I will use a spare hour to begin an account of our doings since I last
wrote, but I don't know when I shall be able to finish it, still less
when post it.
We left B. last Thursday morning and were told we should march sixteen
miles: we marched up the right bank, so our left flank was exposed to
the desert, and "D" Company did flank guard. My platoon formed the
outer screen and we marched strung out in single file. There were
cavalry patrols beyond us again, and anyway no Arab could come within
five miles without our seeing him, so our guarding was a sinecure.
We paraded as soon as it was light, at 7.15 a.m., but owing to the
transport delays, the column did not start till after 9.0. The
transport consists of: (a) ships and barges; (b) carts, mules and
camels. Each has its limitations. Ships tie you to the river-bank, so
every column must have some land transport. Camels can hardly move
after rain: they slip and split themselves. The carts are fearfully
held up by the innumerable ditches which are for draining the floods
back to the river. There are not nearly enough mules to go round and
they only carry 160lbs. each. So you can imagine our transport
difficulties. The country supplies neither food, fodder nor fuel. Our
firewood comes from India. If you leave the river you must carry every
drop of drinking water. So the transport line was three times as long
as the column itself, and moved more slowly.
Our new Brigadier turned up and proved to be a pleasant, sensible kind
of man, looking rather like Lord Derby. Having just come from France,
he keeps quite cool whatever we encounter. (P.S. We have had a new
Brigadier since this one, I haven't yet seen the present one.)
The march was slow and rough, as most of the ground was hard-baked
plough. The country was as level and bare as a table, bar the ditches,
and we hardly saw a human being all day. It took us till after 4 p.m.
to do our sixteen miles. About 2 p.m. we began to hear firing and see
shrapnel in the distance, and it soon became clear that we were
approaching a big battle. Consequently we had to push on beyond our
sixteen miles, and went on till Sunset. By this time we were all very
footsore and exhausted. The men had had no food since the night
before, the ration-cart having stuck in a ditch; and many of the
inexperienced ones had brought nothing with them. My leg held out
wonderfully well, and in fact has given me no trouble worth speaking
of.
We had to wait an hour for orders, the Brigadier knowing nothing of
the General's intentions. By six it was quite dark, and the firing had
ceased: and we got orders to retrace our steps to a certain camping
place (marked _I_ on sketch). This meant an extra mile, and immense
trouble and confusion in finding our way over ditches and then sorting
kits in the dark: but finally we did it, ate a meal, and turned in
about 9.30 p.m. pretty well tired out, as we had been on the move
fourteen hours and had marched about twenty-one miles. To put the lid
on it, a sharp shower of exceedingly frigid rain surprised us all in
our beauty sleep, about 11 p.m. and soaked the men's blankets and
clothes. Luckily I had everything covered up, and I spread my overcoat
over my head and slept on, breathing through the pocket-holes.
(I will continue this in diary form and post it if and when I get a
chance.)
_Friday 7th._ Started at 8.30 and marched quietly about five miles.
This brought us within view of the large village of D., which is
roughly half-way between B. and C. Between us and it the battle was in
full swing. We halted by a pontoon bridge (2 on sketch), just out of
range of the enemy's guns, and watched it for several hours. Owing to
the utter flatness of the ground, we could see very little of the
infantry. It was hot and the mirage blurred everything. Our artillery
was clearly very superior to theirs, both in quantity (quite five to
one it seemed) and in the possession of high explosive shell, of which
the enemy had none: but we were cruelly handicapped (_a_) by the fact
that their men and guns were entrenched and ours exposed; and (_b_) by
the mirage, which made the location of their trenches and emplacements
almost impossible.
I had better not say much about the battle yet, but I will give a
rough sketch and describe our own experiences. I will only say this,
that the two great difficulties our side had to contend with were: (1)
the inability of the artillery to locate anything with certainly in
the mists and mirage, and (2) the difficulty of finding and getting
round the enemy's flanks. Either they had a far larger force than we
expected, or they were very skilfully spread out--for they covered an
amazingly wide front, quite eight miles, I should say, or more.
