But that end was not nearly in sight as night fell on August 7. Nobody had given up hope: it was quite the other way about. A feeling of intense relief had followed the successful landing, and the generals were sure that given a little time to straighten things out they would be able to move on again.
The night was cold and absolutely still. Away to the south at Anzac the artillery was rumbling steadily, but at Suvla not a gun was fired. No attempt was made to push patrols forward either from Chocolate Hill or along Kiretch Tepe, and no contact was made with the enemy anywhere. Soon after 5 a.m. on August 8, when the blazing sun came up, the scene remained as it was on the previous evening; the plain was still empty, no sound of rifle fire was heard, and there were still no Turks on the heights of Tekke Tepe. Willmer had concentrated his men around Anafarta Sagir further to the south, certain that the real, concentrated blow of the British was about to fall on him at any moment.
Hammersley, in fact, had something of the sort in mind, and he set off early on this second morning at Suvla to consult his brigadiers. He was much discouraged, however, by what they told him; the soldiers, they said, were too tired to go on — and when the General heard nothing from Stopford he gave up the idea of making an advance.
Stopford’s actions during this morning of August 8 were almost as simple: a few minutes after 7 a.m. he signalled General Mahon on Kiretch Tepe to entrench. At 9.30 he sent a message of congratulation to his generals and at 10 he communicated his satisfaction to Hamilton. ‘Consider,’ he said, ‘Major-General Hammersley and troops under him deserve great credit for result attained against strenuous opposition and great difficulty.’ And he added, ‘I must now consolidate.’
Hamilton was baffled. What on earth was happening at Suvla? Over 20,000 men had now been on shore for more than twenty-four hours, and he knew from the reports of the Naval Air Service that there was no serious opposition in front of them. Stopford seemed quite contented, but still he did not push on. It had been estimated that the Turks would take about thirty-six hours to get their reinforcements down from Bulair, and now, on the morning of August 8, there were at the most six or seven hours to go. He sent for Colonel Aspinall and told him to get over to Suvla and find out what was going on.
Aspinall got his orders shortly before 6 a.m., and he at once went down to the docks at Imbros with Colonel Hankey, but it was not until 9.30 a.m. that they managed to find a trawler to take them to the mainland. Another two hours went by before they reached Suvla Bay, and there they surveyed with astonishment the scene along the shore. It was, they reported later, like an August Bank Holiday in England. Hardly a sound disturbed the quivering summer air. Many boats were bobbing about on the gentle swell in the bay, and on the beach naked troops were bathing in hundreds and tending their cooking fires. Inland beyond the salt lake there was perfect peace. No one was in a hurry, no one seemed to be very busy, unless it was the group of soldiers who were digging a large entrenchment along the coast. ‘You seem to be making yourselves snug,’ Hankey said to a staff officer standing by. ‘We expect to be here a long time,’ was the reply.
There could be only one explanation of this cheerful atmosphere — the hills had been taken and the front was a long way off — and Aspinall and Hankey went ashore in a much happier frame of mind. Leaving Hankey on the beach, Aspinall at once struck inland in search of Stopford. He had gone only a few paces, however, when an artillery officer came running after him to say that, if he did not take care, he would find himself in front of the front line. It was only a hundred yards away.
‘But where are the Turks?’ Aspinall asked.
‘There aren’t any; but no orders have been issued for an advance and the corps commander is still aboard the Jonquil.’
It seemed then to Aspinall and Hankey that the best thing to do was to find the headquarters of the 10th Division, and they were directed to a stretch of sand on the south side of the bay. Here in a moment they learned the full disillusioning truth. General Hammersley was lying full length on the ground with his head in his hands, and it was evident that he was still very much upset by the shelling of his headquarters and the rush of events since the landing. His chief-of-staff explained despondently that the Army was still pinned to the shore. It so happened that a message had just come in from Stopford asking them to advance, but it had stated, ‘In view of want of adequate artillery support I do not want you to attack an entrenched position held in strength.’ In these circumstances both Hammersley and Mahon had decided that it was perhaps wiser not to go forward until the guns did arrive. The troops were dead-beat, Hammersley said, they had suffered many casualties. Perhaps they might get ahead on the following day.
It was now well after noon, and Aspinall, dioroughly alarmed, set off to see Stopford aboard the Jonquil. The scene that followed is one of the anti-climaxes of the campaign, and it has been described by Aspinall himself in his official history:
‘Arriving on board the Jonquil, about 3 o’clock, Aspinall found General Stopford on deck. He was in excellent spirits, and at once came forward to greet the new arrival. “Well, Aspinall,” he said, “the men have done splendidly, and have been magnificent.” “But they haven’t reached the hills, sir,” said Aspinall. “No,” replied the General, “but they are ashore.”
‘Aspinall urged that he was sure Sir Ian would be disappointed that the high ground had not yet been occupied, and he begged him to issue orders for an immediate advance before the enemy’s troops from Bulair could forestall him.
‘General Stopford replied that he fully realized the importance of losing no time, but that it was impossible to move till the men had rested, and till more guns were ashore. He intended to order a fresh advance next day.’
Aspinall was in a delicate position. He could not himself insist further to a senior officer, and while it was essential to get word to Hamilton immediately, he could hardly put through Stopford’s signals office the highly critical message he had in mind. He solved the difficulty by making off—‘in despair’ he says — to de Robeck’s flagship, the Chatham, on the other side of the bay. There he found both Keyes and the Admiral in a similar state of tense anxiety about the delay. Keyes was furious. He himself had just been over to the Jonquil, and the visit, he wrote later, ‘nearly drove me to open mutiny.’ De Robeck had already sent a signal to Hamilton urging him to come to Suvla and now Aspinall added his word. ‘Just been ashore,’ his message ran, ‘where I found all quiet. No rifle fire, no artillery fire, and apparently no Turks. IX Corps resting. Feel confident that golden opportunities are being lost and look upon situation as serious.’
It so happened that Hamilton did not receive either of these messages; the Admiral’s went permanently astray and Aspinall’s did not turn up till the following morning. But this hardly mattered, for Hamilton was on his way at last. He had waited for news with increasing impatience all through the morning. At 10 he had been momentarily reassured by Stopford’s message saying that Hammersley and his men deserved much credit for their work, and he had replied, ‘You and your troops have indeed done splendidly. Please tell Hammersley how much we hope from his able and rapid advance.’ But soon afterwards his doubts set in again. Where was Aspinall? It was only an hour’s run to Suvla and he had set off shortly after daybreak. Why were there no more messages from Stopford? Why was he consolidating? At 11 a.m. Hamilton had been unable to stand it any longer: he ordered his duty destroyer, an Italian-built Portuguese vessel called the Arno, to stand by to take him to the mainland. And now the evil fate of Suvla added to itself a touch that was perfectly ironic. The Arno was not ready. She had developed boiler trouble, her fires had been drawn, and she would not be able to sail before evening. Then another ship? The Navy was sorry but there was no other ship.