THE LAST LOAD.

Taranaki Daily News, 17 April 1916, Page 5

THE LAST LOAD.

A HOSPITAL SHIP AT SEA. THE OFFICERS' WARD. (Fi;om Malcolm Ross, Official War Correspondent with the New Zealand Forces). On days when bullets fell like heavy hail, and shrapnel and high explosive came tearing through the air towards trench and pier and bivouac, one watched with curious interest the sweating stretcher-bearers with straining thews carrying their inert burdens down the narrow paths of the "deres" to the dressing stations, and from the latter to the casualty clearing stations. One saw also, with a sadness relieved by their uncomplaining bravery, the line of blood-stained 'wounded marching slowly along the winding, dußty sap to the jetties where the motor launch was waiting to take them to.the safer haven of the hospital ships. v The oadily wounded and the very sick were carried down under cover of the darkness,

On a grey morning, with the smoke of our burning stores' rising in a straight column and mingling with the mists that shrouded the heights of the Peninsula, two war correspondents, whose home had been at Anzac and No. 2 Outpost, left the shores of the Peninsula for the last time to witness from a warship the closing scenes of the great drama. The last pinnace—short of coal and water—came to a dead stop under the great white-painted, hull of ah Allan liner—a hospital ship awaiting her last load.

It was Sunday—day of battles—and while the Padre was cheering tho sick, and the nurses were dressing the wounded, enemy hells were bursting in our trenches. They had blown up a mine and were "strafing" Hill Co. The Apex got its share, and Suvla, too. Our own depleted batteries made>fceble reply, for it was the "last day," and nearly all the guns had gone. All this one could see dimly through the grey ness.

By noon the officers' ward began to fill. Two Ghurka officers, the one moaning, the other sadily silent and inert, headed the procession. They were victims of the explosion on Hill 00. The little Subadahar, in great pain, fought with his hands—they were biuo.ll, like a woman's—as they lifted him from ali-ctcher to cot. Following these two came other wounded and some sick. These sick had been fighting disease and doctors in a vain hope that thoy might he one of the "Diehards" at the finish. One was an Anzac battalion commander, a man who had seen the world. Straining his memory for a few Indian phrases learnt in the long ago, he tried to calm the wounded Sabadahar. But another Anzac officer told us the true story. He had been wounded in the landing, and, wounded again—riddled the officer called it—in the Lone Pine affair. You will remember that there were seven V.C.'s for Lono Pine. Shipped to England he had finally broken loose from the doctors, paid his passage.back to Egypt, and rejoined his battalion. But the strain had been too great. Wounds and sickness had told their tale. He had broken down at the finish; The word '-debility" had been written opposite his name. Time passed, and the ship's wireless buzzed the signal for departure. The anchor chain rattled. The screws began to turn, and the ship steamed slow ahead carrying her last load across the Gulf of Saros.' There had been no Turkish attack; .there were still empty cots in the hospital ships; the evacuation was almost at an end. Fed and washed, and with their wounds dressed, the patients one by one fell into the troubled sleep that is their lot. "Get that gunf Get that gun I", • It ifJ'Dehility.". a» jj|*j

fighting his battles over again fa dreW-i land. One pictured tlio scene— the bravo Anzacs leaving their treieh:; charging forward to almost certain death: the ueual machine-guns oa the flanks mowing them down; then the enemy trench—bombs and' the bayorntlj Moving quickly but quietly through, the ward the sister was at his side soota.ing him Lack to slumber. Tlien silence 'reigned again. There was not eves a> moan. It was weirdly uncanny. In less than ten minutes the quiet wae broken with another ringing command: "Hang on the Force! Hang on the Force! Steady there men! Stick it out!"

Yes, without a doubt, 5t ia IrQSis Pine. He has won .his, trench and ia holding it. But there is a fringe of dead along the parapet, and a thousand dead—friend and foe—inside the trench. The seven V.C.'s —aye many more haye been honourably won.

