them met General Sutton, who most kindly and opportunely rescued me from
the dreary "Rest-Camp" and took me to his house. While I was waiting for a
chance to get a place on a transport, he one morning asked me to go with
him to Zobeir, where he was to dedicate a hospital. Zobeir is a desert
town of ten thousand or so inhabitants, situated fifteen miles inland
from Busra. The climate is supposed to be more healthful, and many of the
rich and important residents of the river town have houses there to which
they retire during the summer months. To an outsider any comparison would
seem only a refinement of degrees of suffocation. The heat of all the
coastal towns of the Persian Gulf is terrific.
Zobeir is a desert town, with its ideals and feelings true to the
inheritance of the tribesmen. It is a market for the caravans of central
Arabia. A good idea of the Turkish feeling toward it may be gathered from
the fact that the inhabitants were exempt from military service. This was
a clear admission on the part of the Turk that he could not cope with the
situation, and thought it wisest not to attempt something which he had no
hope of putting through. It was, therefore, a great triumph for the
British and a sure wedge into the confidence of the desert folk when the
hospital was opened, for any people that can introduce so marked an
innovation among the hidebound desert communities must have won their
confidence and respect in a remarkable degree. Ibrahim, the hereditary
Sheikh of Zobeir, himself contributed largely to the fund for the
endowment. It was arranged that Doctor Borrie, who among his other duties
ran the civil hospital at Busra, should periodically include Zobeir in his
rounds. The Sheikh showed us over the building. It was cool, comfortable,
and very sanitary. The Indian who was to be resident physician had every
appearance of intelligence and proficiency. Old Ibrahim gave us a large
banquet of the orthodox type. There was a sheep roasted whole, and dishes
of every sort of meat and vegetable marshalled upon the table, which
fairly groaned beneath their weight. We had innumerable speeches. General
Sutton made an excellent address, which an interpreter translated into
Arabic. Our Arabian hosts were long-winded, and the recognized local
orator was so classical in his phrases and forms and tenses that it was
impossible to do more than get the general drift of what he said. Luckily
I had in my pocket a copy of the _Lusiads_, which I surreptitiously read
when the speeches became hopelessly long drawn out.
I was allotted space on a British India, boat, the _Torrilla_, that was to
take to Egypt a field artillery regiment of the Third Division. As we
dropped down-stream and I watched a disconsolate Yusuf standing on the
dock, I felt that another chapter had closed--an interesting one at that.
I was not left long to muse on what the next would bring forth before
there was a cry of "fire"; and from where I was standing in the
smoking-room I could see, through the open hatchways, the soldiers
hurrying about below decks. As the ship was well ballasted with
ammunition, anything that happened would, take place quickly, and only
those on the spot could hope to control events, so I stayed where I was. A
few minutes later the fire was reported out.
The long two weeks' trip through the Persian Gulf and round to the Red Sea
was monotonously peaceful. Being "unattached," I had no regular duties.
Occasionally I attended "stables," and wandered around the horse lines.
The great heat below decks had far less effect upon the horses than would
be supposed. Of course, they were well cared for, and many were seasoned
veterans that had taken more than one long sea voyage. If I am not
mistaken, only one was lost on the trip.
Most of the time I lay back in my rhoorkhee chair and read whatever I
could find in the ship's library. The wireless broke down a few days
after we left Busra, so we got no news whatever of the outer world, and
soon ceased to speculate on what might be happening in France.
At length, on the morning of June 4, we dropped anchor in Suez harbor. We
had hoped that the _Torrilla_ would run through the canal to Port Said,
but the disembarkation officer told us that we were all to be unloaded at
Suez and proceed by rail. When I reached Alexandria I learned that a
convoy had just sailed and there would not be another for two weeks at
earliest. Sir Reginald Wingate, who had long been a family friend, was the
British High Commissioner. Lady Wingate and he with the utmost hospitality
insisted on my moving out to the residency to wait for my sailing.
