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GALLIPOLI DIARY
BY GENERAL SIR IAN HAMILTON, G.C.B.
AUTHOR OF "A STAFF-OFFICER'S SCRAP-BOOK," ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I
NEW YORK GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 1920
PRINTED BY UNWIN BROTHERS, LTD.--WOKING--ENGLAND
PREFACE
On the heels of the South African War came the sleuth-hounds pursuing
the criminals, I mean the customary Royal Commissions. Ten thousand
words of mine stand embedded in their Blue Books, cold and dead as so
many mammoths in glaciers. But my long spun-out intercourse with the
Royal Commissioners did have living issue--my Manchurian and Gallipoli
notes. Only constant observation of civilian Judges and soldier
witnesses could have shown me how fallible is the unaided military
memory or have led me by three steps to a War Diary:--
(1) There is nothing certain about war except that one side won't win.
(2) The winner is asked no questions--the loser has to answer for
everything.
(3) Soldiers think of nothing so little as failure and yet, to the
extent of fixing intentions, orders, facts, dates firmly in their own
minds, they ought to be prepared.
Conclusion:--In war, keep your own counsel, preferably in a note-book.
The first test of the new resolve was the Manchurian Campaign, 1904-5;
and it was a hard test. Once that Manchurian Campaign was over I never
put pen to paper--in the diary sense[1]--until I was under orders for
Constantinople. Then I bought a note-book as well as a Colt's automatic
(in fact, these were the only two items of special outfit I did buy),
and here are the contents--not of the auto but of the book. Also, from
the moment I took up the command, I kept cables, letters and copies
(actions quite foreign to my natural disposition), having been taught in
my youth by Lord Roberts that nothing written to a Commander-in-Chief,
or his Military Secretary, can be private if it has a bearing on
operations. A letter which may influence the Chief Command of an Army
and, therefore, the life of a nation, may be "Secret" for reasons of
State; it cannot possibly be "Private" for personal reasons.[2]
At the time, I am sure my diary was a help to me in my work. The
crossings to and from the Peninsula gave me many chances of reckoning up
the day's business, sometimes in clear, sometimes in a queer cipher of
my own. Ink stands with me for an emblem of futurity, and the act of
writing seemed to set back the crisis of the moment into a calmer
perspective. Later on, the diary helped me again, for although the
Dardanelles Commission did not avail themselves of my formal offer to
submit what I had written to their scrutiny, there the records were.
Whenever an event, a date and a place were duly entered in their actual
coincidence, no argument to the contrary could prevent them from falling
into the picture: an advocate might just as well waste eloquence in
disputing the right of a piece to its own place in a jig-saw puzzle.
Where, on the other hand, incidents were not entered, anything might
happen and did happen; _vide_, for instance, the curious misapprehension
set forth in the footnotes to pages 59, 60, Vol. II.
So much for the past. Whether these entries have not served their turn
is now the question. They were written red-hot amidst tumult, but
faintly now, and as in some far echo, sounds the battle-cry that once
stopped the beating of thousands of human hearts as it was borne out
upon the night wind to the ships. Those dread shapes we saw through our
periscopes are dust: "the pestilence that walketh in darkness" and "the
destruction that wasteth at noonday" are already images of speech: only
the vastness of the stakes; the intensity of the effort and the grandeur
of the sacrifice still stand out clearly when we, in dreams, behold the
Dardanelles. Why not leave that shining impression as a martial cloak to
cover the errors and vicissitudes of all the poor mortals who, in the
words of Thucydides, "dared beyond their strength, hazarded against
their judgment, and in extremities were of an excellent hope?"
Why not? The tendency of every diary is towards self-justification and
complaint; yet, to-day, personally, I have "no complaints." Would it not
be wiser, then, as well as more dignified, to let the Dardanelles
R.I.P.? The public will not be starved. A Dardanelles library exists---
nothing less--from which three luminous works by Masefield, Nevinson and
Callwell stand out; works each written by a man who had the right to
write; each as distinct from its fellow as one primary colour from
another, each essentially true. On the top of these comes the Report of
the Dardanelles Commission and the Life of Lord Kitchener, where his
side of the story is so admirably set forth by his intimate friend, Sir
George Arthur. The tale has been told and retold. Every morsel of the
wreckage of our Armada seems to have been brought to the surface. There
are fifty reasons against publishing, reasons which I know by heart. On
the other side there are only three things to be said:--
(1) Though the bodies recovered from the tragedy have been stripped and
laid out in the Morgue, no hand has yet dared remove the masks from
their faces.
