Townshend’s terriers, who barked like mad. He said that there were
three Turkish officers on board the _Sikhim_, who were asking for me.
I didn’t know what to do, as I wanted to go to H.Q., but dashed on
board and found they were Ali Shefket and Mehmed Jemal and Salahedin
Bey, inspector to the Agricultural Bank of Smyrna. Our people on board
wanted me to stay. I told them I would come back. I saw the sick and
wounded Indians being carried away, terribly emaciated. I reported at
H.Q., where, apparently, half a dozen entirely contradictory orders
were being prepared for me. I then went back in a launch to the Turks,
who were reported to be taking notes of our position from the bridge.
On the _Sikhim_ I found crowds of our officers with the Turks and a
general jollification going on. I did not understand how or why they
had been allowed to come down. All the Intelligence came along to see
what the Turks could tell them. I was fed-up with the whole business,
and disliked the Turks being on deck. I said to them: “Of course, it’s
a pleasure to have you here, as guests, but we would much rather give
you hospitality in London, for there we can show you everything, and,
unfortunately, that’s not the case here. So in future, if you please,
Turkish officers will not accompany the boats down.” They agreed to
that.
The same tiresome Padre came bumbling up again. I think he wanted to
go to Kut for the adventure, and I had no sympathy, as he would have
meant another mouth to feed. The Turks made no particular objection
to his going, but they said there was already a clergyman there, so I
told the Padre he could go if he liked, but that if he went he ought
to stay and let the other chaplain come back, as the other had had all
the hardships of the siege. He thought I was brutal, but cleared out
and gave no more trouble. It seems to me, however, that he runs a fair
risk, like the rest of us, of being made a prisoner.
I wish the Admiral was here. The Turks on board said that they had hung
seven Arabs at Kut, which made me furious. I said that Khalil had said
that he had no intention of doing that. The Turks said that these men
were not natives, but vagabonds....
Then they talked about the future. I said it would not be easy for
Turkey to dissociate herself from Germany, even if they wanted to. They
replied: “How long did it take the Bulgars and Serbs to quarrel?” They
said Khalil had sent messages, and I arranged that if there was any
hitch I should be able to get straight through.
I did not sleep much. This morning I went up with them to Sanayat,
where Husni Bey took their place. Then I came back by launch to the
bridge and found a motor, which I took to H.Q.
At dinner to-night Reuter’s came in, and the doctor, in a perfectly
calm voice, read out to us that there now seemed some chance of
checking the rebellion in Ireland. Somebody said: “Don’t be a fool.
Things are bad enough here. Kut’s fallen and we shall probably be
prisoners. Don’t invent worse things.” The doctor said: “It’s an
absolute fact,” and read it out again. Then somebody said: “Those
cursed Irish.” Then an Ulsterman leapt to his feet and said: “You would
insult my country, would you?” Then there was a general row. After
that, everything seemed so utterly desperate that there was nothing
to be done but to make the best of things, and we had an extremely
cheerful dinner. We must have missed a lot of news. Let’s hope this
Irish business is the bursting of a boil. I am more afraid of the
treatment than the disease.
_Friday, May 5, 1916. H.M.S. “Mantis.”_ Vane Tempest came back from
Kut with unpleasant stories. He said that our officers had been looted
at the point of the bayonet by the Arabs. He had seen four men hanging
and one man hanged. This was a curious incident. This man, as he was
going to execution, threw Vane Tempest his _tesbih_ (his rosary), the
ninety-nine Beautiful Names of God. Vane Tempest had still got it. It
means “I commend my cause to you. Take up my quarrel.” I told Vane
Tempest if he was superstitious he ought never to part with it.
Now there is a new position created. They can float down all their
guns and stores. There is a fight coming, but I wonder where. Eight
hundred Turks and Arabs below Sheikh Saad, with three guns. The country
is up behind us and we have only half a day’s provisions in reserve.
The guns are booming away behind us. It’s going to be very hard to hold
this position. I wish Edward was here, and hope he is all right, with
my kit. I want it badly, but I got some stuff from Percy Herbert this
morning. We agreed that we had a most excellent chance of being cut
off.... One is sorry for these men here. They are starved in every way,
ammunition excepted. They are not even given cigarettes and have to pay
six times their price to the Arabs. Last night the Arabs were looting
all over the place. A man told me this morning that a sick officer in
the 21st Brigade found five Arabs in his tent and lost everything.