When I left for Mesopotamia Lord Derby had given me a letter to General
Allenby which I had never had an opportunity to present. Sir Reginald
suggested that I could not do better than make use of this enforced delay
by going up to Palestine. The railway was already running to Jerusalem and
you could go straight through from Cairo with but one change. At Kantara
you crossed the canal and entered the military zone. Leaving there at
half past eleven in the evening the train reached Ludd, which was general
headquarters, at seven the following morning.
Every one that I had ever met who knew General Allenby was wildly
enthusiastic about him, and you had only to be with him a few minutes to
realize how thoroughly justified their enthusiasm was. He represented the
very highest type of the British soldier, and more need not be said. On
the morning on which I arrived an attack was in progress and we could hear
the drumming of the guns. The commander-in-chief placed a car at my
disposal and I went around visiting old friends that I had made in
Mesopotamia or still earlier in England, before the war. Among the latter
was Colonel Ronald Storrs, the military governor of Jerusalem. With him I
spent several days. Life in the Holy City seemed but little changed by the
war. There was an interesting innovation in the Church of the Nativity at
Bethlehem. The different Christian religious sects, in particular the
Greek and Latin Catholics, were prone to come to blows in the church, and
bloodshed and death had more than once been the result. To obviate this
it had been the custom to have a regular relief of Turkish soldiers
stationed in the church. Their place was now taken by British and French
and Italians. Each nationality in rotation furnished the guard for a day.
At the festival of the distribution of the Sacred Fire from the Church of
the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem there were usually a number of accidents
caused by the anxiety to reach the portal whence the fire was given out.
The commander-in-chief particularly complimented Colonel Storrs upon the
orderly way in which this ceremony was conducted under his régime. The
population of Jerusalem is exceedingly mixed--and the percentage of
fanatics is of course disproportionately large. There are many groups that
have been gathered together and brought out to the Holy Land with
distinctly unusual purposes. One such always had an empty seat at their
table and confidently expected that Christ would some day appear to occupy
it. The long-haired Russian and Polish Jews with their felt hats and
shabby frock coats were to be met with everywhere. In the street where the
Jews meet to lament the departed glory of Jerusalem an incongruous and
ludicrous element was added by a few Jews, their bowed heads covered with
ancient derby hats, wailing with undefeated zeal.
[Illustration: A street in Jerusalem]
It is a mournful fact that the one really fine building in Jerusalem
should be the Mosque of Omar--the famous "Dome of the Rock." This is built
on the legendary site of the temple of Solomon, and the mosaics lining the
inside of the dome are the most beautiful I have ever seen. The simplicity
is what is really most felt, doubly so because the Christian holy places
are garish and tawdry, with tin-foil and flowers and ornate carving. It is
to be hoped that the Christians will some day unite and clean out all the
dreary offerings and knickknacks that clutter the Church of the Holy
Sepulchre. Moslems hold the Mosque of Omar second in sanctity only to the
great mosque in the holy city of Mecca. It is curious, therefore, that
they should not object to Christians entering it. Mohammedans enter
barefoot, but we fastened large yellow slippers over our shoes, and that
was regarded as filling all requirements. Storrs pointed out to me that it
was quite unnecessary to remove our hats, for that is not a sign of
respect with Moslems, and they keep on their red fezzes. The mosque was
built by the Caliph Abd el Melek, about fifty years after Omar had
captured Jerusalem in 636 A.D. Many of the stones used in building it came
from the temple of Jupiter. In the centre lies the famous rock, some sixty
feet in diameter, and rising six or seven feet above the floor of the
mosque. To Mohammedans it is more sacred than anything else in the world
save the Black Stone at Mecca. Tradition says that it was here that
Abraham and Melchizedek sacrificed to Jehovah, and Abraham brought Isaac
as an offering. Scientists find grounds for the belief that it was the
altar of the temple in the traces of a channel for carrying off the blood
of the victims. The Crusaders believed the mosque to be the original
temple of Solomon, and, according to their own reports, rededicated it
with the massacre of more than ten thousand Moslems who had fled thither
for refuge. The wrought-iron screen that they placed around the rock still
remains. The cavern below is the traditional place of worship of many of
the great characters of the Old Testament, such as David and Solomon and
Elijah. From it Mohammed made his night journey to heaven, borne on his
steed El Burak. In the floor of the cavern is an opening covered with a
slab of stone, and said to go down to the centre of the world and be a
medium for communicating with the souls of the departed.
