Tudway and Square-Peg have accused me of being cold-blooded

over the affair. But I intended to be nothing if

not practical, and the next morning discovered that any shell

of average intentions, in fact one falling ten feet shorter than

the very one that had plugged into my bedroom wall up above,

would have no difficulty in going through the mess roof and

so through the mess cupboard--a large receptacle into the

wall--into our so-called impregnable bedroom which was to

be the emergency shelter for all hands. My bed was just

beyond the cupboard the other side of the three-foot wall.

So this evening when Tudway went to the cupboard for the

jam and meat and bread he found a solid wall of tins filled

with earth. This he considered a master-stroke. The

provisions, as he explained, would have been directly in the

line of fire!

Moreover, I have had removed a score or two of loose

bricks which were wedged in the best Damocletian style between

the joists and the ceiling. For last night I dreamed one

fell on my head. Why my head is always in the line of trouble

I can't say.

Talking of dreams, that is the second nasty one in a few

days. The previous time I dreamed I was being hung.

That was probably due to a button that I had sewn on to the

neck of my pyjama jacket by the uncertain light of dubbin oil!

_10 p.m._--There is heavy and continuous firing downstream.

I respectfully suggest a variation of Watts's "Hope"--that

popular picture. A junior sub asleep in a barricaded corner

of a room in Kut beside a four-ounce slice of bread, listening

in his dreams to distant guns.

I must now make one of the most important entries of

the whole siege. General Smith gave me a _Punch_. I mean

that having finished with a copy of _Punch_, sent to him by

aeroplane, he has passed it on to me.

Shakespeare, Thackeray, and Punch. In the flesh, what

friends those three would have been!

"If," writes an unborn Teufeldrockh, "I were not a

German, I would like to be Punch."

"If," replies Punch, with a dignified bow, "you were not

a German, you could aspire."

For what duellist but that great English gentleman Punch

has the seeing eye, the delicate wrist, the merciful smile?

_March 26th._--I am in Indian khaki again, for summer has

come to Kut. It is even getting unpleasantly warm.

The massaging has decreased the rheumatics if anything,

although I am very much weaker and can't walk 400 yards

without getting blown. It is worth while to avoid the chaff

bread, and I stick to an occasional egg and rice-husk and soup.

How fit I was when I started on this front! Square-Peg

was seedy yesterday and in pain. I gave him some essence

of ginger tabloids, and later on opium, which relieved him

somewhat.

It is rumoured that the 6-inch guns from home have at

last reached Gorringe. The enemy is now completely outclassed

in artillery.

Tudway took me with him on board the _Sumana_ to see

the effects of the recent bombardment. By a miracle one

shell missed the main steam-pipes and carried away part of

the bridge and cabin and funnel. Tudway is a keen officer,

and has all the delightful insouciance of his service. We went

over the whole boat and the barges. He was all on the alert,

in his quiet way, to gather any suggestions for further protecting

his alumnus. We sat in his dismantled cabin and talked

of the sea, or rather he did, and I mentally annotated him

with my own dreams. The sea, the sea, so vast, so great, so

deep, so far away! As the hart panteth after the water-brooks

so pant we Englishmen after thee, O Sea, even after

thee, wild and lonely as thou art, and after thy waters briny

as tears. Mighty, untamed, eternal! We, thy children, love

thee. Alone, thou art free!

Turkish snipers followed us up, and we had to run the

gauntlet on the way to the shore over the waters of the flood.

I bought three small fish yesterday here, but some one's native

servant was killed last evening by a stray shell while fishing,

so for the future it's all off. On one occasion, Tudway and I

tried to net some, but both the Turks and the fish were

against us.

This siege is a perfect device for leaving a man to his own

plaguings. A book is now almost as great a luxury as bread.

I am even driven to re-robing and criticizing some of our

early endeared legacies. Let us begin with the poet's notion

of service--admittedly of a bygone day.

_The Soldier's Dream._

By the other Campbell.

_Our bugles sang truce for the night-cloud had lowered--_

Delightful arrangement that, one must admit. A

truce is, after all, more fun than a night attack. And

perhaps the cloud was a big one and it looked like rain!

_And the Sentinel stars set their watch in the sky--_

Much better! But that does away with the rain theory.

_And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered--_

Bad-fitting word. Sounds like avoirdupois. But it

must have referred to gas fumes, otherwise the line

certainly reflects on the condition of the men. This

climate could be called "overpowering."

_The weary to sleep and the wounded to die--_

That scouts the gas theory! As a matter of fact it's

the last thing the weary have a chance to do, and the

wounded certainly take weeks to die. Look at Cockie!

_While reposing one night on my pallet of straw--_

Fancy Tommy "reposing"! Campbell, may I inform

you that Thomas neither poses nor reposes, which

suggests the soft, rounded limbs of a Grecian maiden on

a bed of rose-leaves. Tommy likes his mouth open, and

often prefers to lie on his stomach with his legs wide

apart. Reposing! My hat! What an awful swank

the man was with his knocking off work because of the

night-cloud, and what with his reposing on a pallet of

straw. Why he didn't go in for a convertible four-legged

wheelbarrow bedstead puzzles me. Tommy lies on the

"good 'ole dirt" if it's hot, and otherwise screws himself

up into his blanket, head and all. I hear Graoul asking

his pal, "O, Halgie, koindly porse erlong may pallet

hof straarw hat wance."

"Roight yer hare! 'Ere, Toenails, pallit-er strore is

forwerd--hand the quilt halso."

_At the dead of night a sweet vision I saw,

And thrice ere the morning I dreamed it again--_

Kindly eliminate "dreamed" and substitute "saw,"

then re-read it. Don't laugh! Why shouldn't he

"see" it the second and even the third time also?

Tommy sees lots of things--at times.

_I dreamed from the battlefield's dreadful array

Far, far, I had roamed on a desolate track.

It was springtime and summer arose on the way--

To the home of my fathers that welcomed me back--_

Tommy wouldn't dream of dreaming such a thing.

As for the "home of my fathers," the shape of the idea

would give him a fit. "Bit o' skirt more like it."

_Stay, stay with us, thou art weary and worn;

And fain was the war beaten soldier to stay--

But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn

And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away--_

"D'ye 'ear this, Spud?" says Tommy Toenails.

"The voice in 'is dreeamin' hear melted."

"Bit o' wax, more like," says Spud.

"I say a flea an' charnce it," adds Tooting Tom.

"Hand," says Spud, "wen 'e hawoke 'e got anuther

stomikful o' sorrer. Marrid man, too. Gawd 'elp 'im."

We pass on. Let us take that dear little hymn lots

of us learned at our mother's knee--

"_There is a green hill far away

Without a city wall._"

How I used to wonder what a green hill could possibly

want _with_ a city wall. Ah! the dear doubts of childhood!

I shall be told that "without" meant "beyond."

Another doubt was about "Llewellyn and his

Dog." How the siege has helped us to join hands with

childhood once more. Surely I haven't thought of

the lines for many years. They run--

"_The gallant hound the wolf had slain,

To save Llewellyn's heir._"

I remember we had to write a composition on the

poem, and having decided that it was the wolf that had

killed the hound--just as one says, "The scanty bone

the beggar picked"--I had to square matters so as to

explain how the hound died a second time at the hands

of Llewellyn. It's all misty now, but I at least remember

propounding the theory that the Welsh chieftain, in his

terror, must have mistaken the wolf for the hound, and

consequently did _him_ in for murdering the lost child.

It was this incident, I believe, that induced my parents

to select for me a career at the Bar.

That incident recalls another one later on. At school

we had a delightful master who hated using chalk. He

informed us that we were to write an essay on--

"_Beneath the rule of men entirely great

The pen is mightier than the sword._"

One promising fellow misheard the last word as

"saw." He was rather an authority on saws, and treated

us to a delightful treatise on saws in general, band-saws,

hand-saws, rip-saws, fret-saws, and circular saws. As

far as I remember, the drift of his argument was that

a pen could merely write, whereas a saw could cut a

piece of wood.

Once more, "Eheu! _Fugaces postumi----_"

I wonder where that lad is now. I should think he

must be a large saw-miller somewhere--possibly asleep

on a "pallet of straw" in France, and seeing "visions"

of his beloved saws. Why not! God bless him. I've

forgotten his name and even what he was like.

Well, well, these frivolities must come to an end for

it's ten o'clock. I had intended to set out more details of

our starvation methods, but we talk enough of it and I'm

sick of the subject. Besides, what is happiness but a big

digression?

_March 27th._--The day's bulletin is that the Churches in

England are praying for us. How we hope they pray hard.

There is, we understand, to be a last forward movement of all

arms to the relief of Kut. The position down below seems to

have developed into something like that in France, as the

Turkish forces are dug deep and well flanked with impassable

swamps. It is difficult to force such a position against the

clock, but we easily outnumber the enemy, so it is said, and

then our heavy guns may do a great deal.

The water of the floods is now all over the _maidan_ around

our old first line, in fact in front of our present first line is a

great lake some feet deep, and possibly eight feet above the

dry base of our trench. The large _bund_ or wall we have made

is excellent. The enemy has had to withdraw still further back,

and in places he is 1500 yards off. In this way the floods

have saved us. There is little chance of an attack through the

water. It may be doubted whether our men could have stood

the strain in their present condition if the enemy had maintained

his original proximity of from 50 to 150 yards. I

remember a listening post at C Redoubt something like ten

yards from the first line of the enemy.

Over the river all around Woolpress and beyond, and also

reaching southward, are shining sheets of water with ever-diminishing

green patches between. During the last flood of

a few days back the water percolated into Woolpress, which,

of course, is on the bank of the river, and wrought great

havoc in the trenches and among the men there.

It must be an awfully lonely and desolated existence over

there at Woolpress, a siege within a siege. The post is a

mere sequence of mud houses, all adjoined, five yards or so

from the water and forming a segment of a circle on the river

about 250 yards frontage, its first line being the arc extending

150 yards inland at its farthest. They have first and

second line trenches, and barbed wire, and since the heavy

floods, a _bund_. So that it is now practically an island. The

Turkish lines reach all round it in larger arcs also resting on

the river-bank. They have not even the chance of buying

stores as we have, and never come over, nor is it permitted

for any to cross. The communication is by motor-boat or

almost always by the _Sumana_. Tudway has the nerve of

Beelzebub, and delights most of all in his moonlight trips. It

would, of course, be certain destruction for him to cross in

the daytime. At the beginning of the siege there was telephonic

communication, but the wire was rotten and broke

continually. We have helio now, and some sort of understanding

for emergency signalling by lights. Our river-front

guns are all registered on the enemy's lines around the place,

and on one or two occasions we have gone to gun-fire, thus

preventing any Turkish reserves getting up. From this side

of the river a section of the 82nd R.F.A.'s guns can enfilade

the enemy's northern lines around Woolpress.

We get news of the place by the drafts that now and then

reinforce the post on relief. The story goes that the other

day a party of Turks peered over their trenches and cried

aloud to our Mussulman soldiers not to fight against their

brother followers of Mahomet, but to go over to them who

had plenty of food. This sort of thing had gone on quite a

time when the officer on picket duty got about a dozen sepoys

to fire a volley at the Turks just by way of exchanging compliments.

The Turks replied, and general fire ensued. That

highly intuitional body over here, Headquarters, believing that

Woolpress was being attacked by all the spare Turks in the

Ottoman Empire, gave our artillery enthusiastic orders, and

Woolpress began to think they took some part in the siege

after all, in fact that they belonged to us. And although it

was a storm in a teapot, no doubt for those in the teapot it

was highly interesting. It is even said that senior officers

struggled out from beneath spider-webbed blankets where

they had hoped to complete their hibernation until the siege

was over, to see the reason for this turn of events. Woolpress

are a gallant little band, no doubt, and there have been times

when no insurance company on earth would have looked twice

at any one of them, although a philanthropic society might

have stretched a point for those certified able to swim; for a

red Turkish crescent ringed them in and grew ever closer to

them, and once the river took sides and offered to drown them.

But that was months ago.

Woolpress, too, has its advantages. They have been

practically never shelled and rarely bombed. On the contrary,

when we are getting bombarded or any particular show is on,

they all take front seats on their river-bank in absolute security

and observe our emotions. I well remember that gala day

of March 1st, when enemy guns of both sides took part in that

very well conducted "command matinée" performance for the

entertainment of the gods. The whole crowd of Woolpress

was seated early, orchestral stalls for field officers, subalterns

in specially erected boxes, and the rank and file everywhere

else. I was, of course, very much on the stage, being stuck up

there shooting my guns, while the Turks cut patterns round

me with all the artistry of Turkish artillery. The heavy

gunners on the observation post farther along, that well-battered

remnant that is the despair of the Sultan's artillery

observers, also attracted considerable attention from an

audience particularly sporting. I felt that the Woolpressers

were making and taking huge bets as to what time my wee

sandbag arrangement with contents would go by the board.

