Trooper Bluegum at the Dardanelles. Oliver Hogue
sham fight engagements of our troops, and his descriptions in the Sydney Morning Herald of the important movements under Sir Ian Hamilton's observation, the future "Trooper Bluegum" earned the special commendation of that distinguished British General. From the rank of trooper the author of these sketches speedily rose in the service, obtained a commission, and, as Second Lieutenant, was chosen orderly to Colonel (afterwards Brigadier-General) Ryrie, Commander of the Second Light Horse Brigade. Soon after landing at the scene of operations at Gallipoli, he was promoted to First Lieutenant.
It was just before Christmas, close on five months after war was declared, that the Expeditionary Force which included General Ryrie's Brigade sailed from Sydney. Nearly the whole of Trooper Bluegum's descriptions of the operations in the Anzac sphere were written in dugouts between intervals of the fighting, often with shells screaming overhead, shrapnel bursting, and bullets flying about him.
A feature of the descriptions in this book is the clear light thrown on the rollicking yet unconquerable spirit of the Australian soldier in action, on his never-failing good humour and love of fun even in the face of death in any form, his amenableness to discipline, his cheerful, patient endurance of hardship, and his fine contempt of danger whenever and wherever confronting him. Here is seen the Australian (his New Zealand brother in all respects his exact prototype) in the full integrity of his young manhood.
Whence came these qualities in a branch of an immortal race bred to peaceful pursuits? The analytical psychologist may not unprofitably try his hand at explaining. The root principle is that the fighting spirit which to the astonishment of the whole world, flashed out on Gaba Tepe heights, was in the blood of the race, fostered in the schools, on the playgrounds, and sustained by undying attachment to the great Empire whose flag is the symbol for all that free men hold dear.
This book is a narrative, with sidelights and commentary, of the operations of the Australian Imperial Expeditionary Forces, from the training encampment at Holdsworthy to the time when, chastened but still unconquered, the heroic band of Australians, or rather the remnant that was left of them, returned from Anzac after the most glorious failure in the annals of war.
J. A. HOGUE.
Sydney,
December, 1915.
CHAPTER I
A SOLDIER OF THE KING
RIDING TESTS—THE SOLDIER'S OATH—SIR IAN HAMILTON—MOUNTED PARADE—BUSHMEN AND CITY MEN ON TRIAL—LIGHT HORSE WAR SONG
"Trooper Bluegum, you're next."
I stepped forward. A hundred volunteers had been marched down from Victoria Barracks, Sydney, and were undergoing the riding test prior to being drafted into the Australian Light Horse.
"Mount and ride," said the sergeant.
I leaped on the bare back of a hog-maned colt. Three other candidates were already mounted waiting for the signal. One was a Sydney "bushman" and was obviously nervous. The other two were bushmen from Riverina and the Hunter River and they grinned confidently.
"Cross this flat," continued the sergeant; "leap the bog, jump the sod wall, gallop to that marker, and return."
Some fool orderly gave my mount a crack over the back with a rope and away we galloped. The flat was easy, though I had not ridden bare-backed for some time. The bog offered no resistance and we leaped the sod wall neck and neck. Then the horses wanted to bolt and they took some stopping. Anyhow, the first half of the test was safely through.
The Sydney bushman was looking more at ease. The others grinned expansively. "That's dead easy," said the man from Narrandera. "Call that a riding test?"
The return signal was given, and the quartette started off. All went well till the water jump loomed ahead. Here half a dozen yelling orderlies were posted to spur on the chargers to the leap. The three bushmen cleared the obstacle with hardly a splash, but disaster was in store for the City bushman. Right on the brink the horse stopped dead and the hapless rider was shot with catapultic force head first into the bog, amid roars of merriment from the assembled army. We three countrymen "passed," were promptly marshalled with the horsemen, and marched to the doctor's for medical examination. The City bushman was sent to "the gravel-crushers."
In a huge marquee in Rosebery Park were a score of virile young Australians stripped for the fray. Sun-tanned bushmen they were for the most part, lean and wiry, with muscles rippling over their naked shoulders. Splendid specimens—strong but not too heavy, rarely topping thirteen stone, for all the heavier men had been sent to the infantry. But these were ideal Light Horsemen.
"Bluegum forward."
I stood, and the sergeant ran the tape over me: Weight, 11 stone; height, 5 feet ten; chest, 37, expanded 41; age 34; beauty spots and identification marks, none; eyes, brown; hair, brown; religion, Presbyterian.
Then the doctor got busy; tapping here, sounding there, finally with a word of approval sending me over to the sight specialist. There was a jumble of letters of various sizes set before me, and finally, with a score of others satisfactory in wind and limb, I was sent on to the adjutant. My name, age, occupation, next-of-kin, and other essential details were recorded. Then we were lined up to swear allegiance.
On the flat the volunteers were still doing the riding test, with hundreds of onlookers keenly enjoying it. Each time some luckless aspirant for fame and glory was precipitated into the bog the crowd roared with delight, and when he emerged, mud-bespattered and crestfallen, the hilarity of the bushmen knew no bounds. Pointed advice was hurled at the failures, and they were urged to join the "gravel-crushers," which most of them did.
For a couple of hours the fun continued, and with the end of the day another hundred rough-riders were drawn up, passed and enlisted ready for anything and everything. One by one we went forward and took the oath.
The sun was just setting over the western rim of dear old Sydney town when my turn came. The clouds were all gold and rose and amethyst, and the whole scene was as peaceful as could be. The First Light Horse Regiment—in fine fettle, ready at a moment's notice to sail for Europe—cantering gaily back to camp, reminded us that the nation was in a state of war, that the empire was engaged in a life and death struggle, and that on the issue of the great conflict depended the fate of Australia. And we of the Sixth Regiment were to make good the "wastage of war."
So, solemnly, I kissed the Book and swore this oath: "I, James Bluegum, swear that I will well and truly serve our Sovereign Lord the King in the Australian Imperial Force from September 1914 until the end of the war, and a further period of four months thereafter, unless sooner lawfully discharged, dismissed, or removed therefrom; and that I will resist His Majesty's enemies and cause His Majesty's peace to be kept and maintained; and that I will in all matters appertaining to my service faithfully discharge my duty according to law. So help me God."
I was a Soldier of the King!
Once more we were lined up and marched away to the quartermaster. Each man was given a waterproof sheet, a pair of blankets, a knife, fork, spoon, tin plate, and pannikin. We were to form part of the Second Light Horse Brigade, and being minus tents we were relegated to the stables. We raided the straw store, made beds, and lay upon them.
It was not ours to go with the first lot of heroes to take part in the Great War. Most of us had waited till the Germans got within cannon shot of Paris. Then we "butted in." We were selected to supply the wastage—that was all. If we could not be the first in the firing-line, it was something to know that we would take the place of the men who were killed or wounded—all of us, the man from Narrandera, in Riverina, the man from Hunter River, the men from out-back everywhere, Trooper Bluegum among them, all whistling merrily "Soldiers of the King, my Boys!"
We of the Light Horse started with many things in our favour. We reckoned we could ride as well as, if not better than, any body of men in the world, for we could ride almost as soon