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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sociates 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]

CHAPTER II

THE STRAITS

Cast anchor at Tenedos at 3 p.m., 17th March, 1915, having entered the harbour at the very same instant as le general d'Amade.

Hurried over at once to a meeting aboard that lovely sea monster, H.M.S.

_Queen Elizabeth_.

Present:--

Admiral de Robeck, Commodore Roger Keyes, Admiral Guepratte, cmdg. French Fleet, General d'Amade, General Braithwaite, Admiral Wemyss, Captain Pollen, Myself.

De Robeck greeted me in the friendliest fashion. He is a fine looking man with great charm of manner. After a word or two to d'Amade and being introduced to Wemyss, Guepratte and Keyes, we sat down round a table and the Admiral began. His chief worry lies in the clever way the enemy are now handling their mobile artillery. He can silence the big fortress ordnance, but the howitzers and field guns fire from concealed positions and make the clearing of the minefields something of a V.C.

sort of job for the smaller craft. Even when the Fleet gets through, these moveable guns will make it very nasty for store ships or transports which follow. The mine-sweepers are slow and bad with worn out engines. Some of the civilian masters and crews of the trawlers have to consider wives and kids as well as V.C.s. The problem of getting the Fleet through or of getting submarines through is a problem of clearing away the mines. With a more powerfully engined type of mine-sweeper and regular naval commanders and crews to man them, the business would be easy. But as things actually stand there is real cause for anxiety as to mines.

The Peninsula itself is being fortified and many Turks work every night on trenches, redoubts and entanglements. Not one single living soul has been seen, since the engagement of our Marines at the end of February, although each morning brings forth fresh evidences of nocturnal activity, in patches of freshly turned up soil. All landing places are now commanded by lines of trenches and are ranged by field guns and howitzers, which, thus far, cannot be located as our naval seaplanes are too heavy to rise out of rifle range. There has been a muddle about these seaplanes. Nominally they possess very powerful Sunbeam engines; actually the d----d things can barely rise off the water. The naval guns do not seem able to knock the Turkish Infantry out of their deep trenches although they can silence their fire for awhile. This was proved at that last landing by Marines. The Turkish searchlights are both fixed and mobile. They are of the latest pattern and are run by skilled observers. He gave us, in fact, to understand that German thoroughness and forethought have gripped the old go-as-you-please Turk and are making him march to the _Parade-schritt_.

The Admiral would prefer to force a pa.s.sage on his own, and is sure he can do so. Setting Constantinople on one side for the moment, _if_ the Fleet gets through and the Army _then_ attacks at Bulair, we would have the Turkish Army on the Peninsula in a regular trap. Therefore, whether from the local or the larger point of view, he has no wish to call us in until he has had a real good try. He means straightway to put the whole proposition to a practical test.

His views dovetail in to a hair's breadth with K.'s views. The Admiral's "real good try" leads up towards K.'s "after every effort has been exhausted."

That's a bit of luck for our kick-off, anyway. What we soldiers have to do now is to hammer away at our band-o-bast[5] whilst the Navy pushes as hard, as fast and as far as its horsepower, manpower and gunpower will carry it.

The Admiral asked to see my instructions and Braithwaite read them out.

When he stopped, Roger Keyes, the Commodore, inquired, "Is that all?"

And when Braithwaite confessed that it was, everyone looked a little blank.

Asked what I meant to do, I said I proposed to get ready for a landing, as, whether the Fleet forces the pa.s.sage and disembarked us on the Bosphorus; or, whether the Fleet did not force the pa.s.sage and we had to "go for" the Peninsula, the _band-o-bast_ could be made to suit either case.

The Admiral asked if I meant to land at Bulair? I replied my mind was open on that point: that I was a believer in seeing things for myself and that I would not come to any decision on the map if it were possible to come to it on the ground. He then said he would send me up to look at the place through my own gla.s.ses in the Phaeton to-morrow; that it would not be possible to land large forces on the neck of Bulair itself as there were no beaches, but that I should reconnoitre the coast at the head of the Gulf as landing would be easier with every few miles we drew away towards the North. I told him it would be useless to land at any distance from my objective, for the simple reason that I had no transport, mechanical or horse, wheeled or pack, to enable me to support myself further than five or six miles from the Fleet and it would take many weeks and many ships to get it together; however, I ended, I would to-morrow see for myself.