Opera glasses were there by the dozen. But Jove, Trenchion,

and Shraptune, the sporting gods that had decreed the performance,

naturally objected to such small fry sharing the

entertainment, and sent Fritz along with bombs. This

considerably thinned the box plan, from which many

adjourned for afternoon tea, while those more deeply in debt

remained taking still larger bets on their own immediate

existence.

This is my birthday. We have raised a small quantity of

rum with which we three shall notch the year to-night. Why

doesn't one feel older? Life lies immediately behind us like

the wake of a ship, but _we_ don't change--only the distance

behind us changes (and a few of us are a stone lighter!).

9.30 _p.m._--I returned from my round with a copy of _The

Field_ from General Smith. There was an excellent article on

Pan-Germanism, and another that brought to Kut the brown

wintry heather, the smell of the peat streams, the pheasants,

and the free rolling moors of Yorkshire. And that led me to

contrast the present flooded aspect of this dreary stretch of

God's ancient mud with the frilled hedges and those gay wild

banners of English springtime.

Speaking for myself on this my thirtieth birthday, I never

felt so restful and free from the gnawings of ambition. For

better fellows have fallen, and promising careers have closed,

and disastrous ones terminated before amends could be made;

while I have lots of credit in hand, for I have had many lucky

narrow shaves.

CHAPTER VI

THE LAST DAYS OF KUT--SICKNESS--DEATH--SURRENDER

_March 28th._--It is a quiet day. On the right bank

there is some movement of the enemy downstream.

Convoys of camels and mules trekked from Shamrun

camp over the Shat-el-hai to the Turkish depôts below.

We are all eagerly awaiting news of our preparation for

the big show, and there is much debating as to what would be

the best plan of attack.

_3 p.m._--There is considerable Turkish activity all around,

and reinforcements are probably being pushed down below,

for the enemy knows quite well that we are on our last legs

and that a big attempt will be made to relieve us.

The river is gradually falling, and one 4·7 has been towed

back into position, but the other is still under-water.

A bombardment is proceeding downstream, probably the

shelling of Sunaiyat, the formidable position of the enemy on

the left bank, a series of trenches on a tiny front of 400 yards

between a marsh and a river. In this position the enemy is

so deep down and has such excellent cover that the place has

so far baffled every attempt to take it. Not the least difficulty

is that the intervening ground, which every storming party

must cross, is wet as a bog. This has, of course, been worked

by the Turks. On the right bank Gorringe seems to have

pushed on almost level of Sunaiyat, and, with a little more

success, enfilade of the Sunaiyat position should be possible.

According to rumour, the plan of attack roughly may be

as follows:--

One division will probably have the task of holding Sunaiyat

forces while the other two divisions push up through Beit

Aessa, whence our 6-inch guns should enfilade the Sunaiyat

position. The line of advance would probably make for

Dujaila Redoubt which would be taken on by our big guns

and the bridge at O destroyed to prevent escape of the enemy

to other bank. One division would then have a large part

of the Turkish force hemmed in on the Essin ridge right bank,

and the other division crossing into Kut by a bridge to be

erected by us would swing around past the Fort to prevent

the remaining enemy forces on the left bank from getting

away. It will be either a dismal failure or brilliant success,

and much at this belated hour must depend upon the floods.

_March 29th._--A beautiful day and quite hot. We have

been unmolested except for some shells on the Fort. I have

finished "Septimus," by W. Locke. Septimus is a delightful

chap, and would make much fun for us if he were here.

Then we played chess, and I visited Pas Nip on my way

around the trenches. He returned and lunched with us. I

have managed to get a tin of gooseberry jam at ten rupees, one

tin of milk twelve rupees, 1½ lbs. of atta for fifteen rupees.

I held another inspection of the native drivers among

whom scurvy has increased. They still refuse to eat horseflesh.

Don Juan has turned from a dark black to a burned brown.

That, possibly, is his way of turning grey! I gather him

some grass every possible day.

_March 30th._--It has been a day of the most perfect tranquillity,

and as I couldn't sleep for this confounded backache

I was up for the dawn. I climbed up to the observation post

and looked around on a lovely earth. I mean it. The very

wretchedness and misery of the floods, and the broken palm

grove, and the disfigured earth, were all woven into the most

bewitching harmony by sheets of silver and bars of golden

sunlight. It was hard to realize it was a scene of war, that

those receding terraces were trenches filled with armed Turks.

I am beginning to think that, after all, the Garden of Eden

could have been very beautiful--at any rate in the dawn,

for then it is a country of long shadows and persuasive lights.

This morning the drooping palm fronds patterned the water

and the wide plain. There was gold and green in every patch

of grass. As for the rest of the earth, it was all a wonderful

and faithful mirror, for in the lucent waters of the ever-growing

flood one saw the moving images of clouds and wild fowl.

Down below there was not a breath, but high above a gentle

breeze from the west caught some fleecy islets of the sky and

washed them out into the great blue sea. To-night the

geography of the sky has changed. There are no islets, there

is no movement. But across the whole western quarter of

the sky the clouds have formed an ethereal beach of white-ribbed

sands that reach around the world, and form the shores

of a wide dark ocean that is lit by flashing stars.

To-night I should like to be Peter Pan in an obedient

cutter and sail there far and wide. Jolly runs I could have,

and how very easy to find my way about safely with all those

splendid lights and beacons. And being Peter Pan I should

know them all.

An ominous buzz recalls me to things nearer at hand.

The room has been invaded by mosquitoes. Already the flies

are an abominable nuisance in the daytime, and cockroaches

are plentiful.

Last night the _Sumana_ was strafed again, and Tudway has

been toiling all the evening at her defences.

This morning I paid the men and did some office work, and

brought the war diary up to date. After that I found time

to try a longer walk around our first line, but felt too seedy to

go into the Fort. I heard that the sickness is rapidly increasing,

and the condition of the troops is so bad that the chief dread

of the whole routine is the marching to and from the trenches.

This being so, regiments are now allowed to remain out there

permanently. In one Indian regiment man after man has

simply sunk down in his tracks and died through want of food.

And an extraordinary number of soldiers wretchedly ill won't

report sick, partly through a horror of entering the crowded

and unhappy hospitals, and also from a sense of duty. Among

the men there is, of course, a good deal of ragging and

general barracking about our not being relieved, but their

spirit and patience and trust in their general is truly magnificent.

No soldier, I truly believe, could wish for a more splendid

loyalty from his rank and file than these men, the European

troops, at any rate, feel and show in a hundred ways for their

"Alphonse." They get little news but of disappointments,

still they go about their duties with a step unsteady and painfully

slow, and at every fresh misfortune they joke and smile.

We miss very much all communication with the outside

world. The generals get a few letters and papers by aeroplane,

but no one else. The other day, however, our mess bombardier

received one from an enterprising brother who directed the

letter to General Townshend, and enclosed the letter to his

brother inside. He tells me his brother is a seaman in a Royal

Indian Mail boat, and is a very up-to-date sort of chap. I

should just think so!

_March 31st._--The weather has broken and once more the

steady downpour has made Kut into a mild sort of Venice.

We have no gondolas it is true, but if our _bund_ goes we can

make shift with rafts.

The _Sumana_ got badly shelled last evening. One shell

went through the awning and crashed through the main stop-valve

over the boiler, missing the funnel and boiler by an inch

or two. That would have been irreparable. As it is things

are quite serious with her. Great volumes of steam escaped,

no doubt to the huge delight of the Turkish gunners. Great

consternation prevailed at headquarters, and Tudway was

immediately reminded---much to his disgust--of the "example

set by Beresford on the Nile when he repaired his boiler under

fire." Tudway is not the sort of fellow who needs any example.

I went on board this morning and saw the damage done.

The old boat has simply been shot through and through. We

drew up a scheme for using shields of gun wagons spread out

over the awning to lend additional protection. As we sprinted

over the planks back to the shore, the Turks at Snipers' Nest

were evidently waiting for us, and a hail of bullets flew by.

We found cover by some millstones, and after a few minutes'

rest took to our heels for the remaining stretch. We are hoping

to get a valve up from below by aeroplane.

Native rations, except for meal, have ceased altogether.

This may induce them to eat horse. There is nothing against

it now as they have the full permission of the Chief Mullahs

in India. The horses are on 4 lbs. of bran and 12 lbs. of grass

cut by fatigue parties off the _maidan_. It keeps them going,

and that is all. The young animals are merely drawing on

their constitution.

I am deeply sorry to hear that poor Woods has gone. He

was the subaltern I have mentioned before as having got the

Military Cross for bravery at the Fort on December 24th, when

he lost his arm. He was a jovial fellow, and a very good sort.

We have had many a gossip together at the hospital. He died

from jaundice. It is very, very unfortunate, as his arm was

quite well, and he was back on light duty. The truth is our

condition is so low that anything carries us off. We are all

very glad he died happily.

_April 1st._--A terrific thunderstorm swamped everything

last night. The place was alive with electricity, and flashings

kept me awake for hours.

Most of our heavy bombardment trenches are full of water,

and I have had fatigue parties on all day baling them out and

shifting the horses.

A rumour has it that the Russians are in the Pushtikus,

the distant range just to the eastward. I consider this a

pathetic rumour, and I'm more interested in what Shackleton

is doing at the South Pole.

To-night we had a meagre portion of fish which one of my

drivers caught in the river. We pay him well and he buys

atta for himself and his pals.

Square-Peg sleeps most of the day, and represents the three

of us in collecting a daily account of Cockie's doings. There

is no one, I am given to understand, sorrier that Cockie was

hit than General "G. B.," who happens to be next door

to him. The hospital, I was yesterday informed by an inmate

slow to anger and of great mercy, consists of two factions,

those that do not love Cockie and those who can't hear him.

I hope he doesn't mind my writing this. I have sent him fish

and fowl, and for my pains he sent me back inquiries as to why

I hadn't done so before. Bah! Cockie can be so rude if you

don't always do sufficient homage--and then I'm so forgetful

in these matters. Not a man in the garrison has risen to-day

to an April fool's joke--not one!

_April 2nd._--We tried some green weed or other the Sepoys

gathered on the _maidan_. Boiled and eaten with a little salad

oil that Tudway fished out from heaven knows where, it seemed

quite palatable. After all, as he says, all we want is something

of a gluey nature to keep our souls stuck on to us.

A delightful little mess is ours. There is none cheerier in

Kut. Picture a long bare wooden table, the other end piled

up with war diaries, books, papers, pipes, and empty bottles,

revolvers and field-glasses, we three at this end. Tudway is

much senior to me, but insists that I preside. So I have the

camp armchair, and he the other, which has very short legs so

that he often seems to be talking under the table. It has

also paralysis in the right arm, so that it is necessary to be

very careful in leaning that way. Now and then, usually once

a night, Tudway forgets, or perhaps he likes doing it, for he

simply bowls over sideways, and by dint of repeated practice

can now do so while clutching at the bread or joint en route.

Sometimes he does it in the middle of a sentence, which he

nevertheless completes leisurely on the floor as becomes an

imperturbable sailor.

Square-Peg opposite has a high wooden chair, and is getting

up a pose for the Woolsack, which I understand he will one

day adorn.

My position is strategically a difficult one, for the other two

acting in conjunction can at a pinch remove the victuals beyond

my reach towards the other end of the table, and my rum--when

we do raise a peg--is in constant danger until consumed.

Square-Peg, whose pseudonym has nothing whatever to do with

a drink, is extraordinarily forgetful in this way at times, and

has been known in the course of an excellent story to drink

all my rum and half of Tudway's. But I've an excellent

memory, and the next rum night--possibly weeks after--Square-Peg

goes short.

I am carver and taster, both useful functions in a siege.

Tudway likes it thin, but with Square-Peg it is necessary to

cut it thick. After the third helping Square-Peg has to carve

for himself. We inaugurated that last week. If by accident

the horse is extra tough, and Square-Peg gets splashed, he gets

four helpings, but Tudway does not, for he can take cover

under the table.