(2) I cannot destroy this diary. Before his death Cranmer thrust his own
hand into the flames: "his heart was found entire amidst the ashes."
(3) I will not leave my diary to be flung at posterity from behind the
cover of my coffin. In case anyone wishes to challenge anything I have
said, I must be above ground to give him satisfaction.
Therefore, I will publish and at once.
A man has only one life on earth. The rest is silence. Whether God will
approve of my actions at a moment when the destinies of hundreds of
millions of human beings hung upon them, God alone knows. But before I
go I want to have the verdict of my comrades of all ranks at the
Dardanelles, and until they know the truth, as it appeared to me at the
time, how can they give that verdict?
IAN HAMILTON.
LULLENDEN FARM,
DORMANSLAND.
_April_ 25, 1920.
LETTER FROM GENERAL D'AMADE TO THE AUTHOR
MON GÉNÉRAL,
Dans la guerre Sud Africaine, ensuite en Angleterre, j'avais en
spectateur vécu avec votre armée. Avec elle je souhaitais revivre en
frère d'armes, combattant pour la même cause.
Les Dardanelles ont réalisé mon rêve. Mais le lecteur ne doit pas
s'attarder avec moi. Lire le récit de celui même qui a commandé: quel
avantage! L'Histoire, comme un fleuve, se charge d'impuretés en
s'éloignent de ses sources. En en remontant le cours, dans votre
Journal, j'ai découvert les causes de certains effets demeuré, pour moi
des énigmes.
Au début je n'avais pas cru à la possibilité de forcer les Dardanelles
sans l'intervention de l'armée. C'est pour cela que, si la décision
m'eût appartenus et avant d'avoir été placé sous vos ordres, j'avais
songé à débarquer à Adramit, dans les eaux calmes de Mithylène, à courir
ensuite à Brousse et Constantinople, pour y saisir les clefs du détroit.
En présence de l'opiniâtre confiance de l'amiral de Robecq j'abaissai
mon pavillion de terrien et l'inclinai devant son autorité de marin
Anglais. Nous fûmes conquis par cette confiance.
Notre théâtre de guerre de Gallipoli était très borné sur le terrain. Ce
front restreint a permis à chacun de vos soldats de vous connaître.
Autant qu'avec leurs armes, ils combattaient avec votre ardeur de grand
chef et votre inflexible volonté.
Dans le passé ce théâtre qui était la Troade, venait se souder aux
éternels récommencements de l'Histoire.
Dans l'avenir son domaine était aussi vaste. "Si nos navires avaient pu
franchir les détroits, a dit le Premier Ministre Loyd Georges le 18
décembre 1919 aux Communes, la guerre aurait été raccourcie de 2 ou 3
ans."
Il y a pire qu'une guerre, c'est une guerre qui se prolonge. Car les
dévastations s'accumulent. Le vaincu qui a eu l'habileté de les éviter à
son pays, se donnera, sur les ruines, des manières de vainqueur. Le
premier but de guerre n'est il pas d'infliger à l'adversaire plus de mal
qu'il ne vous en fait?
Si nous avions atteint Constantinople dans l'été 1915 c'était alors
terminer la guerre, éviter la tourmente russe et tous les obstacles
dressés par ce cataclysme devant le rétablissement de la paix du monde.
C'était épargner à nos Patries des milliards de dépenses et des
centaines de milliers de deuils.
Que nous n'ayons pas atteint ce but ne saurait établir qu'il n'ait été
juste et sage de le poursuivre.
Voilà pour quelle cause sont tombés les soldats des Dardanelles.
"Honneur à vous, soldats de France et soldats du Roi! ainsi que vous
les adjuriez en les lançant à l'attaque.
"Morts héroïques! il n'a rien manqué à votre gloire, pas même une
apparence d'oubli. Des triomphes des autres vous n'avez recueilli que
les rayons extrêmes: ceux qui ont franchi la cime des arcs de triomphe
pour aller au loin, coups égarés de la grande gerbe, éclairer vos
tombés.