The battle was interesting to watch, but not exciting. The noise of
the shells from field guns is exactly like that of a rocket going up.
When the shell is coming towards you, there is a sharper hiss in it,
like a whip. It gives you a second or two to get under cover and then
crack-whizz as the shrapnel whizzes out. The heavy shells from the
monitors, etc., make a noise more like a landslide of pebbles down a
beach, only blurred as if echoed. Bobbety's "silk dress swishing
through the air" does his imagination credit, but is not quite
accurate, nor does it express the spirit of the things quite!
About 3.30 we had orders to cross to the left bank. As we passed over
the bridge, we put up two duck, who had been swimming there peacefully
with the shells flying over their heads every half minute for hours.
When we reached the left bank we marched as if to reinforce our right
flank. Presently the Brigadier made us line out into echelon of
companies in line in single rank, so that from a distance we looked
like a brigade, instead of three companies. About 4 we came up to a
howitzer battery and lay down about 200 yards from it, thus:
[Illustration]
We had lain there about ten minutes when a hiss, crack, whizz, and
shells began to arrive, invariably in pairs, about where I've put the
1 and 2. We had a fine view. The first notice we had of each shell was
the sudden appearance of a white puff, about thirty feet above ground,
then a spatter of dust about thirty yards to the right, then the
hiss-crack-whizz. They were ranging on the battery, but after a minute
or two they spotted the ammunition column, and a pair of shells burst
at 3, then a pair at 4. So the column retreated in a hurry along the
dotted arrow, and the shells following them began to catch us in
enfilade. So Foster made us rise and move to the left in file. Just as
we were up, a pair burst right over my platoon. I can't conceive why
nobody was hit. I noticed six bullets strike the ground in a
semi-circle between me and the nearest man three paces away, and
everyone else noticed the same kind of thing, but nobody was touched.
I don't suppose the enemy saw us at all: anyway, the next pair pitched
100 yards beyond us, following the mules, and wounded three men in C.
Company: and the next got two men of B.--all flesh wounds and not
severe. They never touched the ammunition column.
We lay down in a convenient ditch, and only one more pair came our
way, as the enemy was ranging back to the battery. Of this pair, one
hit the edge of the ditch and buried itself without exploding, and the
other missed with its bullets, while the case bounced along and hit a
sergeant on the backside, not even bruising it.
Just before 5 we got orders to advance in artillery formation. My
platoon led, and we followed a course shown by the dotted line. We went
through the battery and about 300 yards beyond, and then had orders to
return to camp. On this trip (which was mere window-dressing) no shell
came nearer than fifty yards: in fact our own battery made us jump much
more.
The whole episode was much more interesting than alarming. Fear is
seated in the imagination, I think, and vanishes once the mind can
assert itself. One feels very funky in the cold nights when nothing is
happening: but if one has to handle men under fire, one is braced up
and one's attention is occupied. I expect rifle fire is much more
trying: but the fact that shell-fire is more or less unaimed at one
individually, and also the warning swish, gives one a feeling of great
security.
We got back to camp near the river (4 on sketch) about 6, and dug a
perimeter, hoping to settle down for the night. But at 7.30 orders
came to move at 9.30. We were told that an enemy force had worked
round our right flank, and that our brigade had to do a night march
eastward down the river and attack it at dawn. So at 10 p.m. we
marched with just a blanket apiece, leaving our kits in the camp.
After we had gone, the Q.M. made up a big fire and got in no fewer
than fifty-two wounded, who were trying to struggle back to the field
dressing station from the firing line four or five miles away.
The fire attracted them and parties went out to help them in. I think
it is very unsatisfactory that beyond the regimental stretcher-bearers
there is no ambulance to bring the wounded back: and how can a dozen
stretchers convey 300 casualties five miles? It is a case of _sauve
qui peut_ for the wounded: and when they get to the dressing station
the congestion is very bad, thirty men in a tent, and only three or
four doctors to deal with 3,000 or 4,000 wounded. I mention this as
confirming my previous criticism of the medical service here.