As regards the vegetables, "Sparrow-grass" and potato

meal _or_ beetroot and rice, I divide, and we all cut cards for

first pick. There is always plenty of horse, but vegetables are

a great delicacy. Tudway and I conspire to do Square-Peg

out of his greens so as to keep him up to the scratch in procuring

or in "pinching" vegetables from the garden of which he is

C.O. It works admirably, and I am only sorry his small

pockets necessitate his making several trips. On wet days

we have "encore" in the vegetables, for then he wears a top

coat with big pockets. He refuses to do so on fine days as

he says it looks suspicious. If we have an issue of a spoonful

of sugar I barter it for milk, and the date juice, when we get it,

is measured out with a spoon.

For pudding we have kabobs, fried flour and fat, two each,

and we cut for choice. An excellent idea which we have lately

followed is to get the fat off a horse--there is very little now,

poor things--and render it into dripping, which is quite excellent.

I have sometimes waited for hours to get this from

the butchery. While we had sardines our bombardier produced

a savoury with toast, but that is long ago. Instead we have

coffee, which is mostly ground-up roots, plus liquorice powder,

if you're not careful in buying. The date juice goes into the

coffee, but Square-Peg complains that he can't "feel it that

way," so he drinks his like a liqueur. I prefer bad tea, as the

coffee is generally atrocious, but Tudway likes it for the sake

of "the smell." I provide the tobacco out of the funds, and

sometimes have been diligent enough to make cigarettes, which

are better than those the Arabs make, by screwing up the paper

like a lollipop, pouring the tobacco in and twisting the top end

up. The latter cigarettes require great art in smoking. One

has to lie back in one's chair and point the cigarette to the roof

so as to prevent the baccy emptying out of the cigarette into

one's coffee.

This is the hour sacred to us. We exchange rumours or

invent them. We pool all our gossip into a common heap

which becomes the altar of another day's hope. We avoid all

matters of misfortune or suffering. We have mutually and

tacitly barred the subject of Home. But when the smoke

cloud above the remains of our sorry banquet grows dense

from the pipes of three excellent smokers, we lapse into

silence, and see in the moving mists sweet fantasies far away.

If we were Germans we would, I have no doubt, sing "Home,

Sweet Home" in parts, and shake hands, and shed tears in

unison. But we are merely Englishmen, and if anyone were

to sing five notes of that song he would get slung out for making

a brutal assault on our hearts. So instead we merely smoke on

and on, and the jackals' chorus grows less and less as memories

drift about among the wisps and wraiths of this strange fog-land.

We are glad we are here. We have no tears to give,

but although we know it not, in the heart of us each is a

prayer.

_April 3rd._--It is four months to-day since the Sixth

Division on its last legs entered Kut-el-Amara, expecting relief

to be here in three weeks, a month, possibly six weeks.

Inscrutable are the ways of Allah!

This afternoon a fierce thunderstorm broke over Kut, and

hailstones larger than pigeons' eggs rattled upon us with the

sharp music of musketry. One should be quite sufficient to

knock a fellow out if it got him bare-headed. Afterwards it

turned to rain, which we fear may delay the next battle for

Kut. We hear that the enemy is making every effort to hold up

the relieving force down below, or delay us, for the short time

beyond which the garrison cannot now hold out.

I am feeling very seedy again to-day, what with this

enteritis and rheumatics and jaundice. So is Tudway, to

whom I have given various opium pills and camphoradine.

I am, however, lucky so far to have escaped the severe form

of enteritis which many others have had. It is a deadly and

horrible thing enough, accompanied by violent pains in the

abdomen, and vomiting. To be sure I have had the former

for so many weeks that I am used to it, and we often say we

can scarcely remember the time when we hadn't these infernal

pains. "A brandy flip, my dear fellow, is the one and only

for it," our medical friend says, and smiles. Ho! for a brandy

flip. In the Arctic circle the two seasons are light and dark,

and in India dry and wet, and in Kut when one has stomach

ache and when one hasn't.

It is said that a certain cavalry regiment has at last

unanimously rescinded the rule that it is bad form for any

officer of the regiment not to be fit. Most of us have been put

down for sick leave at once when the relief occurs. The India

list is the most cheerful phrase one hears. Tudway has asked

me to go downstream with him on the _Sumana_, and proposes

a grand progression down to Basra and to pass H.M.S.

_Clio_, his parent boat, when we get there. I am quite intoxicated

with the notion. And truly the sight of the _Sumana_

ripped and torn through and through by shell and bullet,

with her shotted funnel and her smashed cabins and her

twisted bridge, and her white ensign that soiled and tattered

bunting, the finest flag in all the world, still fluttering in the

stern--would be a sight for the gods. But then I've had

nothing whatever to do with the _Sumana_, so I must prefer to

be ashore. I see it all exactly, her grey dirty form with the

black patches where shells have shifted her paint, and near

the path of that Windy Lizzie that crashed through the bridge,

the redoubtable countenance of our friend Tudway, the youthful

commander and preserver of this eloquent trophy. The

_Clio_, of course, salutes her diminutive sister, and ah, those

terrible and honest cheers! An awful moment for Tudway I

admit.... But at twelve o'clock that night he will have

indigenous metamorphosis!

"Tudway!" I exclaim, "you no longer have the inches

of a god. Can't you stand up?"

"Donsh wansh stansh up. If you'd hads many cockstailsh

I've had couldn't either."

Perhaps!

_April 4th._--A heavy bombardment downstream continued

for hours this morning. The rain has ceased and the soaken

earth is steaming under a bright hot sun.

Reports from the hospital are to the effect that Cockie's

temperament "has increased, is increasing, and ought to be

diminished." His delusions include a notion that he still

commands the column. To dispel the latter delusion it is

necessary for one to cancel quite a number of his orders.

Dorking has evolved quite a number of literary ideas since

my leaving the battery. He has read the letters of "Dorothy

to Temple" which I recommended to him, and quite enjoyed

them. In fact he says he would not have minded marrying

Dorothy himself. Now I wonder what Dorothy would have

had to say about Dorking--I wonder.

I hear on very reliable authority that the plane, our own

plane, dropped yesterday a packet which was supposed to be

a stop-valve for the _Sumana_. The valve, however, went off

on the _maidan_, and in fact proved to be a three-pound bomb.

To-day another plane dropped another supposed valve which

turned out to be a gear-box for an L boat.

Very facetious of them, I'm sure, but Tudway calls it an

indifferent joke.

A mild artillery duel wound up the day's events.

_April 5th._--To-day we have had a strenuous Shikar after

food. We raised a half-pound of dirty dates which we boiled

into jam; also two rupees worth of chupattis and hard,

white, mealy flat-jacks--they are eight in number, a two-pound

tin of barley which will make an exciting porridge.

We visited the officers' hospital which is full again to overflowing

with dysentery, jaundice, and malaria cases. The

doctors have put me on diet of one egg and cup of milk daily,

which commodities are only procurable on special certificates,

and rarely. The mess bombardier draws these.

"I 'ear, sir, that this 'ere milk is sometimes 'uman and

sometimes donkey's. I 'ope as you won't drink it, sir."

"To save one's life, bombardier, one may have to eat

anything," I told him. Then I heard him in sad conference

with the mess cook.

"Gawd! It's 'ot 'uman milk, Bill. An' 'e ain't 'ad no

milk for ages. It'll knock 'im hover like 'ot punch."

"Wen you live in Kut," said Bill, "you 'ave to do az

Gawd's hancient people do."

_10 p.m._--Cheerful news at last! Early this morning

Gorringe bombarded and smashed through the Turkish lines

above Hannay, and five lines of trenches have been taken.

He is consolidating his position before advancing on Essin.

It does not seem clear on which bank this success was.

At 8 p.m. this evening the heavy firing recommenced.

Square-Peg and I restrained our enthusiasm by a long game of

chess. The news has cheered up every one immeasurably.

It is the most hopeful night for months.

_April 6th._--Downstream a terrific bombardment went on

intermittently for hours. We are on six ounces of bread

to-day and are almost on to our emergency rations, which can

be made to spin out for three days.

The _Sumana_ is going over to Woolpress to bring over

reliefs. I had arranged with Tudway to have a starlight

excursion there and see something of these strangers, but

headquarters disapproved.

Green cress has been issued from the gardens, and every

effort is made to save every crumb. The sick and those in

hospital are worst off, as hospital comforts like cornflour and

Mellins' Food have long since gone.

It is a beautiful day, but the river came up during the

night and beat all previous records of the siege by two inches.

How very close the relieving force has driven things. Altogether

the situation, as Punch said of the man dangling from

the drag rope of a balloon, is most interesting.

I have made inventories of ammunition and wagons, lines

and horse-lines of the 6th D.A.C., as I am officially returned

to my battery pending the relief of Kut. I hope to enter on

the next page that the siege has been lifted.

_April 7th._--There is a lull in the operations downstream.

How we hate lulls. A lull is a divine leg-pull. The word

"lull" has an odious sound!

Gunner Graoul has returned to me from the battery

apropos of my re-transfer to my original battery, and Amir

Bux has returned to duty. There are a good many things to

fix up in the ammunition column, so I am remaining in my

comfortable billet here unless wanted for urgent duty at the

battery--pending relief. I am so weak that my legs collapsed

on the ladder, and I find a long staff better than a walking-stick.

We killed one of our two emergency fowls, which we

boiled, and I found the broth delicious. Graoul called it

"'en brorth."

The river has risen seriously and is now a good three feet

deep all over the plain in front of the _bunds_. General Gorringe

has had hard work to bund the river down below and has

evidently met with flood difficulties already.

There is an ominous whisper about a "wireless" which is

not being made known.

Other and wilder rumours, obviously untrue, are in quick

circulation. The men, poor fellows, are keenly on edge for

news. There are many merely remaining alive to hear that

Kut is saved. They all know the end is now in sight and the

coma of the past months is over. We are like restless bees in

swarming time.

_April 8th._--A quiet day! Some few shells wandered into

the town and a steady stream of sniping indicated that the

enemy had probably withdrawn many men for reinforcements

downstream. Woolpress is a complete island. In fact a

part of it had to be abandoned yesterday, and last night the

_Sumana_ brought a large part of its garrison back. As a last

resort one regiment will remain there to hold the Woolpress

buildings only.

From my old observation post to-day, which I climbed

with great difficulty, I looked on a very changed scene. The

whole country is a series of huge lakes with tiny green patches

between. The enemy has had to abandon his lines around

Woolpress. In front of our first line tiny waves on this tiny

ocean lap against our preserving _bunds_. In fact, Kut is an

island!

_3 p.m._--Gorringe has wired to say "all's well." "Advance

continues!"

Once more with Micawber it is permitted to us to hope.

_April 9th._--Shells, expletives, and suspense fell into Kut

in unusual quantities. We are on the edge of a volcano.

Who could keep a diary while sitting on the edge of a volcano?

The gods, those humorous birds, have just flown over Kut on

a tour of inspection. We can almost--as John Bright did not

say--hear the _flapping_ of their wings.

_April 10th._--Poor Don Juan has taken his last hedge!

I have hitherto managed to extend his reprieve, but to-day

the order came. I gathered him a last feed of grass myself.

He salaamed most vigorously as I had taught him. The

chargers have been kept to the last. His companions stood by

him trembling as the quick shot despatched one after another.

Not so he! now and then he stamped, but otherwise

stood perfectly still. I asked the N.C.O. to be careful that

his first bullet was effective and to tell me when it was over.

I kissed Don on the cheek "good-bye." He turned to watch

me go. Shortly after they brought me his black tail, as I

asked for a souvenir. Strange as it may seem we ate his

heart and kidneys for dinner, as they are now reserved for

owners. I am sure he would have preferred that I, rather

than another, should do so.

He carried me faithfully, and died like a sahib. In the

garrison I had no better friend. Being so he shall have this

entry to himself.

_April 11th._--Two paramount budgets of especial interest

and importance reached us first thing this morning. One was

that Cockie was annoyed with us for eating our own fowl, the

other being from Sir Percy Lake to the effect that Gorringe

cannot possibly be present here for the 15th, but will have

great pleasure in doing so by the 21st instant. With the help

of God and the strength derived from having eaten the hen, we

hope to survive the first budget. To this end Square-Peg and

Tudway and I immediately slaughtered the second hen and

sent a polite message of this information to Cockie with a

promise to reserve for him the head and feet. Tudway has

been in shrieks of laughter all day, and mounted guard over

the hen himself. To be sure I intended to reserve for him

half of my portion, but the others voted this treachery, as

they think Cockie has done very well lately with hospital

rations of fish and eggs. Cockie still consumes slabs of horse,

the size of a slab being about that of the ordinary Nelson's

7_d._ edition.