"Mais 'Ne jugez pas avant le temps.' Le crépuscule éteint, laissez
encore passer la nuit. Vous aurez pour vous le soleil Levant."
Vous, Mon Général, vous aurez été l'ouvrier de cette grande idée, et
l'annonciateur de cette aurore.
Gén. A. d'Amade.
Fronsac,
Gironde, France.
22 décembre, 1919.
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE v
LETTER FROM GENERAL D'AMADE TO THE AUTHOR x
CHAPTER
I. THE START 1
II. THE STRAITS 21
III. EGYPT 54
IV. CLEARING FOR ACTION 86
V. THE LANDING 127
VI. MAKING GOOD 159
VII. SHELLS 196
VIII. TWO CORPS OR AN ALLY? 219
IX. SUBMARINES 243
X. A DECISION AND THE PLAN 283
XI. BOMBS AND JOURNALISTS 314
XII. A VICTORY AND AFTER 343
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
SIR ROGER KEYES, VICE-ADMIRAL DE ROBECK, SIR IAN HAMILTON, GENERAL
BRAITHWAITE _Frontispiece_
LIEUT.-GEN. SIR J.G. MAXWELL, G.C.B., K.C.M.G 58
REVIEW OF FRENCH TROOPS AT ALEXANDRIA 78
S.S. "RIVER CLYDE" 132
"W" BEACH 176
GENERAL D'AMADE 222
VIEW OF "V" BEACH, TAKEN FROM S.S. "RIVER CLYDE" 254
MEN BATHING AT HELLES 294
THE NARROWS FROM CHUNUK BAIR 330
GENERAL GOURAUD 346
MAPS
KEY MAP _Inside front cover_
CAPE HELLES AND THE SOUTHERN AREA _At end of volume_
GALLIPOLI DIARY
CHAPTER I
THE START
_In the train between Paris and Marseilles, 14th March, 1915._
Neither the Asquith banquet, nor the talk at the Admiralty that midnight
had persuaded me I was going to do what I am actually doing at this
moment. K. had made no sign nor waved his magic baton. So I just kept as
cool as I could and had a sound sleep.
Next morning, that is the 12th instant, I was working at the Horse
Guards when, about 10 a.m., K. sent for me. I wondered! Opening the door
I bade him good morning and walked up to his desk where he went on
writing like a graven image. After a moment, he looked up and said in a
matter-of-fact tone, "We are sending a military force to support the
Fleet now at the Dardanelles, and you are to have Command."
Something in voice or words touched a chord in my memory. We were once
more standing, K. and I, in our workroom at Pretoria, having just
finished reading the night's crop of sixty or seventy wires. K. was
saying to me, "You had better go out to the Western Transvaal." I asked
no question, packed up my kit, ordered my train, started that night. Not
another syllable was said on the subject. Uninstructed and unaccredited
I left that night for the front; my outfit one A.D.C., two horses, two
mules and a buggy. Whether I inspected the columns and came back and
reported to K. in my capacity as his Chief Staff Officer; or, whether,
making use of my rank to assume command in the field, I beat up de la
Rey in his den--all this rested entirely with me.
So I made my choice and fought my fight at Roodewal, last strange battle
in the West. That is K.'s way. The envoy goes forth; does his best with
whatever forces he can muster and, if he loses;--well, unless he had
liked the job he should not have taken it on.
At that moment K. wished me to bow, leave the room and make a start as I
did some thirteen years ago. But the conditions were no longer the same.
In those old Pretoria days I had known the Transvaal by heart; the
number, value and disposition of the British forces; the characters of
the Boer leaders; the nature of the country. But my knowledge of the
Dardanelles was nil; of the Turk nil; of the strength of our own forces
next to nil. Although I have met K. almost every day during the past six
months, and although he has twice hinted I might be sent to Salonika;
never once, to the best of my recollection, had he mentioned the word
Dardanelles.
I had plenty of time for these reflections as K., after his one
tremendous remark had resumed his writing at the desk. At last, he
looked up and inquired, "Well?"
"We have done this sort of thing before, Lord K." I said; "we have run
this sort of show before and you know without saying I am most deeply
grateful and you know without saying I will do my best and that you can
trust my loyalty--but I must say something--I must ask you some
questions." Then I began.