The military governor has been at work to better the sanitary conditions
in Jerusalem. Hitherto the only water used by the townsfolk had been the
rain-water which they gathered in tanks. Some years ago it was proposed to
bring water to the city in pipes, some of which were already laid before
the inhabitants decided that such an innovation could not be tolerated.
The British have put in a pipe-line, and oddly enough it runs to the same
reservoir whence Pontius Pilate started to bring water by means of an
aqueduct. They have also built some excellent roads through the
surrounding hills. Here, as in Mesopotamia, one was struck by the
permanent nature of the improvements that are being made. Even to people
absorbed in their own jealousies and rivalries the advantages that they
were deriving from their liberation from Turkish rule must have been
exceedingly apparent.
The situation in Palestine differed in many ways from that in Mesopotamia,
but in none more markedly than in the benefits derived from the
propinquity of Egypt. Occasional leaves were granted to Cairo and
Alexandria and they afforded the relaxation of a complete change of
surroundings. I have never seen Cairo gayer. Shepherd's Hotel was open and
crowded--and the dances as pleasant as any that could be given in London.
The beaches at Ramleh, near Alexandria, were bright with crowds of
bathers, and the change afforded the "men from up the line" must have
proved of inestimable value in keeping the army contented. There were
beaches especially reserved for non-commissioned officers and others for
the privates--while in Cairo sightseeing tours were made to the pyramids
and what the guide-books describe as "other points of interest."
When I left Mesopotamia I made up my mind that there was one man in
Palestine whom I would use every effort to see if I were held over waiting
for a sailing. This man was Major A.B. Paterson, known to every Australian
as "Banjo" Paterson. His two most widely read books are _The Man from
Snowy River_ and _Rio Grande's Last Race_; both had been for years
companions of the entire family at home and sources for daily quotations,
so I had always hoped to some day meet their author. I knew that he had
fought in the South African War, and I heard that he was with the
Australian forces in Palestine. As soon as I landed I asked every
Australian officer that I met where Major Paterson was, for locating an
individual member of an expeditionary force, no matter how well known he
may be, is not always easy. Every one knew him. I remember well when I
inquired at the Australian headquarters in Cairo how the man I asked
turned to a comrade and said: "Say, where's 'Banjo' now? He's at Moascar,
isn't he?" Whether they had ever met him personally or not he was "Banjo"
to one and all.
On my return to Alexandria I stopped at Moascar, which was the main depot
of the Australian Remount Service, and there I found him. He is a man of
about sixty, with long mustaches and strong aquiline features--very like
the type of American plainsman that Frederic Remington so well portrayed.
He has lived everything that he has written. At different periods of his
life he has dived for pearls in the islands, herded sheep, broken broncos,
and known every chance and change of Australian station life. The
Australians told me that when he was at his prime he was regarded as the
best rider in Australia. A recent feat about which I heard much mention
was when he drove three hundred mules straight through Cairo without
losing a single animal, conclusively proving his argument against those
who had contested that such a thing could not be done. Although he has
often been in England, Major Paterson has never come to the United States.
He told me that among American writers he cared most for the works of Joel
Chandler Harris and O. Henry--an odd combination!