Well, we started out at 10 p.m. and marched slowly and silently till
nearly midnight. Then we bivouacked for four-and-a-half-hours (5 on
sketch,) and a more uncomfortable time I hope never to spend. We had
not dared bring rugs for fear of losing them in the subsequent attack,
so I had nothing but my Burberry, a muffler and a woollen helmet. The
ground was bare earth everywhere, very damp and cold. I lay in a ditch
and slept for three-quarters-of-an hour, and then woke with extremely
cold feet, so I walked about a little, and then, finding Foster in the
same case, we both took off our Burberrys and laid one under us and
one above and lay like babes in the wood. This expedient kept one
flank nicely warm, and soon I got North to make a pillow of my other
thigh, which kept _that_ warm: but from the knees downwards I was
incurably cold and never got to sleep again. The men were better off,
having each a blanket, and sleeping in packets of four.
_Saturday._ At last 4.30 a.m. arrived and we started marching again.
It was a blessing to get one's feet warm but the pleasures of the
march were strictly comparative. We trekked on eastwards along the
river-bank till sunrise, 7 a.m., when we came on a camp of Arabs who
fled shrieking at our approach (6 on sketch.) At 7.30, we halted and
had breakfast. Our united efforts failed to find enough fuel to boil a
kettle. We waited till 9, when the cavalry patrols returned and
reported no sign of the enemy, so we marched back to the pontoon
bridge (7 on sketch). I suspect our re-entry _qua_ stage
reinforcements was the whole object of our expedition, and the
out-flankers were a myth from the beginning. The march back was the
most unpleasant we've had. It got hot and the ground was hard and
rough and we were all very tired and footsore. A sleepless night takes
the stamina out of one. There and back our trek was about twelve
miles.
On arrival at the bridge we were only allowed half-an-hour's rest and
then got orders to march out to take up an 'observation post' on the
right flank. Being general reserve is no sinecure with bluffing
tactics prevailing.
This last lap was extremely trying. We marched in artillery formation,
all very lame and stiff. We passed behind our yesterday's friend, the
howitzer battery, but at a more respectful distance from the enemy's
battery. This latter showed no sign of life till we were nearly two
miles from the river. Then it started its double deliveries and some
of them came fairly close to some of our platoon, but not to mine.
It took us nearly two hours to drag ourselves three miles and the men
had hardly a kick in them when we reached the place assigned for our
post (8 on sketch). We were ordered to entrench in echelon of
companies facing North. I thought it would take till dark to get us
dug in (it was 2 p.m.); but luckily our men, lined up ready to begin
digging, caught the eye of the enemy as a fine enfilade target (or
else they saw our first line mules) and they started shelling us from
6,500 yards (Enemy's battery, 9 on sketch). The effect on the men was
magical. They woke up and dug so well that we had fair cover within
half an hour and quite adequate trenches by 3. This bombardment was
quite exciting. The first few pairs were exactly over "D" Company's
trench, but pitched about 100 yards beyond it. The next few were
exactly right in range, but about forty yards right, _i.e._ behind us.
Just as we were wondering where the third lot would be, our faithful
howitzer battery and some heavy guns behind them, which opened all
they knew on the enemy battery as soon as they opened on us, succeeded
in attracting its fire to themselves. This happened three or four
times. Just as they were getting on to us the artillery saved us:
there would be a sharp artillery duel and then the Turks would lie
quiet for ten minutes, then begin on us again. This went on until we
were too well dug in to be a tempting target, and they devoted
themselves to our battery. The curious part of it was that though we
could see the flash of their guns every time, the mirages made it
impossible to judge their ranges or even for our battery to observe
its own fire properly. Our howitzer battery unfortunately was not in a
mirage, and they had its range to a yard and plastered it with
shrapnel. If they had had high explosives they could have smashed it.