K. frowned; shrugged his shoulders; I thought he was going to be
impatient, but although he gave curt answers at first he slowly
broadened out, until, at the end, no one else could get a word in
edgeways.[3]
My troops were to be Australians and New Zealanders under Birdwood (a
friend); strength, say, about 30,000. (A year ago I inspected them in
their own Antipodes and no finer material exists); the 29th Division,
strength, say 19,000 under Hunter-Weston--a slashing man of action; an
acute theorist; the Royal Naval Division, 11,000 strong (an excellent
type of Officer and man, under a solid Commander--Paris); a French
contingent, strength at present uncertain, say, about a Division, under
my old war comrade the chivalrous d'Amade, now at Tunis.
Say then grand total about 80,000--probably panning out at some 50,000
rifles in the firing line. Of these the 29th Division are
extras--_division de luxe._
K. went on; he was now fairly under weigh and got up and walked about
the room as he spoke. I knew, he said, his (K.'s) feelings as to the
political and strategic value of the Near East where one clever tactical
thrust delivered on the spot and at the spot might rally the wavering
Balkans. Rifle for rifle, _at that moment_, we could nowhere make as
good use of the 29th Division as by sending it to the Dardanelles, where
each of its 13,000 rifles might attract a hundred more to our side of
the war. Employed in France or Flanders the 29th would at best help to
push back the German line a few miles; at the Dardanelles the stakes
were enormous. He spoke, so it struck me, as if he was defending himself
in argument: he asked if I agreed. I said, "Yes." "Well," he rejoined,
"You may just as well realize at once that G.H.Q. in France do not
agree. They think they have only to drive the Germans back fifty miles
nearer to their base to win the war. Those are the same fellows who used
to write me saying they wanted no New Army; that they would be amply
content if only the old Old Army and the Territorials could be kept up
to strength. Now they've been down to Aldershot and seen the New Army
they are changing their tune, but I am by no means sure, _now_, that
I'll give it to them. French and his Staff believe firmly that the
British Imperial Armies can pitch their camp down in one corner of
Europe and there fight a world war to a finish. The thing is absurd but
French, plus France, are a strong combine and they are fighting tooth
and nail for the 29th Division. It must clearly be understood then:--"
(1) That the 29th Division are only to be a loan and are to be returned
the moment they can be spared.
(2) That all things ear-marked for the East are looked on by powerful
interests both at home and in France as having been stolen from the
West.
Did I take this in? I said, "I take it from you." Did I myself, speaking
as actual Commander of the Central Striking Force and executively
responsible for the land defence of England, think the 29th Division
could be spared at all? "Yes," I said, "and four more Territorial
Divisions as well." K. used two or three very bad words and added, with
his usual affability, that I would find myself walking about in civilian
costume instead of going to Constantinople if he found me making any
wild statements of that sort to the politicians. I laughed and reminded
him of my testimony before the Committee of Imperial Defence about my
Malta amphibious manoeuvres; about the Malta Submarines and the way
they had destroyed the battleships conveying my landing forces. If there
was any politician, I said, who cared a hang about my opinions he knew
quite well already my views on an invasion of England; namely, that it
would be like trying to hurt a monkey by throwing nuts at him. I didn't
want to steal what French wanted, but now that the rifles had come and
the troops had finished their musketry, there was no need to squabble
over a Division. Why not let French have two of my Central Force
Territorial Division at once,--they were jolly good and were wasting
their time over here. That would sweeten French and he and Joffre would
make no more trouble about the 29th.
K. glared at me. I don't know what he was going to say when Callwell
came into the room with some papers.
We moved to the map in the window and Callwell took us through a plan of
attack upon the Forts at the Dardanelles, worked out by the Greek
General Staff. The Greeks had meant to employ (as far as I can remember)
150,000 men. Their landing was to have taken place on the North-west
coast of the Southern part of the Peninsula, opposite Kilid Bahr. "But,"
said K., "half that number of men will do you handsomely; the Turks are
busy elsewhere; I hope you will not have to land at all; if you _do_
have to land, why then the powerful Fleet at your back will be the prime
factor in your choice of time and place."
