296 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War 



was hoped would put a considerable number of the Turks out of 

 action, but which proved to have been most abortive. Anyone 

 looking on, thought Sedd-el-Bahr and its old fortresses must have 

 been rendered innocuous, but before long all were undeceived, 

 and for days to come were praying for howitzers and still more 

 howitzers and guns of high trajectory. For an account of the 

 magnificent part played by the troops in this action Sir Ian 

 Hamilton's historic and classic despatch and Mr. Masefield's 

 epic, provide brilliant and tragic details. 



Mr. Hall is full of admiration of the British army and navy.. 

 He says, " For absolute pluck and self-forget fulness commend me 

 to a British naval officer." The gallant commander who had 

 been in charge of the landing operations was badly hit in the 

 knee, but as he lay in the boat which brought him to the Aragon 

 he was still full of fire and vim, and continued to give directions 

 with that directness of energy, voice, and gesture that were very 

 naval. The commander in charge of the submarine base at 

 Malta had volunteered to help in the landing and was so badly 

 wounded he died in Mr, Hall's arms. 



The Aragon was some little way from V. beach, yet little did 

 they know of its many tragedies ; but through their glasses they 

 could see what looked like a crowd of men resting as if for a 

 first meal on shore. What looked like men resting were those 

 who had lived through the deadly hail from machine-guns, 

 rifles, and shrapnel ; they were sheltering under that providential 

 forty-one inches of abrupt rise from sea-level, but unable to 

 move one step in any direction, either right or left. Little did 

 those on the Aragon then know of the thousands of Turks 

 unscathed by the bombardment who from trench and crevice, 

 castle and village, were pouring a murderous storm of lead upon 

 the invaders. 



When the beach was reached Mr. Hall found a gruesome 

 sight. The dead lay in heaps. The cliffs, festooned with wire, 

 had dead soldiers hanging in its entanglements, many in places 

 it was impossible to reach for some time. 



Three chaplains, named Hall, Hardy, and Foster, now set 

 to work hard, burying the dead— as many as eighty-eight bodies 

 in one grave. They worked unceasingly for the best part of 

 four days and four nights. 



That Sunday evening, April 25th, while busy burying the 