While in Egypt I met a man about whom I had heard much, a man whose career
was unsurpassed in interest and in the amount accomplished by the
individual. Before the war Colonel Lawrence was engaged in archæological
research under Professor Hogarth of Oxford University. Their most
important work was in connection with the excavation of a buried city in
Palestine. At the outbreak of hostilities Professor Hogarth joined the
Naval Intelligence and rendered invaluable services to the Egyptian
Expeditionary Forces. Lawrence had an excellent grounding in Arabic and
decided to try to organize the desert tribes into bands that would raid
the Turkish outposts and smash their lines of communication. He
established a body-guard of reckless semioutlaws, men that in the old days
in our West would have been known as "bad men." They became devoted to him
and he felt that he could count upon their remaining faithful should any
of the tribes with which he was raiding meditate treachery. He dressed in
Arab costume, but as a whole made no effort to conceal his nationality.
His method consisted in leading a tribe off on a wild foray to break the
railway, blow up bridges, and carry off the Turkish supplies. Swooping
down from out the open desert like hawks, they would strike once and be
off before the Turks could collect themselves. Lawrence explained that he
had to succeed, for if he failed to carry off any booty, his reputation
among the tribesmen was dead--and no one would follow him thereafter. What
he found hardest on these raids was killing the wounded--but the dread of
falling into the hands of the Turks was so great that before starting it
was necessary to make a compact to kill all that were too badly injured to
be carried away on the camels. The Turks offered for Colonel Lawrence's
capture a reward of ten thousand pounds if dead and twenty thousand
pounds if alive. His added value in the latter condition was due to the
benefit that the enemy expected to derive from his public execution. No
one who has not tried it can realize what a long ride on a camel means,
and although Lawrence was eager to take with him an Englishman who would
know the best methods of blowing up bridges and buildings, he could never
find any one who was able to stand the strain of a long journey on camel
back.
Lawrence told me that he couldn't last much longer, things had broken
altogether too well for him, and they could not continue to do so.
Scarcely more than thirty years of age, with a clean-shaven, boyish face,
short and slender in build, if one met him casually among a lot of other
officers it would not have been easy to single him out as the great power
among the Arabs that he on every occasion proved himself to be. Lawrence
always greatly admired the Arabs--appreciating their many-sidedness--their
virility--their ferocity--their intellect and their sensitiveness. I
remember well one of the stories which he told me. It was, I believe, when
he was on a long raid in the course of which he went right into the
outskirts of Damascus--then miles behind the Turkish lines. They halted at
a ruined palace in the desert. The Arabs led him through the various
rooms, explaining that each was scented with a different perfume. Although
Lawrence could smell nothing, they claimed that one room had the odor of
ambergris--another of roses--and a third of jasmine;--at length they came
to a large and particularly ruinous room. "This," they said, "has the
finest scent of all--the smell of the wind and the sun." I last saw
Colonel Lawrence in Paris, whither he had brought the son of the King of
the Hedjaz to attend the Peace Conference.
When I got back to Alexandria I found that the sailing of the convoy had
been still further delayed. Three vessels out of the last one to leave had
been sunk, involving a considerable loss of life. The channel leading from
the harbor out to sea is narrow and must be followed well beyond the
entrance, so that the submarines had an excellent chance to lay in wait
for outgoing boats. The greatest secrecy was observed with regard to the
date of leaving and destination--and of course troops were embarked and
held in the harbor for several days so as to avoid as far as possible any
notice being given to the lurking enemy by spies on shore.
The transports were filled with units that were being hurried off to stem
the German tide in France, so casual officers were placed on the
accompanying destroyers and cruisers. I was allotted to a little Japanese
destroyer, the _Umi_. She was of only about six hundred and fifty tons
burden, for this class of boat in the Japanese navy is far smaller than in
ours. She was as neat as a pin, as were also the crew. The officers were
most friendly and did everything possible to make things comfortable for a
landsman in their limited quarters. The first meal on board we all used
knives and forks, but thereafter they were only supplied to me, while the
Japanese fell back upon their chop-sticks. It was a never-failing source
of interest to watch their skill in eating under the most difficult
circumstances. One morning when the boat was dancing about even more than
usual, I came into breakfast to find the steward bringing in some rather
underdone fried eggs, and thought that at last I would see the ship's
officers stumped in the use of their chop-sticks. Not a bit of it; they
had disposed of the eggs in the most unsurpassed manner and were off to
their duties before I myself had finished eating.