When da-wn hail eome we were once more at anchor, and the circle of brawn hills that rise above the Lemnos Harbour lay around us, Five hundred, aide and wounded that had been transferred to a trooper in the earlier stages of tho evacuation were now re-embarked. Again the anchor chain rattled in the winch, and this time the.ships head futt speed for Egypt. A little less than two days brought us into port again. The two New Zealnnders in the officers' ward parted company, for they were going into different hospitals. The sorely stricken one was still brave and cheerful. They.' ssfa good-bye, promising each other a dinner at Shepheard's in the near future. But that dinner, like many another promised dinner in the great war, w»i never eaten. Opposite the name of the. one, next day, appeared the three words that have meant tears in many a distant home—"Died of wounds." While the ship lay empty at the quay he had set out, smiling, on his hTfet, long jour* ney. But he had .come bravely through; with the last load. THE NEW FRONT! FROM SHEPHEARD'S TO THB JIRING LINE. * THE DESERT AQAIN.V t The second season since the -war be-. gait is'in full swing at Cairo, but the tropic suits and gay gowns of the rich cosmopolitan tourists are conspicuous only by their absence. Khaki ttill reigns. Generals and colonels and majors, and all the other official ranks, fill the two dining-rooms and the grillroom at Shepheard's. A countess or two from the Continent, a few officers' wives, overseas nurses, in drab grey relieved with scarlet capes—the Canadians strikingly tall and handsome in their well-cut military dark blue and shining gilt buttons —mingle with the khaki throng. A band plays at dinner, and on Saturday evenings there is a dance in the splendid, domed Moorish hall. At the Continental it is very much the ' same. Other Iwell-knoWn. hotel* are. shut, or are used as hospitals. ' The '' Heliopolis Hotel—the, largest in th* world—houses only 'sick and wounded. There are few of the latter now. The Semiramiß boards and lodges a'hundred and fifty nurses —mostly unemployed. s Later, there may be work for them to ■ do. At present there is no fighting in nir zone. The army is "somewhere in ■ Egypt"—doing desert marches, building roads and railways, laying , pip« and telegraph lines, and making trenches. The new colonial troops Rre rather interested; the old ones "fed'up," because a year ago they had their .fill of the desert. They don't forget the manoeuvres on the hills beyond the old Mena'Camp, nor the trying marches to the detested third white tower and back that made them fit to storm the heights of Ansae. The "Tommy," like the ■ average man, is never quite contented . with his lot. At one time he ia longing for a fight. , At another time he is longing to get out of. it.. at present our men are, as one officer put it, frightfully fit, and against any soldiers in the world they would giv« ~ a good account of themselves. From-a damp dug-out on Gallipoll to the white daniask of Shepheard's Is a far cry and a pleasant change, but after a time the conventions and even the menus of civilisation begin to lose their novelty and their charm, and you long for change. The day comes comes when you feel a sense of elation in buying another camp bed and a canvas bucket, and all the other odds and ends lost, stolen, or strayed on Gallipoli. THE CANAL. ' , It is not as easy as it seems to gat to the now front. Leaving your camp in the early morning, you 'have a long, day and varied means of ■ locomotion -< ahead of you. First a motor-car, then a motor-launch along »he Canal. The ■ Canal is always interesting. It is more interesting now than ever. In spite of tho Turko-German menace, ships that prove the maritime might of Britain and of the greater Britain beyond the seat, ' still pass up and down between Sue* and ; Port Said unchallenged and unharmed. . A hundred and fifty miles away at Beer- ' sheba the Turkish headquarters aro no , nearer their goal than they were « year , ago. A patrol away out in the desert, a spy caught swimming the Canal—these are the only near evidences-of possiplo * attack. As' Tusaura a cross above tho German officer's grave is a landmark oi last year's abortive attack. Out in tho desert a few huddled corpses—skin and bone and faded clothing—from which their covering of sand has blown are still , ; grimmer reminders of the fight. ■ The- ' beams for a bridge lie furthor afield— i evidence of dogged persistence and un-' ~: warranted optimism on the part of friend the enemy. He failed miserably". \ then; he will fail again. Stripped on the banks ready for* i bathe the overseas Apollos give us a '* friendly hail as we go by. ißobed Egypt!* .■; ans singing as they work, are quarrying * the stone and loading the dahabeahathat(- ? are to carry it to the jiew roads inter >i the desert. At other places they an ',' busy with water pipes and rails, an&.\» the many other things that are needed in this strange campaigning. A Wflp. liner—you can hear the flop, flop, flow ,| of her propeller and the slow -beat of \' : her engines—rounds a bend.. She carries) ,; mails and merchandise, but few passes* i gei's in these dreadful days of the aulu J marine menace. Other ships conveyinaj'i'i troopa both ways—from the colonies tOJ ;; Egypt and from England to tamia—steam past. Occasionally a shifl !» of war, with statelier mien, threads heir , ; way through, to cheers from the troop*} -f lining the banks.. The sailors reply st&J '| ringly as only sailors can. Day night this goes on, only at night thsj » scene is far more picturesque. Strong,,:* searchlights illumine the banks. - 'f