Lucky for him that was all he lost.
_Saturday, May 6, 1916. H.M.S. “Mantis.” Sheikh Saad._ Yesterday my
typewriter broke. A jolly mechanic more or less repaired it and refused
money. “It’s all for one purpose,” he said. H.Q. suddenly determined to
come down to Sheikh Saad in the afternoon. General Gorringe and General
Ratcliffe went off, strafing like mad. Then the _Mantis_ sailed. I
found Edward on board the _Blosse Lynch_, with 200 “sea-gulls,” as he
called the sepoys. He was very upset about the Irish news, but glad to
have found me.
I walked at night with Bernard Buxton into the Arab village to find
H.Q. A curious sight: Devons and Somersets, Gurkhas, Arabs and frogs
all mixed up together. The Somersets were very glad to meet a friend.
This morning, after going through the evidence with the other officers
about Bobby Palmer, I sent a telegram to Lord Selborne. They did not
doubt the evidence of the Turks that he was killed.
This morning I walked along the banks of the Tigris, while bodies
floated down it. After a time I found the 4th Devons and John Kennaway,
Acland Troyte and the rest, also a lot of people from home. Promised
them cigarettes and that I would get messages home for them. The latest
out were a bit depressed and complained of the shortage of food. Their
camp isn’t too bad. Three miles away, one can see Lot’s Tomb, with
generally, they say, a Turkish patrol on it. Sheikh Saad is supposed,
J. K. says, to be Sodom. If you took our troops away, another dose of
brimstone would do it and its inhabitants a lot of good.
Then I saw Captain ---- of the Indian Transport. He was miserable at
the way that his men were treated. He said: (1) The drivers did not
receive pay equal to sepoys, nor did they receive allowances, which
mountain battery drivers and ammunition column drivers did receive. The
work the transport drivers did was equally dangerous and more onerous.
(2) There were no spare men. A transport driver went sick and the next
man had to look after his animals. (3) They got no fresh clothes.
Their clothes were in rags. (4) They had 21-lb. tents for four men. In
a hot or a cold climate this is unhealthy; very bad here. Also they
have only one flap, so later on they’ll be bound to get sunstroke. (5)
They do not get milk, cigarettes or tobacco. (6) They get no presents,
such as the other Indian regiments have received. (7) The treatment of
transport officers is not equal to that of a sepoy officer. _Vide_
Subadar Rangbaz Khan, about thirty years’ service. Recommended with
many others. No notice taken. Only two recommendations given, those
for actual valour. This man, if he had been with his relations in the
cavalry, would probably have done less good work, but would have been
covered with medals.
I walked back through rain, with frogs everywhere, a plague. It’s
a pity we can’t get our men to eat them. One can’t even teach the
officers to eat them. John said the Arabs sniped them most nights, but
they were well and not too uncomfortable. Jack Amory was there, but I
didn’t see him. He was out shooting sand-grouse.
_Sunday, May 7, 1916. H.M.S. “Mantis.”_ Harris came up last night.
He said all was quiet down the river. Subhi Bey, with a good many
troops, had tried to cut us off at Kumait, but the floods were out. He
said that last year Cowley prophesied that when the hot weather came
the river would fall and that five-eighths of our transport would be
useless. Cowley was generally right. If he was wrong then, he will
probably be right now. Harris had been fishing the other day, when two
of the Devons suddenly appeared, naked, beside him. They had swum the
river, being carried a mile and a half down, and intend to swim it
again. It’s very dangerous. They are wonderful fellows. I am on the
_Waterfly_ now.
Early this morning a telegram arrived to say the Corps Commander wanted
me at once. I spoke on the telephone to H. C. Cassel said: “Our men
have fired on the Turks and they have collared the _Sikhim_. You must
come and get her out”.... I transferred to the _Waterfly_ and came up
with Harris. I knew this would happen. What, apparently, happened was
that the Turks fired four shots at the _Sikhim_. The Turkish officer
was angry, and rigid orders had been issued to the Turks not to fire
again. Then our men had opened fire.... But they don’t all tell the
same story.... I have now got five contradictory orders from H.Q.