[Illustration: Japanese destroyers passing through the gut at Taranto]
We left Alexandria with an escort of aeroplanes to see us safely started,
while an observation balloon made fast to a cruiser accompanied us on the
first part of our journey. The precautions were not in vain, for two
submarines were sighted a short time after we cleared the harbor. The
traditional Japanese efficiency was well borne out by the speed with which
our crew prepared for action. Every member was in his appointed place and
the guns were stripped for action in an incredibly short time after the
warning signal. It was when we were nearing the shores of Italy that I had
best opportunity to see the destroyers at work. We sighted a submarine
which let fly at one of the troopers--the torpedo passing its bow and
barely missing the boat beyond it. Quick as a flash the Japanese were
after it--swerving in and out like terriers chasing a rat, and letting
drive as long as it was visible. We cast around for the better part of an
hour, dropping overboard depth charges which shook the little craft as the
explosion sent great funnels of water aloft. The familiar harbor of
Taranto was a welcome sight when we at length herded our charges in
through the narrow entrance and swung alongside the wharf where the
destroyers were to take in a supply of fuel preparatory to starting out
again on their interminable and arduous task.
IX
WITH THE FIRST DIVISION IN FRANCE AND GERMANY
I
My transfer to the American army appointed me as captain of field
artillery instead of infantry, as I had wished. Just how the mistake
occurred I never determined, but once in the field artillery I found that
to shift back would take an uncertain length of time, and that even after
it was effected I would be obliged to take a course at some school before
going up to the line. It therefore seemed advisable to go immediately, as
instructed, to the artillery school, at Saumur. The management was half
French and half American. Colonel MacDonald and Colonel Cross were the
Americans in charge, and the high reputation of the school bore testimony
to their efficiency. It was the intention of headquarters gradually to
replace all the French instructors with Americans, but when I was there
the former predominated. It was of course necessary to wait until our
officers had learned by actual experience the use of the French guns with
which our army was supplied. When men are being taught what to do in
combat conditions they apply themselves more attentively and absorb far
more when they feel that the officer teaching them has had to test, under
enemy fire, the theories he is expounding. The school was for both
officers and candidates. The latter were generally chosen from among the
non-commissioned officers serving at the front; I afterward sent men down
from my battery. The first part of the course was difficult for those who
had either never had much mathematical training or had had it so long ago
that they were hopelessly out of practice. A number of excellent sergeants
and corporals did not have the necessary grounding to enable them to pass
the examinations. They should never have been sent, for it merely put them
in an awkward and humiliating position--although no stigma could possibly
be attached to them for having failed.
The French officer commanding the field work was Major de Caraman. His
long and distinguished service in the front lines, combined with his
initiative and ever-ready tact, made him an invaluable agent in welding
the ideas and methods of France and America. His house was always filled
with Americans, and how much his hospitality meant to those whose ties
were across the ocean must have been experienced to be appreciated. The
homes of France were ever thrown open to us, and the sincere and simple
good-will with which we were received has put us under a lasting debt
which we should be only too glad to cherish and acknowledge.
Saumur is a delightful old town in the heart of the château country. The
river Loire runs through it, and along the banks are the caves in some of
which have been found the paintings made by prehistoric man picturing the
beasts with which he struggled for supremacy in the dim dark ages. The
same caves are many of them inhabited, and their owners may well look with
scorn upon the châteaux and baronial castles of whose antiquity it is
customary to boast. There is an impressive castle built on a hill
dominating the town, and in one of the churches is hung an array of
tapestries of unsurpassed color and design. The country round about
invited rambling, and the excellent roads made it easy; particularly
delightful were the strolls along the river-banks, where patient
fisherfolk of every sex and age sat unperturbed by the fact that they
never seemed to catch anything. One old lady with a sunbonnet was always
to be seen seated on a three-legged stool in the same corner amid the
rocks. She had a rusty black umbrella which she would open when the rays
of the sun became too searching.