When the sun set on that disastrous day the fleet slipped out of the Dardanelles, never again to renew its attack in force. The great attempt had failed; three battleships had gone down, and the French and British navies were the poorer by the loss of many gallant men. It was now clear to all that an unsupported naval attack was powerless to force a right-of-way through the Hellespont. Though the lost battleships had been destroyed by mines, the wisdom of our forefathers had been fully justified: well-armed forts are more than a match for the gun fire of ships.
For the next month one or more vessels entered the straits each day and opened fire in order to prevent the Turks from repairing their forts. On 28th March the Russian Black Sea Fleet bombarded the outer forts of the Bosporus. There was, however, no sting in these attacks. The fleet had shot its bolt. Our war lords were now preparing for a combined movement by land and sea.
The Victoria Cross was awarded to Lieutenant-Commander Eric Gascoigne Robinson for several acts of bravery during the operations described above. On 26th February, when detailed to destroy a fort which had been silenced by our ships, he advanced alone, under heavy fire, into the enemy's position, and blew up a 4-inch gun. He then returned to his party for another charge, with which he destroyed a second gun. He did the work single-handed, because he knew that the white uniforms of his comrades would make them a good mark for the enemy. Commander Robinson distinguished himself not only by destroying guns, but also by taking part in four attacks on mine-fields--in each case under heavy fire.
Three miles south of Ypres, close to the railway line which runs from that city to Comines, on the Lys, stands Hill 60, now known to all the world as the scene of a furious struggle which merged into a long and fierce battle. You must not imagine Hill 60 as a towering peak, but as a gentle swell of ground not rising much more than sixty feet above the level of the surrounding country. It was, indeed, formed by the earth taken out of a railway cutting and dumped down by the side of the line. At the time when my story opens (17th April) it was a hillock of ploughed land, with woods on all sides of it. Humble as it was, the heroisms done on it have given it a fame that Mont Blanc might envy.