The news from Sir Percy Lake is serious enough. Our

men are now dying by the score and their condition is reduced

to the last degree, many being scarce able to walk. It is not

merely rations that they require, but sick comforts.

General Townshend has issued these communiqués to the

troops--

* * * * *

Kut-el-Amara,

April 10th, 1916.

"The result of the attack of the Relief Force on the

Turks entrenched in the Sannaiyat position is that the Relief

Force has not as yet won its way through, but is entrenched

close up to the Turks in places some 200 to 300 yards distant.

General Gorringe wired me last night that he was consolidating

his position, as close to the enemy's trenches as he can get,

with the intention of attacking again. He had had some

difficulty with the flood which he had remedied. I have no

other details. However, you will see that I must not run

any risk over the date calculated to which our rations would

last, namely April 15th, as you will all understand well that

digging means delay, though General Gorringe does not say

so. I am compelled, therefore, to make an appeal to you all

to make a determined effort to eke out our scanty means, so

that I can hold out for certain till our comrades arrive, and I

know I shall not appeal to you in vain.

"I have, then, to reduce the rations to five ounces of meal

for all ranks, British and Indian. In this way I can hold out

till April 21st if it becomes necessary. I do not think it will

become necessary, but it is my duty to take all precautions

in my power. I am very sorry I can no longer favour the

Indian soldiers in the matter of meal, but there is no possibility

of doing so now. It must be remembered that there is plenty

of horseflesh which they have been authorized by their religious

leaders to eat.

"In my communiqué to you on January 26th I told you

that our duty stood out plain and simple: it was to stand here

and hold up the Turkish advance on the Tigris, working heart

and soul together; and I expressed the hope that we would make

this defence to be remembered in history as a glorious one,

and I asked you in this connection to remember the defence

of Plevna, which was longer than that even of Ladysmith.

"Well, you have nobly carried out your mission, you have

nobly answered the trust and appeal I put to you. The whole

British Empire, let me tell you, is ringing now with our defence

of Kut. You will all be proud to say one day, 'I was one of

the garrison of Kut,' and as for Plevna and Ladysmith, we

have beaten them also. Whatever happens now, we have

done our duty. In my report of the defence of this place,

which has now been telegraphed to headquarters, I said that

it was not possible in dispatches to mention every one, but I

could safely say that every individual in this force had done

his duty to his King and Country. I was absolutely calm

and confident, as I told you on January 26th, of the ultimate

result, and I am confident now, I ask you all, comrades of all

ranks, British and Indian, to help me now in this food question."

(Sd.) CHARLES TOWNSHEND,

Major-General,

Commanding the Garrison at Kut.

* * * * *

This _communiqué_ is a breezy one! But we all know our

General has a difficult task in communicating these repeated

disappointments. The native troops are beginning to recall

that the G.O.C. months ago passed his word for early relief.

To a British Tommy this was what he calls "'opeful buck,"

but to the Sepoy it is a promise.

* * * * *

Kut-el-Amara,

April 11th, 1916.

"General Sir Percy Lake, the Army Commander,

wired me yesterday evening to say: 'There can be no doubt

that Gorringe can in time force his way through to Kut. In

consequence of yesterday's failure, however, it is certainly

doubtful if he can reach you by April 15th.' This is in answer

to a telegram from me yesterday morning to say that, as it

appeared to me doubtful that General Gorringe would be

here by the 15th, I had reluctantly still further reduced the

rations so as to hold on till April 21st. I hope the Indian

officers will help me now in my great need in using commonsense

talk with the Indian soldiers to eat horseflesh, as the

Arabs of the town are doing."

(Sd.) CHARLES TOWNSHEND,

Major-General,

Commanding the Garrison at Kut.

* * * * *

_April 12th._--This entry I am making with my eyes almost

shut. I have had a miraculously narrow shave, and got a

nasty shock and contusion since the last entry. At about

3 p.m. shells began to k-r-r-ump into the town, and the fire

steadily thickened. I had just finished the war diary, and

was sitting up on my bed restlessly awake with stomach pains,

and Square-Peg was fast asleep by the other wall, when a high-velocity

shell crashed into the room and burst. I was completely

dazed by the concussion, which drove me against the

wall. In fact, I was half stunned, as I was directly in line for

the back-lash of the burst. I wasn't certain I wasn't hit, and

my back felt queer. The room was so dark with dust and the

dense yellow fumes that stank horribly that I couldn't see an

inch. We were half smothered in _débris_. The walls and roof

in part collapsed, letting fall dozens of bricks which had

propped up some huge beams on the ceiling.

Square-Peg, who was groping about, assured me he wasn't

hit, and hurrahed when he heard I was alive. However, on

trying to rise, I found myself partly paralysed in my back,

my spine in severe pain, and I could hardly see at all. He

helped me out of the yellow gases, for I couldn't walk alone.

I lay down in the mess, and after drinking some water felt

better. But I am horribly shaken and suffer acute pain in

whatever position I lie. In fact, last night I couldn't sleep,

for every movement awoke me.

It proved to be a segment shell that had burst inside the

room, and dozens of pieces were buried deep all round the

walls and on the floor.

There is no luck like good luck. Tudway says it was an

intended punishment for the affair of the fowl, which, nevertheless,

we ate completely.

[Illustration: RECENT PHOTO OF AUTHOR'S LAST BILLET IN KUT

(ABOVE LITTLE ARAB BOY). THE SHELL DEMOLISHED

THE UPPER STORY.]

We are sleeping in the mess until the wreckage is cleared

up. Major Aylen, commanding the officers' hospital, visited

me, and, although there is no incision, says there is a contusion

over the spine from a blow. Either a brick must have hit me,

or when I was flung violently back I struck the broken bed.

I am writing this in bed.

The shelling continued last evening until late, and began

again early this morning. I have been severely shaken, and

it was as much as I could manage, even with assistance, to

get on the verandah to my old room to see how it was the

shell got in. For a time I could find no sign of its entry, but

in getting my servant to remove the tins of earth I saw the

shell-hole. There was no doubt the two tins had been removed,

and the culprit had replaced them after the shell came. We

were terribly angry, and had the whole crowd of men-servants

and bearers and orderlies up about it at once. The orders

had been strict. I had myself made a practice of going around

the place every morning. Yesterday morning they were all

right. They all said they knew nothing of it, but this afternoon

I discovered that a syce from the lines had gone up to the room

for my saddlery about an hour before the affair and moved

the tins. He was in the next room when the shell entered,

and hastily replacing the tins, he bolted in fright. I threatened

him with a court-martial for removing defences, etc., at which

he got in an awful funk, so I let him go. He shifted them, he

said, to look for a tin of saddle soap, which I don't believe, as

the wooden frieze was missing. He probably had come after

the firewood.

In the night we had another thunderstorm. This will

assist the floods, against which Gorringe is building at a

fever rate.

According to general opinion, the suspense now occasioned

by this last news from Sir Percy Lake is the most severe trial

of the siege. We are all rather glad than otherwise that the

state of our rations must precipitate the crisis one way or the

other soon. The casualties on our behalf are appalling. An

extraordinary sequence of fortunate factors, such as the

discovery of the mill, has enabled us to hold out months longer

than ever we could have dreamed possible--and we are in as

great a state of uncertainty as ever. It is true that we all

try to avoid the selfish point of view of requiring Kut to be

relieved at all costs. The military situation is the only one

to be considered, and to that end every other consideration

must be sacrificed. If it is necessary that Kut should be

sacrificed to the military end, none of His Majesty's forces

could be more ready for sacrifice than the Sixth Division.

But when one thinks of the past months and the neglect to

face the obvious military situation after Ctesiphon, one feels

that the sufferings of the troops in Kut and the heavy loss of

life downstream could easily have been avoided. There yet

remains for us the hope that unnecessary as these sacrifices

may have been, they will at least not have been made in vain.

To a soldier war may be sheer fatalism, but to a general

it should be snatching victory from the knees of the gods.

_Later._--General Hoghton, commanding the 17th Brigade,

entered hospital yesterday suffering from acute enteritis

and dysentery. Early this morning, to the universal sorrow

of the garrison, he died. It is said that the wild green

grass stuff was partly the cause, and also abstinence from horseflesh,

which a digestion ravaged by the siege could not stand.

He was a most genial and kind general, and always cheerful.

I saw quite a lot of him in the "fort" days. I was sorry to

be unable to attend his funeral. A great number were

present. There was no funeral party, but from the verandah

I heard the piercing bugle notes of the soldier's requiem. The

Last Post came thrilling and sharp from the silence of the

palm grove, and was no doubt heard in the Turkish lines. A

brave soldier in a soldier's grave, amidst a goodly number!

_8 p.m._--It has been a cool, breezy day, and the floods have

subsided one inch. We hope the heavy rains that fell in the

night won't bring them up again.

Tudway brought a rumour that good news had been

received, but could not be published just yet. Has Sunnaiyat

fallen? That is the question in every one's mouth. I have

given my rations to the others and stuck to barley for two

days. They aren't much to give, certainly--merely two small

slices of bread. My shell-shock and bruise have affected my

digestion, and all my nerves are in constant trembling, and

my legs and arms jump and twitch.

It is a damp evening, and although I have been up only

three or four hours to-day I shall get back to bed presently.

At any rate it is much better than being in hospital, and one

can do minor duties. Tudway is an awful brick at his job,

and he is very seedy indeed.

A month or two ago three or four of men who were also

at the siege of Ladysmith had a dinner. They say that the

conditions there were infinitely less severe than they are here.

There was only one hostile siege-gun that reached into the

town; the hillsides and higher slopes were not under fire;

they had some provisions, no floods, and their enemies did

not include Arabs.

_April 13th._--More rain! We hear that Gorringe is awaiting

the arrival of another British division, the _seventh_ in number,

according to rumour, that has come into this infernal problem.

Even the Twenty-first April isn't so certain now, and that must

be the last day. There is practically nothing to eat. However,

we are prepared for anything. Even an order for the

whole garrison to undergo a fasting cure for six weeks wouldn't

startle us.

The death of General Hoghton seems to have impressed

every one with the ruthless passage of the God of the Siege.

They are aware, a little more plainly than before, how undeviating

is the course of that Relentless Spirit. Somehow one

expects generals should be spared. Two others have recovered

from sharp attacks of sickness, and one has been wounded.

It has been said that the soldier becomes callous. It would

be more true to say that he merely becomes indifferent. But

an exceptional phase of death removes the blinds from many

disused windows of his mind, and he sees all too well. Such

an event is the loss of this kind-hearted general, and it has

given to many a higher altitude in point of view. There is

the point of view of the trench and dug-out, of the hospital, of

the observation post, on a roof top. There is that of an

aeroplane. There is the standpoint of the overhead stars that

see us as a flashing sphere. Tommy does not borrow the

vantage point of a god from way beyond the farthest star,

the most distant sun, to behold the universe, that gaily lighted

ship of destiny travelling forward through the Seas of Time.

But he has at any rate reached very far. This morning I was

visited by some of my old section at the battery, and talked a

time to the men, and I gave them some Arab tobacco. I find

they have thought a good deal about things in general, and

one was induced, to the amusement of the others, to give us

what he considered a "bird's hye view" of our immediate

future, which certainly didn't seem too bright. He saw Kut,

a tiny spot under famine and fire, completely surrounded by

hordes of the enemy, beyond them the menacing waters and

fatal floods, beyond the floods the God-forsaken country of

murderous Arabs,--and beyond that great and stretching continents

of desert reaching thousands of miles away and ending

in those strangely silent and unknown shores or losing themselves

in the heart of Asia.

But fortune has smiled on us quite a deal, too. We found

the grain stores at Woolpress, and the Flying Corps rigged up

the mill-crusher discovered lying there. Then a large store

of oil for the river steamers was utilized for fuel and lighting

for all duty, and the Sappers and Flying Corps artificers made

our bombs out of various charges for the howitzers and 4·7's.

The aeroplanes brought us the detonators. Then the subsidence

of the floods brought up the grass with which we bribed

the animals to exist a little longer, while we ate their grain--and

them.

The ammunition has lasted wonderfully well. We have

over half of the original lot still in hand.