_Tuesday, May 9, 1916. Felahiah._ The last boatload of wounded is
coming down and the truce will, I suppose, end. The _Sikhim_ has made
her last journey. A telegram arrived from the Admiral ordering me to go
at once to Bushire. I am to get on board the _Lawrence_, sailing the
12th from Basra, and join him at Bushire.... (Here indescribable things
follow.) I went round and said good-bye to everybody.
There is a lot of cholera. General Rice died last night. There are many
bodies floating down the river. It’s tremendously hot. I have just seen
Williams, the doctor of the _Sikhim_. He says the Turks have been good
throughout. The Arabs have looted at the beginning, but this has been
put an end to. It’s not going well with the Arabs.... We must largely
depend on them for supplies.
_Wednesday, May 10, 1916. H.M.S. “Mantis.”_ I was to have left on S.1,
but when it was apparent that it would not start that night, I went
off to the _Mantis_. Buxton telephoned from Sheikh Saad that he would
take me to Amara, if I could get there by 4.30 a.m. I came down with
Colonel James. Many bodies in the river and much cholera at Wadi. Our
men lack every mortal thing. I should like to send a telegram like this
home, but don’t expect I should be allowed to: “From my experience of
this country, I see that, unless certain action is taken immediately,
consequences that are disastrous to the health of the troops must
follow. All realize here that the past economy of the Government of
India is responsible for our failure (_vide_ Sir W. Meyer’s Budget
speech). Unless this is realized in England and supplies taken out
of the hands of the Government of India, altogether, or liberally
supplemented from home and Egypt, the troops will suffer even more
during this summer than last year. Condensed milk and oatmeal are
essential to the troops. India cannot provide these under three months,
by which time we shall have sustained great and unnecessary losses.
Supplies of potatoes and onions will cease at the end of this month.
If cold storage is found to be impossible, a substitute, e.g. dried
figs, must be found. India cannot provide these substitutes in time.
Sufficient ice-machines and soda-water machines are as essential to
prevent heat-stroke in the trenches as to cure heat-stroke in the
hospitals. India, unless ordered to commandeer these from clubs,
private houses, etc., cannot provide them. Many Indian troops are in
21-lb. tents, single flap, one tent to four men. Numbers of these will
get sunstroke. If you mean to hold this country, you can’t do it on
the lines of Sir W. Meyer. A railway is essential. A fall in the river
would render half our present transport useless, above Kurna. Many
of the troops here are young and not strong. If a disaster to their
health, which, in its way, is as grave as the fall of Kut, and due to
the same reason, lack of transport, is to be prevented, supplies must
be taken in hand from England and Egypt.”
_Thursday, May 11, 1916. H.M.S. “Mantis.” Amara._ Yesterday was one of
the most beautiful days imaginable. We came very fast down the river,
with a delicious wind against us. On both banks there were great herds
of sheep, cattle and nice-looking horses. Every horse here is blanketed
by the Arabs, only our horses not blanketed. The Arabs vary a lot in
looks. One man, towing a bellam, glancing back over his shoulder, was
the picture of a snarling hyena. A great many of them were handsome.
We came to Amara in the evening and found a lot of cholera. I went
to the bazaar and bought what I could for J. K. and his mess, and
cigarettes for the men, but couldn’t get fishing tackle. Amara looked
beautiful in the evening--fine, picturesque Arab buildings, and palm
groves and forests up and down both sides of the lighted river. At
night we anchored to a palm and slept well, in spite of great gusts of
wind occasionally, which roared through the palm forests, and bursts of
rifle fire on the banks by us, at Arabs, who were stealing or sniping
us. Jackals cried in a chorus.
To-day the river has been enchanted. Long processions of delicately
built mehailahs, perfectly reflected in the water, drifted down, often
commanded by our own officers. The river turned into a glowing, limpid
lake, almost without a land horizon. We passed the _Marmariss_, which
the Turks fought until she caught fire. The Arab villages were half
afloat. There was a look of peace everywhere, and the flood is too high
to allow an attack on us. There was a glorious, dangerous sunset. The
sky was a bank of clouds that caught fire and glowed east and west over
the glowing water. The palms looked like a forest raised by magic from
the river. It was like the most magnificent Mecca stone on the most
gigantic scale.