I asked K. if he would not move the Admiralty to work a submarine or two
up the Straits at once so as to prevent reinforcements and supplies
coming down by sea from Constantinople. By now the Turks must be on the
alert and it was commonsense to suppose they would be sending some sort
of help to their Forts. However things might pan out we could not be
going wrong if we made the Marmora unhealthy for the Turkish ships. Lord
K. thereupon made the remark that if we could get one submarine into the
Marmora the defences of the Dardanelles would collapse. "Supposing," he
said, "one submarine pops up opposite the town of Gallipoli and waves a
Union Jack three times, the whole Turkish garrison on the Peninsula will
take to their heels and make a bee line for Bulair."
In reply to a question about Staff, Lord K., in the gruff voice he puts
on when he wants no argument, told me I could not take my own Chief of
Staff, Ellison, and that Braithwaite would go with me in his place.
Ellison and I have worked hand in glove for several years; our qualities
usefully complement one another; there was no earthly reason I could
think of why Ellison should _not_ have come with me, but; I like
Braithwaite; he had been on my General Staff for a time in the Southern
Command; he is cheery, popular and competent.
Wolfe Murray, the Chief of the Imperial General Staff, was then called
in, also Archie Murray, Inspector of Home Forces, and Braithwaite. This
was the first (apparently) either of the Murrays had heard of the
project!!! Both seemed to be quite taken aback, and I do not remember
that either of them made a remark.
Braithwaite was very nice and took a chance to whisper his hopes he
would not give me too much cause to regret Ellison. He only said one
thing to K. and that produced an explosion. He said it was vital that we
should have a better air service than the Turks in case it came to
fighting over a small area like the Gallipoli Peninsula: he begged,
therefore, that whatever else we got, or did not get, we might be fitted
out with a contingent of up-to-date aeroplanes, pilots and observers. K.
turned on him with flashing spectacles and rent him with the words,
_"Not one_!"
_15th March, 1915. H.M.S. "Phaeton." Toulon Harbour._ Embarked at
Marseilles last night at 6 p.m. and slept on board. Owing to some
mistake no oil fuel had been taken aboard so we have had to come round
here this morning to get it. Have just breakfasted with the Captain,
Cameron by name, and have let the Staff go ashore to see the town. We do
not sail till 2 p.m.: after special trains and everything a clean
chuck-away of 20 hours.
I left off in the S. of S.'s room at the War Office. After the bursting
of the aeroplane bomb K. did most of the talking. I find it hard to
remember all he said: here are the outstanding points:--
(1) We soldiers are to understand we are string Number 2. The sailors
are sure they can force the Dardanelles on their own and the whole
enterprise has been framed on that basis: we are to lie low and to bear
in mind the Cabinet does not want to hear anything of the Army till it
sails through the Straits. But if the Admiral fails, then we will have
to go in.
(2) If the Army has to be used, whether on the Bosphorus or at the
Dardanelles, I am to bear in mind his order that no serious operation is
to take place until the whole of my force is complete; ready;
concentrated and on the spot. No piecemeal attack is to be made.
(3) If we do start fighting, once we _have_ started we are to burn our
boats. Once landed the Government are resolved to see the enterprise
through.
(4) Asia is out of bounds. K. laid special stress on this. Our sea
command and the restricted area of Gallipoli would enable us to
undertake a landing on the Peninsula with clearly limited liabilities.
Once we began marching about continents, situations calling for heavy
reinforcements would probably be created. Although I, Hamilton, seemed
ready to run risks in the defence of London, he, K., was not, and as he
had already explained, big demands would make his position difficult
with France; difficult everywhere; and might end by putting him (K.) in
the cart. Besika Bay and Alexandretta were, therefore, taboo--not to be
touched! Even after we force the Narrows no troops are to be landed
along the Asian coastline. Nor are we to garrison any part of the
Gallipoli Peninsula excepting only the Bulair Lines which had best be
permanently held, K. thinks, by the Naval Division.
When we get into the Marmora I shall be faced by a series of big
problems. What would I do? From what quarter could I attack
Constantinople? How would I hold it when I had taken it? K. asked me
the questions.