In truth, when one thinks how the Fighting Sixth fought

its way across Mesopotamia, battling with fire and floods,

thirst and heat, right up to the gate of Baghdad, and then was

let down by want of supports, one has to extract thankfulness

from the thought that Chance left it to the same division, alone

and unreinforced, to stem the result of the turned tide. This

it has done from December 1st at Um-al-Tabul until now,

April 13th, a temporal avenue through sickness and death.

One is informed that if Kut had not been held, the position

of the Turks would have been consolidated, and the tactical

and strategical usefulness of its position with the enemy.

These are the most cheerful thoughts possible in the garrison

when one feels extra weary and sick.

It is not too much to say that almost no one has any

misgiving as to the future. In this tiny horse-shoe panorama

on the Tigris, where the destiny of Kut has pursued its dramatic

evolution for the last four and a half months, the garrison

awaits the ultimate development of the drama with a feeling

merely of wide curiosity. Will the last scene be Tragedy, or

will the people be allowed to leave the theatre feeling "comfortable,"

that it all came right in the end?

Alas! whatever the play is, it cannot be Comedy. And

when one remembers the large-hearted general who has gone,

and whom some few medical comforts in time might have

saved, one is made aware of the stern conditions of victory!

The enemy provoked an artillery duel this afternoon, and

quite a number of shells fell in the town. Rain has stopped

Gorringe's attack. Every possible disposition has been made

for the entry of our relieving force or co-operation with their

arriving on the other bank. We can only wait.

We brought about a delightful coup this afternoon in the

purchase of 2½ lbs. of bad rice for five rupees. Tudway and

Square-Peg go hungry now. I don't feel the last decrease

in bread so much as they, as I am too seedy to eat it, and

sometimes I can scarcely see. However, I am better to-day.

Some one has placed a bradawl in the dessert dish! It forms

the second and last course. It is "not to be eaten" in large

letters, and "may be used for making another hole in your

belt." The fish have left Kut. I wonder that even the

birds don't fly away....

Outside in the street, beneath my window, a decrepit Arab

beggar, in a deep passionate voice, asks for alms for the love of

Allah and Mahomet. It is often the first sound I hear in

the morning. Later in the day the Arab children make their

appearance in groups, begging and wailing piteously. Once

the babes in their mothers' arms used to cry the whole day

long, but the unfortunates are probably long since gone.

The Arab population has been dying by the hundreds, and they

look dreadfully shrunken and gaunt. A few escaped, but

were shot by the Turks. They have had everything possible

done for them.

It is the hour of the _muezzin_, the most peaceful of the day,

for at that ancient call of prayer even the wailing and begging

ceases. From the mosque near by, whose open doorway faces

Mecca, I hear the high thrilling notes quivering and trembling

with all the passion of the East, the high-pitched semi-tone

cadences sailing afar out and cutting ever greater ripples on

the bosom of the still night air like growing circles from a

stone dropped into a placid pool. It is truly wonderful this

immemorial custom of calling the Followers of Mahomet. The

volume of sound echoing from the minaret is thrown by the

_muezzin_ further and further. With extraordinary power his

voice rises and falls, describing circles, arcs, and strangely

winding parabolas out of the still silences of evening. It is

but an appeal. He calls the world to prayer. It is more

potent than the appeal of bells. In the _muezzin_ the Mussulman

hears the voice of Allah.

Now the _muezzin_ is finished, and everything is so very still.

I wonder if they are praying for the relief--as hard as their

fellow religionists in the rest of Turkey are praying for the

fall--of Kut. The odds, I fear, are against us.

I must sleep! I cannot remain awake five minutes longer.

God in His wisdom made sleep the great possession. For the

first essential to man is a gift of humour, and the second is

the capacity for sleep. Sleep and forgetfulness! How many

warriors on this dreadful planet at this fearful hour would

willingly drink of Lethe and wake up on their respective

battlefields when the war is over?

Eheu! I see the dark forms asleep on the snows of

Russia, in the trenches of France, on the mountains of Italy,

on the decks swept by the night winds of the North Sea. Who

of them would not wish it?

"Nox ruit, et fuscis tellurem amplectitur alis."

"Night descends and folds the earth in her dusky wings!"

_April 14th._--Heavy firing began downstream just before

the dawn. It continued till about 8 a.m.

The floods are spreading. A little rain fell during the

night. Around Kut everything is extraordinarily quiet. I

was very seedy during the night with violent pains and nausea,

possibly the result of attempting to eat a little liver for dinner.

I don't remember feeling worse. I took some opium pills at

once, and Graoul came in early this morning with some hot

water, which I drank. Have had two eggs sent from the

hospital, and am ordered to eat nothing beside the yolk and

a half cup of milk. About midday I felt quite bright again,

and wrote some letters with one eye more or less closed. One's

stomach these days has become an awful snob and simply

won't look at anything. How fit I was until these wretched

floods!

A report says that we must be fed by aeroplanes, but it

seems that it will take three days in which to carry one day's

provisions.

I imagine _Punch_ will have something to say on this. We

shall be represented as fielding for loaves and cakes and fishes

and whisky bottles, Mellins' Food, and some of us charging

towards the Tigris under fire from the opposite bank and

endeavouring to recover our balance on the edge as we watch

the priceless articles falling into the water.

The coming of the Turkish armada down the Shat-el-hai

is evidently postponed. They are possibly frightened of John

Bull on the water, even if it is only the river.

The Catholic padre and Square-Peg are playing chess. The

Pope in other lands is probably entering in his diary that he

has had a tiring day and that Kut must fall. Not because

God has forgotten it, but because the garrison has no

provisions.

Equally well advised is our mess bombardier, who has

invented certain rhymes which he repeats over his cooking as

no soothsayer ever did.

"Hashes to hashes! Bust ter bust!

If Gorringe cawn't 'elp us the Lord Gawd must!"

_April 15th._--This was the day beyond which we were

assured it was impossible to go. We are evidently out for

records.

The floods are steady. They can scarcely fall. Will the

Turk attack to-day? Will Gorringe?

There is a tide in the affairs of Kut

That taken at the flood will let through Gorringe--

Omitted, all the voyage of the survivors is bound on donkeys

or on camels.

On such a full sea we are now afloat

And we must chance the Tigris at the curves or down go Kut

debentures!

Shelling now is a regular thing on and off the whole day.

The Arabs are preparing to flee.

Last night the thunder bellowed her despair, or rather ours,

according to Kipling, and Square-Peg talked horribly in his

sleep, and was putting up a masterly defence in his best

English against some Arab hordes--women were in it--who

had him at bay somewhere in the gardens. Having lulled

them into inattention he shot clean off the bed and out of

the door, when he pulled up and said something sheepishly.

Of course I pretended to be asleep; and after examining my

face carefully he lay down again. Square-Peg is quite touchy

about his nightmares. I heard him say "Damn" softly once

or twice under his breath, and then fall asleep again. This

time he was in an attack, and behaved shockingly, tossing

about the bed in a most ghastly manner. Suddenly it dawned

on me that he was taking cover. He knew the road to the

door too well not to manage an advance or retire at the double.

I think it must have been the former, because he hesitated a

second this time before he moved, but I gave such a terrific

roar that he immediately collapsed on the bed and swore

horribly.

"Don't do it again," I said. "If you do, I'll put a bucket

in your way. I swear it."

"What the devil do you mean?"

"Mean! Why, don't go after cigarettes with such

enthusiasm again, that's all. Have one of these."

Then he called me names, at which I laughed the more.

"They are nothing to what your wife will call you, Square-Peg,

if you carry on in that fashion when you are married!"

That set him thinking. The only thing to be said for him

is that during a nightmare he doesn't snore.

_April 16th._--It is a beautiful summer day full of spiciness.

It was impossible to lie in bed, so I got up, imagining I was

leaving aches and pains in my sleeping-bag. A distinct scent

of green grass and the balmy air filled me with thoughts of

England! It was good to be out and to find myself walking

again.

After breakfast I crawled out with Tudway on board the

_Sumana_, and saw the excellent repair our sappers had effected

in the main stop-valve. I make myself walk. We discussed

her defences and I worked out the number of gun shields that

would be necessary if they were utilized to cover all her deck.

The plan was partly adopted. Then we lazied an hour or

two in her smashed cabin, getting a hot sniping on our return.

Afterwards, I played chess with Square-Peg and Father Tim.

Pars Nip came to tiffin. God has endowed him with two

things--a perpetual appetite and a short memory, for he comes

to tiffin very often without his bread.

Moreover, on any subject under the sun Pars Nip will

dogmatize with all the splendid audacity of youth, with all

youth's magnificent indifference to authority. With the

smallest amount of encouragement he has politically the

makings of a magnificent catastrophe; otherwise he is normal.

We speculated on the treatment we should receive if

captured. The Turk is said to be off the civilized map, but

every one seems to think we should be done first rate, and some

believe that he would be so bucked at capturing a whole army

and five real live generals that we should be offered the Sultan's

Palace of Sweet Waters on the Bosphorus and a special

seraglio.

An evening communiqué said that Gorringe had captured

the enemy's pickets, at Sunnaiyat, presumably, and was ready

for a further advance, the results of which are expected by

the morning.

For the first time aeroplanes to-day made several early

trips, carrying some 150 lbs. of atta each trip. One lot fell

into the Turkish lines. Kut apparently is not the easy mark

it seems, for at different times quite a few parcels, detonators,

money, and medicines have got the other bank or the enemy's

lines here. In fact, one wonders why the Turks, instead of

shooting at our fliers, don't encourage them. They do some

very fair ranging with shrapnel at our planes. The whole

garrison is indulging in such calculations as this: If a man

and a half eats a slice and a half in a day and a half, how many

trips of the planes are necessary before the Turks get more

of the rations than we? By going hard all day they cannot

supply us with one day's provisions, even on these fractional

rations.

But we _are_ grateful. When we saw the first sack come

tumbling down we felt much as Elijah may have done when

the ravens ministered to his wants. Of course no aeroplane

has landed in Kut during the siege. That would mean very

probable disaster, so close are we to the enemy's lines.

To-night at dinner (?) we were without salt again. This

is the third or fourth day of an affliction a hundred times

worse than having no sugar. I can recommend all doubters

to try dispensing with this necessary commodity for a few

days in the preparation and eating of food, and to note the

result.

Square-Peg and Tudway eat no bread at all for tiffin;

just meat. The utmost effort gives them a spoonful of rice

every other day for dinner or boiled cress. But we go through

the form of dinner, and that helps a lot. Some messes of

different mind have almost dispensed with the regular meal,

and merely negotiate their rations at any old time. It is just

possible they miss a lot. For some of us think that the

decencies and conventionalities of life go a long way. In

diluted quantities they themselves supply motive power to

life's wearily knocking engine. They use energy gathered from

past events and help us to carry on through gaping periods of

our life when nothing seems worth while; and when we are

indifferent or impatient with destiny, they are the pacemakers

of existence. "A rich man," says the future philosopher,

"may afford to dispense with dressing for dinner, but

a poor man certainly cannot."

Now there are, of course, quite a few things said beneath

our nightly cloud of tobacco smoke that do not appear in this

diary. It would be sacrilege in some cases, and in others, why,

one never knows who may come across one's diary. Confession

is the salt of life, but suppression the sugar. And does

not Maeterlinck tell us that the reservoirs of thought are higher

than those of speech, and the reservoirs of silence higher still?

But so far I have not heard that this has been quoted in a

court of law. And to show that we are not totally devoid

of artistic intentions I must record a sample of our mental

gymnastics this evening. We were tilting at a few enthusiastic

sentences of Robert Chambers' books.

"We are informed," I began, "that this interesting youth

was sitting disconsolately awaiting his beloved, his well-shaped

head in his hands. Any remarks?"

"Prig," said Tudway. "What business has a fellow to

have a well-shaped head? Besides, where else could he put

it except in his hands?"

"Don't be catty," said Square-Peg, "he wasn't in the

navy. Why shouldn't he have a well-shaped head?"

"Probably he hadn't," I suggested mischievously. "We

merely have the novelist's word for that, you know." At

which they both called me an ass.

"If he did have such a head, I don't see why he shouldn't

put it in his hands as well as anywhere else?" ventured

the senior service.

"Possibly as he was in love he was hanging on to his head,

having already lost his heart." This from the future K.C.

"But if his heart was in his mouth, how----" I was

shouted down.

Then we all thought hard.

"What is the point, Curly?" This to me.

"Yes! What's the matter with the sentence after all?"

added S.-P.

"Well, I can't quite say. You see she came along the

corridor at midnight, we are told, and saw him, his well-shaped,

etc. One doesn't like the excellent shape of his head being

shoved in there. The fact, after all, was that his head was

in his hands, and she surprised him, sorrowing in solitude."

