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The map showed us Suvla Bay far up the coast of the Peninsula, a long way behind Achi Baba. We measured seven miles, and decided that the Turks' communications with Achi Baba must have been cut. "Curse it," said an enthusiast, "we're just too late." We had visions of the Turkish Army flying from the Helles front in frantic efforts to escape the surrounding threatened by this landing in their rear.
The hosts of troops that were passing through Malta must, they surprised us by declaring, be destined for some secret move elsewhere than at Helles, for there was no room for them on the narrow tongue of land beneath Achi Baba. "We're wild to know what's in the wind," said a sister. "The stream of transports has never stopped for the last few days." That we could well believe.
All offensive on Gallipoli was at this time confined to the Cape Helles front, where the capture of Achi Baba was their immediate object. The rôle of the Anzac troops was merely to keep the enemy always on the alert and in fear of an offensive movement from Anzac, and to make small demonstrations during heavy attacks on the big hill of Achi Baba.
With the withdrawal of the allied troops from Anzac Cove and Suvla Bay, the Turks were free to concentrate all their forces in the Gallipoli Peninsula in the south against the British and French forces that were still intrenched on a line running roughly from Y Beach on the Ægean Sea to Kereves Dere on the Dardanelles, skirting the slopes that led up to the town of Krithia and the heights of Achi Baba.
But we have on our maps little blue arrows showing the movements of at least a Division of troops in various little columns from above Kereves Dere, from Soghon Dere river, from Kilid Bahr and even from within gun-shot of Achi Baba, all converging on a point a mile or two north-west of Krithia.
Next morning I sat on the sunny side of the deck. The shady side, chilly in the November air, looked out upon Cape Helles, with Achi Baba rising straight behind it, and to the left upon the grey succession of landing-places, enshrined in so many English hearts. We sailed the next morning, and thus avoided the misery of the great November blizzard on the Peninsula.
Here am I happily describing so local a thing as the effort of a big-hearted priest to rebuild our spiritual lives on the quiet moments of the Mass and the strange glorious mystery of penance, while the great Division which captured the beaches of Cape Helles had been brought to a standstill by the impregnable hill of Achi Baba, and uncounted troopships like our own were pouring through the Mediterranean to retrieve the fight.
One was Sari Bair, the stately hill which stood inviolate, although an army had dashed itself against its fastnesses. The other, lower down the skyline, was Achi Baba, as impregnable as her sister, Sari Bair. The story of the campaign was the story of these two hills. For perfect charm, I recall no trip to equal this cruise betimes in the sparking Ægean.
Alas, there is the doubtful point. We think forty thousand rifles and a hundred guns, but, if my scheme comes off, not a tenth of them should be South of Achi Baba for the first two days. Hints have been thrown out that we are asking the French cat to pull the hottest chestnut out of the fire. Not at all.
Always in war there is three times better value in filling up an old formation than in making up the total by bringing in a new formation. I have given the French the Naval Brigade; the new, Naval-Australian Division is to form my general reserve. So there! To-morrow morning. We have men enough, and good men too, but we are short of pebbles for Goliath of Achi Baba.
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