With the mud of prosaic Whitehall drying upon my boots these remarks of
K.'s sounded to me odd. But, knowing Constantinople, and--what was more
to the point at the moment--knowing K.'s hatred of hesitation, I managed
to pull myself together so far as to suggest that if the city was weakly
held and if, as he had said, (I forgot to enter that) the bulk of the
Thracian troops were dispersed throughout the Provinces, or else moving
to re-occupy Adrianople, why then, possibly, by a _coup de main_, we
might pounce upon the Chatalja Lines from the South before the Turks
could climb back into them from the North. Lord K. made a grimace; he
thought this too chancy. The best would be if we did not land a man
until the Turks had come to terms. Once the Fleet got through the
Dardanelles, Constantinople could not hold out. Modern Constantinople
could not last a week if blockaded by sea and land. That was a sure
thing; a thing whereon he could speak with full confidence. The Fleet
could lie off out of sight and range of the Turks and with their guns
would dominate the railways and, if necessary, burn the place to ashes.
The bulk of the people were not Osmanli or even Mahomedan and there
would be a revolution at the mere sight of the smoke from the funnels of
our warships. But if, for some cause at present non-apparent, we were
forced to put troops ashore against organized Turkish opposition, then
he advocated a landing on the Asiatic side of the Bosphorus to hold out
a hand to the Russians, who would simultaneously land there from the
Black Sea. He only made the suggestion, for the man on the spot must be
the best judge. Several of the audience left us here, at Lord K.'s
suggestion, to get on with their work. K. went on:--
The moment the holding of Constantinople comes along the French and the
Russians will be very jealous and prickly. Luckily we British have an
easy part to play as the more we efface ourselves at that stage, the
better he, K., will be pleased. The Army in France have means of making
their views work in high places and pressure is sure to be put on by
them and by their friends for the return of the 29th and Naval Divisions
the moment we bring Turkey to book. Therefore, it will be best in any
case to "let the French and Russians garrison Constantinople and sing
their hymns in S. Sophia," whilst my own troops hold the railway line
and perhaps Adrianople. Thus they will be at a loose end and we shall be
free to bring them back to the West; to land them at Odessa or to push
them up the Danube, without weakening the Allied grip on the waterway
linking the Mediterranean with the Black Sea.
This was the essence of our talk: as it lasted about an hour and a half,
I can only have put down about one tenth of it.
At odd times I have been recipient of K.'s reveries but always,
_always_, he has rejected with a sort of horror the idea of being War
Minister or Commander-in-Chief. Now by an extreme exercise of its ironic
spirit, Providence has made him both.
In pre-war days, when we met in Egypt and at Malta, K. made no bones
about what he wanted. He wanted to be Viceroy of India or Ambasssador at
Constantinople.
I remember very well one conversation we had when I asked him why he
wanted to hang on to great place, and whether he had not done enough
already. He said he could not bear to see India being mismanaged by
nincompoops or our influence in Turkey being chucked out of the window
with both hands: I answered him, I remember, by saying there were only
two things worth doing as Viceroy and they would not take very long. One
was to put a huge import duty on aniline dyes and so bring back the
lovely vegetable dyes of old India, the saffrons, indigoes, madders,
etc.; the other was to build a black marble Taj at Agra opposite the
white and join the two by a silver bridge. I expected to get a rise, but
actually he took the ideas quite seriously and I am sure made a mental
note of them. Anyway, as Viceroy, K. would have flung the whole vast
weight of India into the scale of this war; he would have poured Army
after Army from East to West. Under K. India could have beaten Turkey
single-handed; aye, and with one arm tied behind her back. With K. as
Ambassador at Constantinople he would have prevented Turkey coming into
the war. There is no doubt of it. Neither Enver Pasha nor Talaat would
have dared to enrage K., and as for the idea of their deporting him, it
is grotesque. They might have shot him in the back; they could never
have faced him with a war declaration in their hands. As an impresser
of Orientals he is a nonesuch. So we put him into the War Office in the
ways of which he is something of an amateur, with a big prestige and a
big power of drive. Yes, we remove the best experts from the War Office
and pop in K. like a powerful engine from which we have removed all
controls, regulators and safety valves. Yet see what wonders he has
worked!