"But if his head was well-shaped, why not say so?" said

the truthful Tudway.

"Yes," nodded S.-P., "that may have been essential. If

his head hadn't been well-shaped she mightn't have gushed

all over him."

"Hang it," I broke in desperately, "I don't care if it was

well-shaped or not. The word doesn't fit. Any other word or

none. You see it suggests--er--something outside the matter

in hand, she may as well have said his mathematical----"

They considered me beaten, and laughed horribly.

"The next is, 'her superb young figure straightened confronting

the sea.' Any remarks?"

"She was playing to the gallery, of course," said S.-P.,

"or else she stood on a thistle."

"Don't talk rot! I'm with Curly there. 'Superb'

swanks it too much. There's nothing superb in the world

except a destroyer at thirty knots."

"Or the action of a blood filly going through her first

pacings," I prompted. This raised a yell.

"The next is, 'her skirts swung high above the delicate

contour of ankle and limb.' Any remarks?"

"That's naughty," said Square-Peg. "Besides, it doesn't

say which limb."

"There's no doubt about the limb," I said, "unless her

arm was meant, in which case her skirts----" But an awful

roar interrupted me.

"Cut out 'limb' and substitute 'leg,'" suggested

Tudway.

"Worse and worse. If 'limb' suggests anatomy, 'leg'

suggests----"

"The Empire," they both screamed, and after the immoderate

laughter had ceased I declared I wouldn't go on.

We refilled our pipes, but Tudway grew horribly silent.

After a long time we chaffed him about the _Sumana_, and

offered him a kabob for his thoughts.

"Ah!" he said, "it was that limb. It recalled----"

Then he stopped and actually reddened; and nothing would

induce him to go on.

That set us all thinking.

We both retired to bed, and with one eye I finished the

story. It is quite a good one, and tells you many other things

about the call of the rain. That reminded me of an evening

years ago in far-away New Zealand, when in the heart of the

great silences I looked through my tent door and saw the rain

on the wild river and great forests and distant mountains....

Well, I read with my half-shut eyes by the flickering dubbin

tin that gave a small and ever-dwindling light, and although

my eyes burned and jumped I read through to the end. And

in the end Robert Chambers married them after all--those

two young and ardent spirits, and together, no doubt, they

looked at the night waves, and the snow on the wintry trees

and at the distant stars, and heard the whisper of sweetness

ineffable, the inarticulate music of the call of the rain.

And facing that last page was a bold advertisement and the

picture of "Our extra guest folding bedstead--folds quite

flat when not in use!"

That also was a human note, and how real! It invites

us to view the deserted stage, the drabs of colour with grey

torn canvas, the ghostly framework of the scenes, the tinsel

robes and stifled flowers.

"Folds quite flat when not in use"--which will be quite

often, as we have not many friends....

and a tiny little boy

With hey ho, the wind and the rain!

A foolish thing was but a toy

For the rain it raineth every day....

It's awfully late. Only millions of starlings are abroad.

I wonder if Tudway is dreaming of the limb!

_April 18th._--A terrific bombardment continued downstream

from last night until early this morning. We have since heard

that the Third Lahore Division, under General Keary, after a

magnificent struggle, has taken the lines of Beit Aissa, and that

Turkish hordes are counter-attacking in successive waves.

Our casualties are very heavy. The large pontoons which the

Turks dragged overland for a ferry downstream are now in

position. Tudway was recently to have led a river attack

at night in H.M.S. _Sumana_ and to have pierced or blown up

the bridge. The scheme, however, was cancelled.

Arabs continue to wait around the butchery for horse

bladders on which to float downstream. They are shot at

by the Turks, who want them to stay on here and eat our food,

or else they are killed by hostile Arabs. Every night they go

down, and a little later one hears their cries from the darkness.

There are rumours that the Arab Sheik and his son, who are

here with us and are badly wanted by the Turks, are to escape

secretly to-night. These people know the Turk and the

treatment they are likely to get for having associated with us.

For three or four days our heavy sea-planes have brought

us food, dropping each day from one half to a ton of flour and

sugar in the town and as often as not into the Tigris or Turkish

lines. We are grateful to our brother officers downstream for

this, and realize the difficulty of getting a correct "drop"

always. I for one don't consider this at all a possible _soulagement_,

as even with their best effort our tiny four-ounce ration

cannot be nearly kept up. In fact, one ounce would be nearer

the mark. Money is also dropped, and many coins dented in

the fall go as souvenirs at double value.

_April 24th._--I have been compelled to abandon keeping

my diary owing to excruciating pain in my spine from the shell

contusion. What is wrong I can't make out, but sometimes

the tiniest movement sends a sharp thrill of keenest pain

through one's whole being. I think I must have struck the

wall forcibly and affected the vertebræ. After lying in one

position for any little time this particular spot in my spine

aches with a most ravaging pulsation of neuralgia, and I find it

difficult to sit upright for many minutes. On these occasions

if I lie still my arms and legs shoot out at intervals with a sort

of reflex action, and sometimes repeat the performance several

times.

But for being much easier to-day I thank God. I have

even walked a little with a stick, and the twitching is much

less violent and less often. My eyes, however, are still dim, and

I find it difficult to see very distinctly. To complete the

list of my infirmities of the flesh the enteritis, which has continued

in a mild form for three weeks, has got worse, and I

find emmatine the only thing that has done any good. Here,

again, I have much to be thankful for, in that I have not had

the severe form as so many others have, or else with other

troubles I should be on unskateable ice. My legs are shockingly

thin, less than my arms were, and I can fold my skin

round my legs. In fact, I might think of applying my remarks

on the poor fellow at the hospital to myself. The daily egg

and ounce of milk stopped days ago. We have paid Rupees 30

for a tin of milk which I have with some rice my very good

friend Major Aylen sends me from the officers' hospital. He

now wishes me to enter hospital, but I prefer being an out-patient.

The atmosphere there is both siegy and sick.

The bombardment of the 22nd downstream appears to

have been a tremendous attempt by Gorringe to get through

at Sannaiyat. It failed. Our comrades gave their lives

freely for us and they fought in the mud feet deep trying to

get at their enemy. As they fell wounded they were drowned.

What an appalling price we are costing! A calm seems to be

stealing over the garrison. It is the reaction from suspense

extended infinitely far, and we know that we have done all

possible to carry our resistance to the last possible day. These

words are not so self-righteous as they look when one considers

the gallant effort to walk and to carry out the simplest

routine by men dying and doomed. There are men, with

cholera staring from their faces, moving along at a crawl

with the help of a long stick; men resting against the wall

of the trench every ten yards. One wills hard to do the

simplest thing. From our men the siege has demanded even

more than from us. We have now drifted very near the weir

and within a few days must know our fate. A few say it

appears already. There is, between us and that, however,

only the habit, now strong within us, of refusing to believe

that Kut can fall. And yet if Gorringe has not yet got

Sunnaiyat, how can he cross these successions of defences in

a few days?

_April 25th._--I am making a great effort to write further

in this diary. Last night there happened one of those gallant

episodes that confirm our pride of race.

A relief ship, _Julna_ by name, had been fitted out downstream

and loaded with every available comfort for us, and

provisions for several weeks. She was heavily protected

and commanded by Lieut. Cowley, R.N.R., the famous local

celebrity who knows every yard of the Tigris. He with two

other officers and some men of the Royal Navy volunteered

to outdo the Mountjoy episode. The Turkish gunners were

engaged by our artillery down below, and under cover of darkness

the _Julna_ left. The Turks, no doubt, knew, or soon found

out, what the show was. She came along gallantly, drawing

a heavy fire, and surmounted all difficulties until reaching

Megasis ferry, where, fouling a heavy cable, she swung on to

a sandbank. Here the Turkish guns confronted her at a few

yards' range. Her officers were killed, Lieut. Cowley captured,

and she was taken within sight of our men waiting to unload

her by the Fort, and of the sad little group of the garrison who

beheld her from the roof-tops of Kut. She lies there now. It

appears that this tragic but obvious end of so glorious an enterprise

is a last hope. We have scarcely rations for to-morrow.

It now remains for us to submit ourselves as best we can

to the workings of the Inexorable Law.

_April 27th._--Last night we destroyed surplus ammunition.

To-day General Townshend, Colonel Parr (G.S.O.I.), and

Captain Morland have gone upstream to interview the Turkish

Commander-in-Chief. There is a hum of inquiries. One says

it is parole and marching out with the honours of war.

Another talks of the Turks requiring our guns as the price of

the garrison. To-day it is a changed Kut. It is armistice.

No sound of fire breaks the hush of expectations. The river-front,

grass-grown from long disuse, and the landing-stage

likewise, for it has been certain death to go on that fire-swept

zone, to-day swarm with people walking and talking. The

Turks on the opposite bank do the same. It is strange. I

walked a little with a stick. Hope has made one almost

strong. This afternoon I went over the river to Woolpress

village, where the tiny garrison has been the whole siege, and

many of them have not once visited Kut. The defences are

excellent. They have also had to fight floods. A little

hockey ground and mess overlooking the river safe from

bullets suggested Woolpress as a peaceful spot, notwithstanding

its liability to instant isolation from Kut.

_April 28th._--General Townshend has issued this _communiqué_,

and its joyous effect on the whole garrison is indescribable.

With the tragic side that the relieving forces cannot

get through in time we are acquainted as with the fact that

we have actually eaten our iron emergency rations, but General

Townshend has given out a strong probability that we are to

be released and sent back to India on parole, not to fight against

Turkey again.

This _communiqué_ is as follows:--

* * * * *

Kut-el-Amara,

April 28th, 1916.

"It became clear, after General Gorringe's second repulse

on April 22nd at Sannaiyat, of which I was informed by the

Army Commander by wire, that the Relief Force could not

win its way through in anything like time to relieve us, our

limit of resistance as regards food being April 29th. It is

hard to believe that the large forces comprising the Relief

Force now could not fight their way to Kut, but there is the

fact staring us in the face. I was then ordered to open

negotiations for the surrender of Kut, in the words of the Army

Commander's telegram, 'the onus not lying on yourself.

You are in the position of having conducted a gallant and

successful defence and you will be in a position to get better

terms than any emissary of ours ... the Admiral, who had

been in consultation with the Army Commander, considers

that you with your prestige are likely to get the best terms....

We can, of course, supply food as you may arrange.'

"Those considerations alone, namely, that I can help my

comrades of all ranks to the end, have decided me to overcome

my bodily illness and the anguish of mind which I am suffering

now, and I have interviewed the Turkish General-in-Chief

yesterday, who is full of admiration at 'an heroic defence of

five months,' as he put it. Negotiations are still in progress,

but I hope to be able to announce your departure for India on

parole not to serve against the Turks, since the Turkish Commander-in-Chief

says he thinks it will be allowed, and has

wired to Constantinople to ask for this, and the _Julna_, which

is lying with food for us at Megasis now, may be permitted to

come to us.

"Whatever has happened, my comrades, you can only be

proud of yourselves. We have done our duty to King and

Empire, the whole world knows we have done our duty.

"I ask you to stand by me with your ready and splendid

discipline, shown throughout, in the next few days for the

expedition of all service I demand of you. We may possibly

go into camp, I hope between the Fort and town along the shore

whence we can easily embark.

"The following message has been received from the Army

Commander: 'The C.-in-C. has desired me to convey to you

and your brave and devoted troops his appreciation of the

manner in which you together have undergone the suffering

and hardships of the siege, which he knows has been due to the

high spirit of devotion to duty in which you have met the call

of your Sovereign and Empire. The C.-in-C.'s sentiments are

shared by myself, General Gorringe, and all the troops of the

Tigris column. We can only express extreme disappointment

and regret that our effort to relieve you should not have been

crowned with success.'

_Copy of a telegram from Captain Nunn, C.M.G., R.N._

"'We, the officers and men of the Royal Navy who have

been associated with the Tigris Corps, and many of us so often

worked with you and your gallant troops, desire to express

our heartfelt regret at our inability to join hands with you and

your comrades in Kut.'"

(Sd.) C. V. F. TOWNSHEND,

Major-General,

Commanding 6th Division and Forces at Kut.