Pursefield, whose last night it is in Mesopotamia, asked me how much
I wanted to get on. I said I couldn’t see the people I wanted to that
night, so it was the same to me if we got in after dawn next morning.
We tied up in mid-stream, to avoid being sniped. No flies at all.
Sherbrooke and I talked after dinner.
_Friday, May 12, 1916. H.M.S. “Lawrence.”_ The Army Commander and
General Money were both away, and I only spent twenty minutes at Basra.
I saw Bill Beach and Captain Nunn and wrote a line to Gertrude Bell
and George Lloyd. I wish I could have seen them both. The _Sikhim_
is there, in quarantine, her Red Cross looking like a huge tropical
flower. I got on to the _Lawrence_. Cleanliness and comfort and good
food. I wish the others could have it too.
_Printed in Great Britain by_
UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED
WOKING AND LONDON
Telegrams: “Scholarly, London.” 41 and 43 Maddox Street,
Telephone: 1883 Mayfair. Bond Street, London, W. 1.
_October, 1919._
Mr. Edward Arnold’s
AUTUMN ANNOUNCEMENTS, 1919.
JOHN REDMOND’S LAST YEARS.
By STEPHEN GWYNN.
_With Portrait._ _1 vol._ _Demy 8vo._ =16s. net.=
The “History of John Redmond’s Last Years,” by Stephen Gwynn, is in
the first place an historical document of unusual importance. It is
an account of Irish political events at their most exciting period,
written by an active member of Mr. Redmond’s party who was in the
confidence of his chief. The preliminary story of the struggle with the
House of Lords and the prolonged fight over Home Rule is described by a
keen student of parliamentary action. For the period which began with
the war Mr. Gwynn has had access to all Redmond’s papers. He writes of
Redmond’s effort to lead Ireland into the war from the standpoint of a
soldier as well as a member of parliament. The last chapter gives to
the world, for the first time, a full account of the Irish Convention
which sat for eight months behind closed doors, and in which Redmond’s
career reached its dramatic catastrophe.
The interlocking of varying chains of circumstance, the parliamentary
struggle, the rise of the rival volunteer forces, the raising of Irish
divisions, the rebellion and its sequel, and, finally, the effect
of bringing Irishmen together into conference--all this is vividly
pictured, with increasing detail as the book proceeds. In the opening,
two short chapters recall the earlier history of the Irish party and
Redmond’s part in it.
But the main interest centres in the character of Redmond himself. Mr.
Gwynn does not work to display his leader as a hero without faults and
incapable of mistakes. He shows the man as he knew him and worked under
him, traces his career through its triumphs to reverses, and through
gallant recovery to final defeat. A great man is made familiar to the
reader, in his wisdom, his magnanimity, and his love of country. The
tragic waste of great opportunities is portrayed in a story which has
the quality of drama in it. Beside the picture of John Redmond himself
there is sketched the gallant and sympathetic figure of his brother,
who, after thirty-five years of parliamentary service, died with the
foremost wave of his battalion at the battle of Messines.
A MEDLEY OF MEMORIES.
By the RT. REV. SIR DAVID HUNTER BLAIR, BART.
_With Illustrations._ _1 vol._ _Demy 8vo._ =16s. net.=
Sir David Hunter Blair, late Abbot of Fort Augustus, in the first part
of these fifty years’ recollections, deals with his childhood and youth
in Scotland, and gives a picture full of varied interest of Scottish
country house life a generation or more ago. Very vivid, too, is the
account of early days at what was then the most famous private school
in England; and the chapter on Eton under Balston and Hornby gives
thumbnail sketches of a great many Etonians, school-contemporaries of
the writer’s, and bearing names afterwards very well known for one
reason or another. Eton was followed by Magdalen; and undergraduate
life in the Oxford of 1872 is depicted with a light hand and many
amusing touches. There was foreign travel after the Oxford days; and
two of the most pleasantly descriptive chapters of the book deal with
Rome in the reign of Pius IX. and Leo XIII., both of which Pontiffs the
author served as Private Chamberlain. There is much also that is fresh
and interesting in the section treating of the lives and personalities
of some of the great English Catholic families of by-gone days.