Still, he remains, in the War Office sense, an amateur. The Staff left
by French at the W.O. may not have been von Moltke's, but they were K.'s
only Councillors. An old War Office hand would have used them. But in no
case, even had they been the best, could K. have had truck or parley
with any system of decentralization of work--of semi-independent
specialists each running a show of his own. As late (so-called) Chief of
Staff to Lord K. in South Africa, I could have told them that whatever
work K. fancies at the moment he must swipe at it, that very moment, off
his own bat. The one-man show carried on royally in South Africa and all
the narrow squeaks we had have been completely swallowed up in the final
success; but how will his no-system system work now? Perhaps he may pull
it through; anyway he is starting with a beautifully cleaned slate. He
has surpassed himself, in fact, for I confess even with past experience
to guide me, I did not imagine our machinery could have been so
thoroughly smashed in so short a time. Ten long years of General Staff;
Lyttelton, Nicholson, French, Douglas; where are your well-thought-out
schemes for an amphibious attack on Constantinople? Not a sign!
Braithwaite set to work in the Intelligence Branch at once. But beyond
the ordinary text books those pigeon holes were drawn blank. The
Dardanelles and Bosphorus might be in the moon for all the military
information I have got to go upon. One text book and one book of
travellers' tales don't take long to master and I have not been so free
from work or preoccupation since the war started. There is no use trying
to make plans unless there is some sort of material, political, naval,
military or geographical to work upon.
Winston had been in a fever to get us off and had ordered a special
train for that very afternoon. My new Staff were doubtful if they could
get fixed up so quickly and K. settled the matter by saying there was no
need to hustle. For myself, I was very keen to get away. The best plan
to save slips between cup and lip is to swallow the liquor. But K.
thought it wisest to wait, so I 'phoned over to Eddie to let Winston
know we should not want his train that day.
Next morning, the 13th, I handed over the Central Force Command to
Rundle and then, at 10.30 went in with Braithwaite to say good-bye. K.
was standing by his desk splashing about with his pen at three different
drafts of instructions. One of them had been drafted by Fitz--I suppose
under somebody's guidance; the other was by young Buckley; the third K.
was working on himself. Braithwaite, Fitz and I were in the room; no one
else except Callwell who popped in and out. The instructions went over
most of the ground of yesterday's debate and were too vague. When I
asked the crucial question:--the enemy's strength? K. thought I had
better be prepared for 40,000. How many guns? No one knows. Who was in
command? Djavad Pasha, it is believed. But, K. says, I may take it that
the Kilid Bahr Plateau has been entrenched and is sufficiently held.
South of Kilid Bahr to the point at Cape Helles, I may take it that the
Peninsula is open to a landing on very easy terms. The cross fire from
the Fleet lying part in the Aegean and part in the mouth of the Straits
must sweep that flat and open stretch of country so as to render it
untenable by the enemy. Lord K. demonstrated this cross fire upon the
map. He toiled over the wording of his instructions. They were headed
"Constantinople Expeditionary Force." I begged him to alter this to
avert Fate's evil eye. He consented and both this corrected draft and
the copy as finally approved are now in Braithwaite's despatch box more
modestly headed "Mediterranean Expeditionary Force." None of the drafts
help us with facts about the enemy; the politics; the country and our
allies, the Russians. In sober fact these "instructions" leave me to my
own devices in the East, almost as much as K.'s laconic order "git" left
me to myself when I quitted Pretoria for the West thirteen years ago.
So I said good-bye to old K. as casually as if we were to meet together
at dinner. Actually my heart went out to my old Chief. He was giving me
the best thing in his gift and I hated to leave him amongst people who
were frightened of him. But there was no use saying a word. He did not
even wish me luck and I did not expect him to, but he did say, rather
unexpectedly, _after_ I had said good-bye and just as I was taking up my
cap from the table, "If the Fleet gets through, Constantinople will fall
of itself and you will have won, not a battle, but the war."
At 5 o'clock that afternoon we bade adieu to London. Winston was
disappointed we didn't dash away yesterday but we have not really let
much grass grow under our feet. He and some friends came down to Charing
Cross to see us off. I told Winston Lord K. would not think me loyal if
I wrote to another Secretary of State. He understood and said that if I
wanted him to be aware of some special request all I had to say was,
"You will agree perhaps that the First Lord should see." Then the S. of
S. for War would be bound to show him the letter:--which proves that
with all his cleverness Winston has yet some points to learn about his
K. of K.!
My Staff still bear the bewildered look of men who have hurriedly been
snatched from desks to do some extraordinary turn on some unheard of
theatre. One or two of them put on uniform for the first time in their
lives an hour ago. Leggings awry, spurs upside down, belts over shoulder
straps! I haven't a notion of who they all are: nine-tenths of my few
hours of warning has been taken up in winding up the affairs of the
Central Force.
