old hands, they at once told you the worst tidings of their dearest chums. How deeply they all felt the loss of W. C. 8.. our gentle, outspoken, heroic little officer, from Gundagai. "Game as a bull-dog ant to the last," said one of the group. "He pulled himself together and walked off after his wounds were dressed; and next we heard of his body being found." The old warriors were all agreed that, while the landing might go down to posterity as the limelight event of the campaign, it was nothing iike the Lohe Pine advance. One was an adventure, grim enough; but with the enemy surprised, with both sides in the dark; the other meant going out deliberately to the tick of the hour in broad daylight, to t rush a labyrinth of death-trays prepared and perfected according to the most cunning devices of German engineers.

The only really cheery men in camp—save one bright young officer, the youngest, and one of the most valued in the battalion, who rose from the ranks as a signaller—were the reinforcements, or at least, those of them who had come through the ordeal with whole skins. To them, with ample reserves of physical strength and nervous force left, the experience up till now had been to thrill, to steady; but in no sense to destroy. They were keyed up, and quite properly felt that they could hold up their heads with the veterans. They were keen, good soldiers now —real men, hardened and polished in the best and only foundry, the battlefield. And they looked, as they must have felt,, happy and confident; for they were sure of themselves after the supreme test. But they differed from the dear old hands, who somehow forced a smile like the smile of earlier days when you likened their trench hump and their quick, uneasy glances to those of the men who came up from subterranean passages to hear the verdict of the jury in the precincts of a gaol that used to be called Darlinghurst.