About 4.30 the mirage cleared and our guns had a free go for the first
time that day: (in the morning mists last until the mirage begins).
I'm told the mirage had put our guns over 1,000 yards out in their
ranging, but I doubt this. Anyway it is the fact that those guns and
trenches which were sited in mirages were practically untouched in a
heavy two days' bombardment.
In that last hour, however, between 4.20 and dark, our heavy guns got
into the enemy finely with their high explosives. They blew one of our
tormentors bodily into the air at 10,500 yards, and silenced the
others, and chased every Turk out of the landscape.
All the same, we were rather gloomy that night. Our line had made no
progress that we could hear of; we had had heavy losses (none in our
battalion), and there seemed no prospect of dislodging the enemy.
Their front was so wide we could not get round them, and frontal
attacks on trenches are desperate affairs here if your artillery is
paralysed by mirages. The troops who have come from France say that in
this respect this action has been more trying than either Neuve
Chappelle or Ypres, because, as they say, it is like advancing over a
billiard-table all the way.
To crown our troubles, we were three miles from the river, which meant
no water except for necessities--the men had no kits, and it was very
cold, and we could not show lights. And finally, after midnight, it
began to pour with rain!
_Sunday._ At 5.30 we stood to arms. It rained harder than ever and
most of us hadn't a dry stitch. At last it got light, the rain
gradually stopped, and a thoroughly depressed battalion breakfasted in
a grey mist, expecting to be bombarded the moment it lifted. About
8.30 the mist cleared a little, and we looked in vain for our
tormentors. Our cavalry reconnoitred and, to our joy, we saw them ride
clean over the place where the enemy's line had been the evening
before. They had gone in the night.
A cold but drying wind sprang up and the sun came out for a short
time, and we managed to get our things dry. At 1 o'clock we marched
back to the river and found the bridge gone.
I think this makes a good place to stop, as it marks the end of our
first series of adventures and of the no doubt by now famous battle of
D.
I enclose a sketch-map to explain our movements. For obvious reasons I
can't say much about the battle itself.
(I will briefly bring this up to date, post it and try to get a cable
through to you.)
When we reached the river (10 on sketch), it began to rain again and
we spent a very chill and damp afternoon on the bank awaiting orders.
About dusk B. and C. Companies were ordered to cross the river to
guard the hospital there, and D. stayed to guard the hospital on the
left bank. Mercifully our ship was handy, so we got our tents and
slept warm, though all our things were wettish.
_Monday._ A quiet morning, no orders. A Scotch mist shrouded
everything till noon and kept our things damp, but the sun got through
at last.
C. Company returned to left bank, as all wounded were being shipped
across. (N.B. They had to bring them across in our ship. There is
still no sign of the Red Cross motor boats up _here_, though I'm glad
to hear they've reached Basra.) We got orders to march to D. by night.
We started at 8 p.m., "B." Company marching parallel on the other
bank. It was seven or eight miles, but we went very slow, and did not
get in till 1.30 and our transport not till nearly 3, heavy guns
sticking in the ditches. (N.B. Once we got behind the evacuated
Turkish line, we found that the ditches had been filled in to allow
passage of guns, an expedient which had apparently not occurred to the
British Command, for no ditch had been filled in between B, and this
point!)
_Tuesday._ When morning came we found ourselves camped just opposite
D. (11 on sketch), and we are still there. Two fine days (though it
freezes at night) and rest have restored us. A mail arrived this
morning, bringing letters to December 7th, and your medical parcels.
I only returned you the quinine and bandages, of which people in Amara
have plenty. They will come in handy for you to send out again. _Here_
everything medical can be used, but I couldn't have brought any more
than I did. As it is, I've left a lot at Amarah.
I must close now. On these cold nights the little kitchener is
invaluable, so is the soup. Of the various brands you sent, Ivelcon is
the best. The chocolate is my mainstay on day marches. Also the Diet
Tablets are very good. Bivouac Cocoa is also good. The Kaross is
invaluable.
Stanford's Map has arrived.
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