At Dover embarked on H.M.S. _Foresight_,--a misnomer, for we ran into a
fog and had to lie-to for a devil of a time. Heard far-off guns on
French front,--which was cheering.
At 10.30 p.m. we left Calais for Marseilles and during the next day the
French authorities caused me to be met by Officers of their Railway
Mobilization Section. Had my first breathing space wherein to talk over
matters with Braithwaite, and he and I tried to piece together the
various scraps of views we had picked up at the War Office into a
pattern which should serve us for a doctrine. But we haven't got very
much to go upon. A diagram he had drawn up with half the spaces unfilled
showing the General Staff. Another diagram with its blank spaces only
showed that our Q. branch was not in being. Three queried names,
Woodward for A.G., Winter for Q.M.G. and Williams for Cipher Officer.
The first two had been left behind, the third was with us. The following
hurried jottings by Braithwaite:--"Only 1600 rounds for the 4.5
Howitzers!!! High Explosive essential. Who is to be C.R.E.? Engineer
Stores? French are to remain at Tunis until the day comes that they are
required. Egyptian troops also remain in Egypt till last moment.
Everything we want by 30th (it is hoped). Await arrival of 29th Division
before undertaking anything big. If Carden wants military help it is for
Sir Ian's consideration whether to give or to withhold it." These rough
notes; the text book on the Turkish Army, and two small guide books: not
a very luminous outfit. Braithwaite tells me our force are not to take
with them the usual 10 per cent. extra margin of reserves to fill
casualties. Wish I had realised this earlier. He had not time to tell
me he says. The General Staff thought we ought certainly to have these
and he and Wolfe Murray went in and made a personal appeal to the A.G.
But he was obdurate. This seems hard luck. Why should we not have our
losses quickly replaced--supposing we do lose men? I doubt though, if I
should have been able to do very much even if I had known. To press K.
would have been difficult. Like insisting on an extra half-crown when
you've just been given Fortunatus' purse. Still, fair play's a jewel,
and surely if formations destined for the French front cross the Channel
with 10 per cent. extra, over and above their establishment, troops
bound for Constantinople ought to have a 25 per cent. margin over
establishment?
_17th March, 1915. H.M.S. "Phaeton." At sea._ Last night we raced past
Corfu--my birthplace--at thirty knots an hour. My first baby breath was
drawn from these thyme scented breezes. This crimson in the Eastern sky,
these waves of liquid opal are natal, vital.
Thirty miles an hour through Paradise! Since the 16th January, 1853, we
have learnt to go the pace and as a result the world shrinks; the
horizons close in upon us; the spacious days are gone!
Thoughts of my Mother, who died when I was but three. Thoughts of her
refusal as she lay dying--gasping in mortal pain--her refusal to touch
an opiate, because the Minister, Norman Macleod, had told her she so
might dim the clearness of her spiritual insight--of her thoughts
ascending heavenwards. What pluck--what grit--what faith--what an
example to a soldier.
Exquisite, exquisite air; sea like an undulating carpet of blue velvet
outspread for Aphrodite. Have been in the Aegean since dawn. At noon
passed a cruiser taking back Admiral Carden invalided to Malta. One week
ago the thunder of his guns shook the firm foundations of the world. Now
a sheer hulk lies poor old Carden. _Vanitas vanitatum_.
Have got into touch with my staff. They are all General Staff: no
Administrative Staff. The Adjutant-General-to-be (I don't know him) and
the Chief Medico (I don't know who he is to be) could not get ready in
time to come off with us, and the Q.M.G., too, was undecided when I
left. There are nine of the General Staff. I like the looks of them.
Quite characteristic of K., though, that barring Braithwaite, not one of
the associates he has told off to work hand in glove with me in this
enterprise should ever have served with me before.
Only two sorts of Commanders-in-Chief could possibly find time to
scribble like this on their way to take up an enterprise in many ways
unprecedented--a German and a Britisher. The first, because every
possible contingency would have been worked out for him beforehand; the
second, because he has nothing--literally nothing--in his portfolio
except a blank cheque signed with those grand yet simple words--John
Bull. The German General is the product of an organising nation. The
British General is the product of an improvising nation. Each army would
be better commanded by the other army's General. Sounds fantastic but is
true.[4]