Sir David entered the Benedictine Order at the age of twenty-five; and
the latter half of the book is concerned with his life as co-founder,
and member of the community of, the great Highland Abbey of Fort
Augustus, of which he rose later to be the second abbot. The intimate
account given in these pages of the life of a modern monk will be
new to most readers, who will find it very interesting reading. The
writer’s monastic experiences embrace not only his own beautiful home
in the Central Highlands, but Benedictine life and work in England, in
Belgium, Germany and Portugal, and in South America. One of the most
novel and attractive chapters in the book is that dealing with the work
of the Order in the vast territory of Brazil.
The volume is illustrated with an excellent portrait, and with some
clever black-and-white drawings, the work of Mr. Richard Anson, one
of the author’s religious brethren, and a member of the Benedictine
community at Caldey Abbey, in South Wales.
WITH THE PERSIAN EXPEDITION.
By MAJOR M. H. DONOHOE,
ARMY INTELLIGENCE CORPS.
SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT OF THE “DAILY CHRONICLE.”
_With numerous Illustrations and Map._ _Demy 8vo._ =16s. net.=
Among the many “side-shows” of the Great War, few are so difficult for
the average reader to understand as the operations in Northern Persia,
an offshoot of the Bagdhad venture, which had for their object the
policing of the warlike tribes in an area almost unknown to Europeans,
and included the various attempts to reach and hold Baku, and so get
command of the Caspian and Caucasia.
The story of these operations--carried out by little, half-forgotten
bodies of troops, mainly local levies who broke at the critical moment
and left their British officers and N.C.O.’s to carry on alone--is one
of the most amazing of the whole War, and comprises many episodes that
recall the most stirring events of the Empire’s pioneering days.
By happy chance, Major M. H. Donohoe, the famous War Correspondent,
whose work for the _Daily Chronicle_ in all the wars of the past
twenty years is well known, was in this part of the world as a Major
on the Intelligence Staff, work for which his knowledge of men and
languages off the beaten tract peculiarly fitted him. He has written
the story of these operations as he saw them, chiefly as a member of
the Staff of the Military Mission under General Byron, known officially
as the “Baghdad Party,” and unofficially as the “Hush-Hush Brigade,”
which set forth early in 1918 to join the Column under General
Dunsterville. Though there is little of fighting in the story, the
book gives an admirable picture of the Empire’s work done faithfully
under difficulties, and glimpses of places and peoples that are almost
unknown even to the most venturesome traveller. Indeed, it is largely
as a book about an unknown land that this volume will attract, together
with its little pen-portraits of men and little pen-pictures of
adventures, that Kipling would love.
A PHYSICIAN IN FRANCE.
By MAJOR-GENERAL SIR WILMOT HERRINGHAM, K.C.M.G., C.B.,
PHYSICIAN TO ST. BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL; CONSULTING PHYSICIAN TO THE
FORCES OVERSEAS.
_1 vol._ _Demy 8vo._ =15s. net.=
How the war, as seen at close quarters, struck a man eminent in
another profession than that of arms is the distinguishing feature
of this volume of personal impressions. It is not, however, merely
the outcome of a few weeks’ sojourn or “trip to the trenches,” with
one eye on an expectant public, for the author has four times seen
autumn fade into winter on the flat country-side of Flanders, and,
when the war ended, was still at his post rendering invaluable
services amidst unforgettable scenes. The author’s comments on the
day-to-day happenings are distinguished by a tone that is at once
manly, reflective, and good-humoured. Medical questions are naturally
prominent, but are dealt with largely in a manner that should interest
the layman at the present time. Sir Wilmot was with Lord Roberts
when he died. A very pleasing feature of the book is the constant
revelation of the author’s love of nature and sport, and his happy way
of introducing such topics, together with descriptions of the country
around him, makes a welcome contrast to the stern events which form the
staple material of the book. There are some very amusing stories.
LONDON MEN IN PALESTINE.
By ROWLANDS COLDICOTT.
_With maps._ _1 vol._ _Demy 8vo._ =12s. 6d. net.=
This book embraces so much more than the ordinary war story that we
have a peculiar difficulty in describing it in a few chosen words.