Ashmead-Bartlett’s Despatches From The Dardanelles

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Text originally published in 1915 under the same title.

© Pickle Partners Publishing 2015, all rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means, electrical, mechanical or otherwise without the written permission of the copyright holder.

Publisher’s Note

Although in most cases we have retained the Author’s original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern reader’s benefit.

We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.

ASHMEAD-BARTLETT’S DESPATCHES FROM THE DARDANELLES

An Epic of Heroism

MAP OF THE GALLIPOLI PENINSULA

(By courtesy of the Morning Post)

This map shows all the landing places mentioned in Mr. Ashmead-Bartlett’s Despatches, and the positions of Krithia, Achi (or Aki) Baba, Suvla, etc.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS 5

CHAPTER I—PREPARING FOR THE START 6

April 8 6

CHAPTER II—THE ALLIES’ GREAT TASK 12

April 12 12

CHAPTER III—A BATTLESHIP IN ACTION 17

April 17

CHAPTER IV—ASSEMBLING OF A MIGHTY FLEET 25

April 19 25

CHAPTER V—WAITING FOR THE SIGNAL 31

April 21 31

CHAPTER VI—THE STORY OF THE LANDING 35

April 24 35

CHAPTER VII—FUTILE TURKISH ATTACKS ON COLONIAL TROOPS 47

April 28 47

CHAPTER VIII—SEDDUL BAHR LANDING 51

April 30 51

CHAPTER IX—THE FIRST STAGE—IMPREGNABLE POSITION 59

May 10 59

CHAPTER X—FURIOUS ATTACKS ON AKI BABA MOUNTAIN 63

May 10 63

CHAPTER XI—DESPERATE ATTACK ON COLONIAL TROOPS 74

May 21 74

CHAPTER XII—GRAPHIC STORY OF BRITISH HEROISM 79

June 30 79

CHAPTER XIII—THE GULLY RAVINE 84

July 4 84

CHAPTER XIV—PRODIGAL WASTE OF LIFE 89

July 7 89

CHAPTER XV—BATTLE OF JULY 12-13 92

July 14 92

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 96

CHAPTER I—PREPARING FOR THE START

April 8

MALTA has played many great roles in the history of Europe. The little rock of Malta, says Gibbon, defies the Turkish power, and has emerged under the government of its military order into fame and opulence. On June 10, 1798, the island which the eagle eye of Napoleon had discerned before starting on his expedition for Egypt as La place la plus forte de l’Europe, passed into the hands of the French. Their occupation was, however, brief, and the expedition to Egypt having failed, on September 4, 1800, General Vaubois, who had been left in command, surrendered to General Pigot, who commanded the British and Allied forces. These events of over 100 years ago have a most important bearing on the present operations of the Allies against the Dardanelles. Malta has remained ever since our principal dockyard and arsenal in the Eastern Mediterranean, and when General Pigot took over the island, on September 4, 1800, all unknown to himself he was making possible and practical the present operations against the Turkish empire.

Little could anyone have dreamt in the year 1800 that a century later a combined English and French Expeditionary Force would be using the famous island as its base. The importance of Malta cannot be over-estimated. Both the English and French fleets and transports are based on it—over 100 French ships and an even larger number of British. All supplies, munitions and ammunition are drawn from its arsenals; to it damaged ships retire to be docked and repaired; the wounded find accommodation in its spacious hospitals; and it is the port of call for all transports on their way to Egypt and the islands. Happy, indeed, is the nation which has complete command of the sea. It was the unfulfilled dream of the Great Napoleon to make the Mediterranean a French lake His dream has half come true. At the present moment, when Europe is ablaze, the Mediterranean is a French and English lake. The enemies of the Triple Entente have been absolutely swept from this highway to Egypt and the East. It is almost as safe now for unarmed merchantmen, transports, colliers and warships as it is in times of peace. The smallest and slowest vessels pass up and down it unmolested, without any escort. The Austrian fleet lies securely bottled up in the Adriatic, watched day and night by the latest and most powerful vessels of the French navy.

NO GERMAN WARSHIPS

There is not a single German warship on the high seas. Once an English vessel has left the radius of submarine activity around our shores, and finds herself in the Bay of Biscay, she can continue her journey practically in safety to Malta, to the Dardanelles, Egypt, or on to the Far East. Such is the strength of the Allies at sea, and such an ascendancy have they established over their enemies, that whilst Sir John Jellicoe and the Grand Meet is blockading the German coast, and whilst the French are bottling up the Austrian fleet in the Adriatic, practically the whole of our powerful pre-Dreadnought squadrons are free to attack the Dardanelles and to assist the French and English armies to open the iron gate which leads to Constantinople.