* * * * *

A great arrangement. We are a sick army, a skeleton army

rocking with cholera and disease. Instead of the lot of

captivity in this terrible land, with the Turks who have never

had any _bandobast_ for anything, and merely barbaric food

themselves, the garrison may see India again and have a

welcome there. Whatever our end, there is no denying the

great fighting qualities of the Sixth Poona Division. More than

its glorious career, its stupendous efforts in vain to overtake

the tragic destiny decreed by the gods for the mistake of

others, must make it famous in arms.

The fact that the communiqué does not state for absolute

certainty the condition of parole does not detract so much from

the spirit of the garrison, such faith have they in the G.O.C.,

and General Townshend's prestige with the Turks is held

sufficient to get this condition. Besides, they say a general

must always leave a big margin, and when he states probability

he means certainty. I cannot imagine a greater

change than this that has come over all to-day.

Dying men laugh and talk of Bombay and news of home.

The sepoy sees again his village and feels the shade of the

banyan. "Not to bear arms against Turkey." That still

leaves Germany and all the rest. Others say they knew all

along it had to come like this, that in high heaven the gods

that had forsaken the Sixth Division at the zenith of its conquest

and decreed for it tasks too Herculean, would now crown

its career with an honourable return. Except on the two

occasions when we expected to debouch, I doubt if the heart

of Kut ever beat higher.

_Later._--Two junior officers visited the Turkish headquarters'

camp. General Townshend did not go.

They brought back news that Enver Pasha had refused

parole and demands unconditional surrender. Destruction

of our ammunition, spare rifles, and kit, proceeds apace. I

have just destroyed my two saddles, field-glasses, revolver,

and much else. Detonations are heard all along the trenches.

Kut falls to-morrow. This news on top of these few short

hours of hope seems incredible, and the silence with which the

garrison received it is too magnificent for reference.

_Later, 4.30 p.m._--At lunch Tudway informed me in his

quiet way that he contemplated running the gauntlet downstream

in the _Sumana_ to-night in the hope of saving his ship

from the Turks. He has communicated with his S.N.O. at

Basrah. He invited me to come with him. I felt very complimented

and after some consideration I agreed. Tudway knew

his ship, the river, and the likely stoppages. He had counted

the risk of cables. The current would help us and the Turkish

guns were all still, no doubt, pointing downstream against

other possible _Julnas_. In two hours we should be down.

We left things at this and Tudway went to make inquiries.

He has just returned in a resigned frame of mind. The

project was absolutely private and not known to headquarters,

who, however, sent anticipatory orders to Tudway that the

_Sumana_ was under no circumstance to be damaged but kept

intact in Kut.

The surrender was unconditional, and we were destroying

everything. The _Sumana_, however, was a most valuable

asset for inducing Turks to give us transport. One learnt

subsequently, however, that the G.O.C. had retained it for

his own use on a Turkish promise to allow him to go downstream

to see Sir Percy Lake the Army Commander.

Whether this was actually so I cannot say. We have

considered the chance of getting downstream by night on a

ship's lifebelt, the current doing several knots and quite

enough to carry one down. There was, of course, the considerable

chance of capture by the devilish Arabs or being

seen by the Turks. The chief question, however, was whether

we could stay in the water six or seven hours. In our present

health we decided it out of question, even if we had covered

ourself with oil.

_9 p.m._--Our little mess had its last talk. We sat and

smoked, divided the remnants of tobacco and tin of atta, and

awaited news. I am told to come into hospital, but a later

report says there is no room.

_April 29th._--General Townshend has issued a last communiqué

holding out hope that he will go home and arrange

the exchange on parole. It is, however, a very slender hope.

* * * * *

Kut-el-Amara,

April 29th, 1916.

"_Communiqué._ 1. The G.O.C. has sent the following letter

to the Turkish Commander-in-Chief:

'YOUR EXCELLENCY,

Hunger forces me to lay down our arms, and I am

ready to surrender to you my brave soldiers who have done

their duty, as you have affirmed when you said, "Your

gallant troops will be our most sincere and precious guests."

Be generous, then, they have done their duty, you have seen

them in the Battle of Ctesiphon, you have seen them during

the retirement, and you have seen them during the Siege of

Kut for the last five months, in which time I have played the

strategical rôle of blocking your counter-offensive and allowed

time for our reinforcements to arrive in Iraq. You have

seen how they have done their duty, and I am certain that

the military history of this war will affirm this in a decisive

manner. I send two of my officers, Captain Morland and

Major Gilchrist, to arrange details.

I am ready to put Kut into your hands at once and go

into your camp as soon as you can arrange details, but I pray

you to expedite the arrival of food.

I propose that your Chief Medical Officer should visit my

hospitals with my P.M.O. He will be able to see for himself

the state of many of my troops--there are some without

arms and legs, some with scurvy. I do not suppose you wish

to take these into captivity, and in fact the better course

would be to let the wounded and sick go to India.

The Chief of the Imperial General Staff, London, wires me

that the exchange of prisoners of war is permitted. An equal

number of Turks in Egypt and India would be liberated in

exchange for the same number of my combatants.

Accept my highest regards.

(Sd.) GENERAL TOWNSHEND,

Major-General,

Commanding the 6th Division and the Force at Kut.'

'2. I would add to the above that there is strong ground

for hoping that the Turks will eventually agree to all being

exchanged. I have received notification from the Turkish

Commander-in-Chief to say I can start for Constantinople.

Having arrived there, I shall petition to be allowed to go to

London on parole, and see the Secretary of State for War and

get you exchanged at once. In this way I hope to be of great

assistance to you all. I thank you from the bottom of my

heart for your devotion and your discipline and bravery, and

may we all meet in better times.

(Sd.) CHARLES TOWNSHEND,

Major-General,

Commanding the 6th Division and the Force at Kut.'"

* * * * *

No orders have been issued about the entry of the Turks.

Some sort of formality in handing over is talked of. We

have demolished everything. I have just met the brigade

armourer, a most valuable N.C.O., who has the history of

every gun in the brigade. He looked many years older, and

said he had just helped to blow up the last gun. One breech-block

of the howitzers which we demolished by lyddite in the

bore travelled over Kut far on to the _maidan_.

* * * * *

_May 7th._--I am lying in a very shaky condition in the

overcrowded officers' hospital in Kut. This is due to temperature

of a 104° from malaria, also dysentery, and mild enteritis,

apart from my bruise. Many ages seem to have passed

since my last entry. We had understood that the Turks

would make a formal entrance into Kut. Instead, some time

after lunch, I heard wild yelling in the streets. Arabs armed

with dozens of crescent flags danced and cheered some Turkish

horsemen that rode along a street known as Regent Street.

Then, suddenly, wild yells and scuffling came from the wall

upstairs on our tiny roof, and over this wall separating the

adjoining houses I saw crowds of wild bearded men in the

most unkempt condition conceivable, armed with rifles and

bayonets. With loud shouts and cries they passed over our

kit, yelling out "Kirich" (sword). One seized mine and tried

to open my kit. They were very excited. At the same

moment our front door was knocked in, and Square-Peg's

effects were similarly wanted. Looting of the mess and of

our mess servants followed. They seized the bombardier's

coat which was hanging on a nail. He objected, and got

hammered with rifle butts until I intervened. It looked like

a general scuffle. I went outside and found a diminutive

officer who spoke German, was extraordinarily polite, and

evidently much elated. He came in and restored some small

degree of order by requesting his men, in fact he pleaded with

them rather than ordered them. I took my sword from the

Turkish soldier and handed it to this officer. At this he was

most moved. Square-Peg went into the hospital near by for

orders. There, also, it seemed events had taken unexpected

turns, and looting had begun. We were ordered in at once.

While he was away I had kept the officer with me, and we

went about the street stopping similar scenes. When we

returned a few moments later we heard our bombardier had

been unmercifully beaten by Turks for trying to retain his

boots. The Turkish officers did not mind much when this

was reported. We got some sepoys to carry our kit, or rather

the remains of it, and as I left the tiny courtyard the last

thing I saw was poor Don Juan's black tail hanging on a

nail on the post in the sun to dry. I wanted it for a souvenir

of a trusty friend, but there was not a second to be lost. In

the street the Arabs were all hostile to us. Turks full of loot

raced up and down. We met officers whose rings had been

taken and pockets emptied.

The padre's wrist-watch and personal effects were taken.

In hospital, Square-Peg and I lay on our valises on the ground

of the tiny yard, as the hospital was overflowing and officers

kept still arriving. Sir Charles Melliss came shortly after.

He had a bed beside mine near the doorway, and I thought

looked very ill. His little white dog was beside him and all

around him were sick and dying officers. Nothing I can say

could measure my gratitude and admiration for Major Aylen,

the C.O. officers' hospital. While living on the hardest and

most severe of diet himself he has gone from minute to minute

with only one thought--for his charge. He is everywhere,

and in adversity his industry, patience, and hopefulness are

all we have left. If I am to be fortunate enough to survive

this ordeal I shall have him to thank.

Tudway turned up as arranged for the evening meal.

We pooled our flour and had _Chuppatis_, one-fourth of which

we gave to Holmes my orderly. We lay on blankets on the

ground and smoked the lime-leaves, and Tudway said good-bye.

After leaving us in the morning he had returned to

the _Sumana_ to find a party of Turks had been sent over to

seize her, taking everything on board, including the whole of

his kit. His men had been put off. Remonstrations were

useless. At the last moment the G.O.C. was not permitted

to go downstream, and so we lost the _Sumana_ intact to the

Turks. Naturally her able and devoted commander felt

sore about this. He announced his intention to go upstream

with some other brigade, and I said good-bye to a very pleasant

companion.

The hospital had already been looted several times by

Turks. The night was hot. One heard the moans of the

enteritis patients and the tramp of troops all night long.

In the early dawn some Turkish troops entered past the

sentry, whom they ignored. I had slept in my boots and

hidden all my loose kit, but they commenced to seize what

they wanted from others. One took General Melliss' boots

from under his bed and another his shoes, and made off, notwithstanding

the general's loud protests. Sir Charles jumped

out of the bed and followed them. A scuffle ensued in the

street. The general reappeared, and put on his cap and

jacket showing his rank and decorations, and then returned to

the fray. The soldier, however, seized him by the throat,

and the general, in a highly indignant frame of mind, and

looking very dishevelled, returned and got leave to go to

General Townshend, which he did in his socks. While he was

gone more Turks swarmed in and robbed patients who were

too ill to move, taking shoes, razors, mirrors, knives, and

anything they fancied.

Our C.O., Major Aylen, in a tremendous rage seized the

sentry and pointed to his red-cross badge and the flag of the

hospital. Although his not knowing a word of the language

made things worse, there could be no mistaking his meaning

as he pointed to the looters and our red-cross flag. A group

of Turks, some junior officers, stood looking on, merely interested

spectators. Half an hour later a Turkish officer

appeared from headquarters in a frenzy. He had evidently

been severely reprimanded. He kicked the sentry and

struck him repeatedly in the face. After this for some hours

looting was less frequent, but later recommenced.

Square-Peg's interpreter was next found on the roof of the

hospital. He was kicked down head foremost, and dragged

off to be hung. This was the unfortunate man who had

brought us vegetables and supplies from the Arabs. Officially

interpreter to Square-Peg who was fire-brigade officer, he

had asked us about escaping, and hoped to disguise himself

as a Eurasian from the Volunteer Battery. A Baghdadi by

nationality he said he had lived in Calcutta. He had been

with our force, and was no doubt betrayed by the pro-Turk

Arabs in the town. Sassoon, our other interpreter and a

well-known figure in Kut, has also, I hear, been hung with

his legs broken, for he had been so thrashed and tortured that

he jumped off the roof to kill himself. The friendly Sheik

and family have met a similar fate. One now sees the Turk

at close quarters.

To crown all, the disastrous news has come that, despite

most elaborate assurances to the effect that the garrison

would be conveyed upstream in barges, the men have been

ordered to march to Baghdad with kit through this fearful

heat. They have no rations except the coarse black Turkish

biscuit. Officers have not been allowed to accompany them

and their guards are mostly Kurdish rank and file, the most

barbarous savages in this country. In some cases there are

no Turkish officers, but merely Turkish sergeants or privates

in charge of our prisoners. We are all many stages past indignation.

The Turkish promises at the surrender were too

much relied upon. General Townshend, we hear, has already

left for Constantinople by a special steamer and car, and is

permitted to travel _en prince_. I can believe already the

prophecy of the reverend father that surrender would mean

a trail of dead. Most of our troops left Kut on the 29th or

next day for Shamrun, ten miles up-river. We had eaten

our last rations on the 28th, and supplies were expected

immediately from our captors. However, they sent us

nothing for four days, and only black biscuit then. Everything

must be bought from the Arab bazar--after the Turks

have taken what they want. Some stores and letters have

gone upstream from down below, but so far nothing has

arrived for the lonely hospital here filled with wounded and

sick and dying. Nothing, except for a few gifts Major Aylen

brought us from the hospital ship and a few cigars from

the padre.