Having travelled overland via Rome, I reached Syracuse on March 31, to find an Italian steamer leaving the same evening for Malta. In Italy I found such conflicting views as to Italy’s attitude in the near future that I finally was glad to abandon any further attempts to solve the problem and was happy to escape to actualities. But there is an interesting point which seems to have escaped the notice of many which may yet act as a powerful inducement to the Italians openly to throw in their lot with the Allies. In Syracuse I found ten powerful German and Austrian steamers interned. I am told that the principal Italian ports are full of Austrian and German steamers which have been lying idle ever since the declaration of war. Now, if Italy declares war, all these vessels will be given forty-eight hours’ notice to clear out. I do not suppose many will even make an effort to get away, as they are stranded between the devil and the deep sea, so to speak, and even if they escape from the Italian coast they have no ports to shelter them and must fall into the hands of ourselves or the French. I am also told that, granted they are given forty-eight hours to clear from port, they have no crews and could not get ready in that time. Thus the moment Italy decides to take the fateful step for which the mass of the population are undoubtedly longing, she will obtain a very important acquisition to her mercantile marine, and after the war a further grave economic loss will be felt by Austria and Germany.

On arriving the following day at Malta I reported myself to Vice-Admiral Limpus, who promised to send me on to the Fleet in the first available vessel. You must not mind, said the gallant admiral, who only gave up the control of the Turkish fleet last August, if you have to sail in a collier, because if you want to reach the Fleet without delay I believe one is sailing this evening. However, it chanced that the ss. Sunik, a brand-new oil tank steamer carrying 6000 tons of water to the Fleet, put in to Malta for instructions that same day, and the admiral informed me I could sail in her on the following afternoon.

SPIRIT OF THE NAVY

We are all proud of our Navy, of the great deeds it has performed, and of the exemplary patience under the most trying conditions with which the great blockade has been kept up in the North Sea throughout the winter. But we ought to be equally proud of the officers and men who man our mercantile marine, and without whose cordial and unhesitating co-operation the efforts of the Navy would be largely wasted. The officers are a splendid body of men, who deserve well of their countrymen. They work unnoticed and without hope of reward. This ship, the Sunik, has spent the winter off the coast of Scotland and in the Irish Channel. She has braved storms, submarines, and mines like hundreds of others. She carries no guns to protect her against the deadly foe from below, and, as far as I know, the only weapon on board is the captain’s revolver. Whilst off the English coast from hour to hour no one on board knew when the summons might come. The officers and crew carry their lives in their hands. They can expect no warning and no mercy from the cowardly enemy who has thrown the laws of war and the time-honoured dictates of humanity to the winds.

When ordered out to the Mediterranean the Sunik made her way unescorted down the Irish Channel, across the mouth of the English Channel, and then on into the Bay. After the North Sea, the coast of Scotland, and the Irish Channel, a cruise down the peaceful Mediterranean comes as a delightful respite to these brave men. The sunshine of the south has a cheering effect on the spirits of the crew. You know and feel that you are absolutely safe from man, and have only the ever-changing elements to face. These have not been over kind to the cause of the Allies up to the present. Time and time again the operations against the Dardanelles have been hampered by storms, rain and thick mists.

We left Malta on Friday, April 2, under ideal conditions—bright sunshine overhead, and not a ripple on the water. It was impossible to believe that Europe was at war. On Saturday the weather held, and we made good progress, but on Monday morning we ran into a storm of wind and rain, which continued almost without cessation for three days and nights. Many of our merchant captains and their crews have never traversed the waters of the Mediterranean) its currents, changing weather conditions, its lights, and the innumerable islands of the Archipelago are a new field of discovery to them. Amazing as it may seem, the charts are also old and very inaccurate, all of which adds to the difficulty of correct navigation. As long as the weather holds, and you have a long horizon, these difficulties do not count for much, but when the sea is running high, and everything in front is blotted out by thick, driving sleet and bursting spray, and when you are not sure of your reckoning, and know from the map there should be an island somewhere on your port bow, and two smaller ones to starboard, and that your correct course lies somewhere through a narrow channel between the two—why, then even the stoutest-hearted sailor has moments of anxiety.

PERILOUS JOURNEY

But we are a Fleet messenger, under orders to arrive at our destination without delay; the same blood and spirit of enterprise of the Elizabethan era courses through the veins of the officers and men, and we press on, groping our way blindly and risking bumps with the Archipelago. The captain never leaves the bridge for nearly forty-eight hours at a stretch. The sea is breaking over our decks, leaving the well a huge bath of raging surf. Once, when the sun appears for a moment, we see, a quarter of a mile away, a small tug towing a lighter and making very bad weather. She signals, Can you tell me where I am? Have lost my reckoning We reply as approximately as possible, although our captain frankly admits privately that he knows little more than the tug. Then she replies, Have lost three of my four lighters, broken loose; have you sighted them? We have not, and tell her so. One more signal and we part company. You might tell the admiral when you get in.

Then we are off, and the tug and the lighter, which have come all the way from Malta, are swallowed up from view by the huge seas. That night we have to slow down, because a well-known island, which I will not name, but which is sacred to Venus, the Goddess of Love, refuses to reveal her whereabouts under such conditions, and the captain remarks, We can’t have a love affair in the middle of a war like this

PLUCKY YOUNG OFFICERS

At dawn the sea has risen even more, but it is rather clearer, and the Isle of Love is visible not far off. Then we sight two little black dots a long way to port, and the captain pronounces them to be trawlers. They are obviously making frantic efforts to overtake us, so we slow down and wait in the trough of the sea. They are having about as rotten a time as anyone could wish for. Every sea sweeps them from bow to stern. They roll right under the waves and disappear from view for minutes at a time, and then