_May 9th._--The Turkish authorities seem determined not

to send any British officer back if it can be helped. More

than one who was rejected by the Turkish medical officer as

not sufficiently ill to warrant exchange has succumbed. A

poor fellow in the next ward who has been groaning for days

died yesterday. One is not likely to recover on Turkish

biscuits at this stage. I was ordered by Colonel Brown-Mason,

our P.M.O., to translate for the Turkish doctor who

knew German and a little French. This I did for several

officers, but we were all rejected, although about six of us

had been told we were certain to go. Four were selected in

all, by no means the worse of the cases, while men with legs

in splints, smashed thighs, and shot backs, one of whom could

not sit or stand up, were rejected. Kut was deserted and

lone. General Aylmer, we heard, had retired to Amarah.

We expect to leave every day for Baghdad. How the men

have fared we don't know, but from time to time terrible

stories reach us.

[Illustration: GENERAL TOWNSHEND A PRISONER, WITH KHALIL PACHA,

OUR CAPTOR (RIGHT), AT BAGHDAD AFTER KUT FELL]

* * * * *

_June 1st._--I am writing from Baghdad in what is supposed

to be the hospital, but is actually an empty house commanded

by a Turkish dug-out cavalry captain, quite a well-meaning

old fellow, but not much use to any one sick, and very strict.

After many false alarms we were moved from Kut in a hospital

boat, which proved to be the ill-fated _Julna_. I was carried

on a stretcher which the Turks tried to loot as I passed. On

my way I saw looting on every side. Our Indian troops lay

like rows of skeletons. Their food and boots were taken from

them by their own guards. A few cases of looting have

been admonished, but no general measures taken. On more

than one occasion the officer whose aid was requested merely

asked the Turkish Askar to return the loot. Our kit was

searched, and I lost my tiny camera and some excellent

photos taken of Aziziyeh on the evacuation, showing our

army retreating and the Turkish army advancing. Other

photos were of the field artillery in action at Ummal Tabul,

and some excellent ones of interesting corners in Kut, dug-outs,

battery positions, shelters, and our inner life below--rare

photos that, unfortunately, can never be replaced.

We were packed on the deck of the _Julna_, which had been

captured practically intact, one engine working perfectly and

one screw. Every yard had a bullet hole. We called this

the Death Ship, as on it were all the remnants of the sick.

Men were dying as they came aboard. Brigadier-General

G. B. Smith was senior officer, but Colonel Brown-Mason,

P.M.O., was in charge. We carried a few sentries. As we

moved upstream past the palm grove, scene after scene in

a tussle of five months became again vivid. Then the Turkish

crescent, floating from the Serai in place of our Union Jack,

was shut out from our eyes by the bend of the river, and we

realized a little more that Kut and the siege were back history,

and we prisoners in a relentless captivity....

PART II

THE TREK. KASTAMUNI

CHAPTER VII

THE THIRD CAPTIVITY--BAGHDAD--THE DESERT MARCH OF

THE SICK COLUMN--WE REACH RAS-EL-AIN

The voyage was a sad and long one. There was

mildewed and rotten bread that no one could touch.

It was worse than the biscuits. Other things like

eggs and milk we had to buy at huge prices. At Baghailah

Arabs came within a yard of our boat, and danced in ecstasy,

gibing at us, and drawing their fingers across their throats

indicating what they thought we deserved or were in for.

That did not trouble us much. But we tingled with anger

and shame at seeing on the other bank a sad little column

of British troops who had marched up from Kut being driven

by a wild crowd of Kurdish horsemen who brandished sticks

and what looked like whips. The eyes of our men stared

from white faces drawn long with the suffering of a too tardy

death, and they held out their hands towards our boat. As

they dragged one foot after another some fell, and those with

the rearguard came in for blows from cudgels and sticks. I

saw one Kurd strike a British soldier who was limping along.

He reeled under the blows. We shouted out, and if ever men

felt like murdering their guards we did. But that procedure

was useless. We prevailed on the Turk in charge of our boat

to stop and take some of the men. It seemed that half their

number were a few miles ahead and the rest strewed the road

to Kut. Some have been thrashed to death, some killed, and

some robbed of their kit and left to be tortured by the Arabs.

I have been told by a sergeant that he saw one of the _Sumana_

crew killed instantly by a blow on the head from a stirrup

iron swung by a Kurdish horseman for stopping by a road a

few seconds. Men were dying of cholera and dysentery and

often fell out from sheer weakness. But the remorseless

Kurd, worse than the Turk, knows no excuse.

Every now and then we stopped to bury our dead. The

awful disease, enteritis, a form of cholera, attacked the whole

garrison with greater vigour after Kut fell, and the change of

food no doubt helped this. It showed also that before surrender

the garrison had drawn on its last ounce of strength.

A man turned green and foamed at the mouth. His eyes

became sightless and the most terrible moans conceivable

came from his inner being, a wild, terrible retching sort of

vomiting moan. They died, one and all, with terrible suddenness.

One night several Indians were missing. Others

reported that these have fallen overboard or jumped overboard

to end their wretchedness. But more than one was probably

trying to escape. Some officers played bridge and one or two

chess.

In a cot close by the wasted form of a well-known major

still balanced between life and death. He was a big man, but

nevertheless now weighs less than a child of ten.

Then Lieutenant Tozer succumbed to enteritis after a

terrible ordeal of some days. The groans of this poor fellow

as he lay unconscious hour after hour stirred one to the heart.

Periodical violent vomiting succeeded, and one morning the

changed and drawn face was still and the tired eyes of a

ghastly green were closed. We held a tiny service below Ctesiphon,

Arabs waiting around and casting longing eyes on the

blanket that enclosed him. But we buried him deep, and a

sheik promised to see his grave was respected. General Smith,

Major Thomson, and I attended his funeral. He was a very

popular and good fellow. We realized as we stood around his

grave that the remorseless hand of death overshadowed us too.

I think we were ready to fight the symptoms when they should

appear and ready to die quietly if it had to be. We were

still cheerful but a little quieter.

The voyage up to Baghdad lasted almost two weeks, owing

to our running short of petrol. A tin of this turned up here

and there and the ship simply went on until this was done.

Messages and countless orders were sent. We waited

day after day moored to the bank some miles from Baghdad.

The death rate was increasing. This ship seems stricken.

Then we were told we had to walk to Baghdad. Very few

of us could have got there. Fortunately our resistance prevailed,

although had we been the rank and file I am convinced

this order would have been carried out. Finally the engineer

in charge of the boat set off on a donkey for Baghdad, his legs

doing a dangling jig from side to side. We were now within

ten miles or so of Baghdad and the green date palms of the

city were before us. Some days afterwards the Mejidieh

came and took us in tow, but we made very slow headway

against the current and had to tie up once more at night.

Waterways worked by a horse running up and down on an

incline and hauling over a wheel a rope attached to a large

skin receptacle of water was the new irrigation scheme in this

district. We passed more palm groves within high walls, and

tried to think of Haroun-al-Rashid. Then minarets and the

domes of mosques appeared, and we swung into view of a fine

river-front of buildings less dilapidated than we had seen for

many months. In going round the corner against the rapid

current we had to make about eight attempts, each time

resulting in our getting swung round, and to avoid the sandbanks

we had to return. Assisted by men on shore with ropes

we managed this at length and drew near the bank. It was

about eight o'clock at night. We passed within a few feet

of crowds of fezzed figures on the verandah cafés that stood

on piles in the river on the right bank. We heard their

carousals, and I remember the red line of their flaming pipes

as they cried together yelling and cheering in exultation.

Then we drew alongside the left bank near what we called the

Water Tower. We were very hungry and ill, and alongside

our dead on board many others were dying. The only

visitors we had were disreputable Arabs and Turks who, as the

night grew darker, swarmed on board and looted or thieved.

I define loot as open theft under threat of violence, by a captor

from a captive.

In the morning we were subjected to more looting, and if

one left one's kit a second it disappeared. Having to carry

some of our kit as best we could, the rest was imperilled. I

lost my haversack with all my knives and plates and razor

and toilet kit and scanty supply of medicine like chlorodyne

and quinine, of which the Turks had none. We were left

in the sun in rows still without food and under the eyes of a

curious crowd. We bought a few things from women hawkers.

This same major who lies here dying in this house in

Baghdad was, so soon as we disembarked, left lying uncovered

from the sun on a stretcher apparently unconscious and

covered by thousands of flies, in fact, black with them. Now

and then a wasted arm rose a few inches as if to brush them

off but fell back inadequate to the task. One wondered if

he were dead. Our protests as we realized he had been left

there hours before we arrived were more than vehement.

One of our orderlies was finally allowed to remove him under

cover from the fierce sun and to give him water. One saw

British soldiers in a similar state dying of enteritis with a green

ooze issuing from their lips, their mouths fixed open, in and out

of which flies walked like bees entering and issuing from a

hive. We were thankful to leave the ill-fated _Julna_, and

personally I felt very grateful to Col. Brown-Mason, the

P.M.O., our eternal friend Major Aylen (O.C. officers' hospital)

and General G. B. Smith who, in the periods of long waiting,

was most cheerful and encouraging.

We were split up into parties of sick in various hospitals

so called. Two officers accompanied me and the sentry. We

were told it was one minute's walk. Lieutenant Richardson,

who had a shot back and could not stand for many seconds,

had to walk. Lieutenant Forbes and I took his arms to assist

him, and like three drunken men lurched forward through the

bazaar. Poor Richardson collapsed several times on the way

and finally fainted. It was at least a mile off, and our sentry

lost his way. He was quite a decent fellow and did not object

to some Armenian women who ran out with lemonade. We

got a stretcher and at last arrived.

I am in a long room filled with bug and flea infested beds.

Twice a day at hours impossible to conjecture a Turk brings

in youghut, a curdled milk, in a bucket which we found most

uninviting but have since learnt to take, and some rice and

pilaf. We have been here some days, and through talking

German to the son of the old cavalry commandant, I have

actually been allowed to get dressed and go to the adjacent

shops to buy castor oil with some of my remaining coins.

[Illustration: OUR PRISON, BAGHDAD, AS IMPROVED AFTER

BRITISH OCCUPATION]

The American Consul has visited us. He is a kind man, and

regrets that he has not any money left, as he gave all he

could get to the first column, but he helped us with our luggage

and sent along a few comforts such as tobacco and quinine. I

heard that all the money at the fall of Kut was distributed

among the garrison, and about three or four gold liras were to

have reached me. They did not, however. I have only

eighty piastres left, the balance of changing fifty rupees.

At night it is very hot and we sleep on the roofs, as does all

Baghdad. Major Cotton has grown worse. On arrival here

he was taken to some contagious disease hospital by mistake,

and met no one who knew who he was or who could speak

for him, days after he came here. His sufferings and mental

anguish had been terrible away from us all. Major Aylen

gave him a tablespoonful of champagne brought up secretly

from the camp by another party. After this the poor fellow

became more coherent and quite restful. Late that night

he begged me to take him on to the balcony. Notwithstanding

the pain of my back I managed to get him on the verandah.

He could not have weighed more than five stone. He said he

was very grateful to feel the gentle movement of a breeze.

Next morning he was dead. Details of other similar cases I

won't write about.

_May 26th._--_Cavalry Barracks, Baghdad._ I have been here

some days, having decided that one could not hope to recover

in an empty house, and so after a week or more there resolved

on a supreme effort. We were sent to these Turkish barracks

near the north gate on the _maidan_. It was no great distance

but took much effort to get there. We left in the late afternoon,

but owing to mistakes of the sentries, who took us to

several wrong places, and to the fact that the Turkish sergeants

at the barracks did not approve of our papers, we still wandered

about after dark. He sent us back. This was repeated several

times. We wandered round the place in the dark huddled

up like sheep on the foul and stenching _maidan_ by our

postas who awaited the Commandant.

Towards 10 p.m., in the dark we got up from the mud

pool, which reeked of the dead horses therein and the rubbish

of the city. Sick, hungry and cold we plodded up the steps

to empty rooms, our means of existence being only what

remained to us, that is to say, what the various parties had not

looted. This meant two or three tins of milk, a little bad tea,

and possibly raisins.