The air of the Aegean hardly differs so much from the North Sea haze as does the moral atmosphere of Tenedos differ from that of the War Office.

This is always the way. Until the plunge is taken, the man in the arm chair clamps rose coloured spectacles on to his nose and the man on the spot is anxious; _but_, once the men on the spot jump off they become as jolly as sandboys, whilst the man in the arm chair sits searching for a set-back with a blue lens telescope.

Here, the Peninsula looks a tougher nut to crack than it did on Lord K.'s small and featureless map. I do not speak for myself for I have so far only examined the terrain through a field gla.s.s. I refer to the tone of the sailors, which strikes me as being graver and less irresponsible than the tone of the War Office.

The Admiral believes that, at the time of the first bombardment, 5000 men could have marched from Cape h.e.l.les right up to the Bulair lines.

(Before leaving the ship I learnt that some of the sailors do not agree). Now that phase has pa.s.sed. Many more troops have come down, German Staff Officers have grappled with the situation, and have got their troops scientifically disposed and heavily entrenched. This skilful siting of the Turkish trenches has been admired by all competent British observers; the number of field guns on the Peninsula is now many times greater than it was.

After this the discussion became informal. Referring again to my instructions, I laid stress on the point that I was a waiting man and that it was the Admiral's innings for so long as he could keep his wicket up. Braithwaite asked a question or two about the trenches and all of us deplored the lack of aeroplanes whereby we were blinded in our attack upon an enemy who espied every boat's crew moving over the water.

The more I revolve these matters in my mind, the more easy does it seem to accept K.'s order not to be in too great a hurry to bring the Army to the front. I devoutly hope indeed (and I think the fiercest of our fellows agree) that the Navy will pull us out the chestnuts from the fire.

At the close of the sitting I made these notes of what had happened and drafted a first cable to Lord K., giving him an epitome of the Admiral's opening statement about the enemy's clever use of field guns to hinder the clearing of the minefields; his good entrenchments and the nightly work thereon; our handicap in all these matters because the type of seaplanes sent us "are too heavy to rise out of effective rifle range"--(one has to put these things mildly). I add that the Admiral, "while not making light of dangers was evidently determined to exhaust every effort before calling upon the soldiers for their help on a large scale"; and I wind up by telling him Lemnos seems a bad base and that I am off to-morrow on an inspection of the coasts of the Peninsula. Having got these matters off my chest on to the chest of K., was then taken round the ship by the Flag Captain, G.P.W. Hope. By this time it was nearly 7 so I stayed and dined with the Admiral--a charming host. After dinner got back here.

_18th March, 1915._ _H.M.S. "Phaeton."_ Cleared Tenedos Harbour at 4 a.m. and reached Lemnos at 6 a.m. I never saw so many ships collected together in my life; no, not even at Hong Kong, Bombay or New York.

Filled up with oil fuel and at 7 a.m. d'Amade and Major-General Paris, commanding the Royal Naval Division, came on board with one or two Staff Officers. After consulting these Officers as well as McLagan, the Australian Brigadier, cabled Lord K. to say Alexandria _must_ be our base as "the Naval Division transports have been loaded up as in peace time and they must be completely discharged and every ship reloaded," in war fashion. At Lemnos, where there are neither wharfs, piers, labour nor water, the thing could not be done. Therefore, "the closeness of Lemnos to the Dardanelles, as implying the rapid transport of troops, is illusory."

The moment I got this done, namely, at 8.30 a.m., we worked our way out of the long narrow neck of Mudros Harbour and sailed for the Gulf of Saros. Spent the first half of the sixty mile run to the Dardanelles in scribbling. Wrote my first epistle to K., using for the first time the formal "Dear Lord Kitchener." My letters to him will have to be formal, and dull also, as he may hand them around. I begin, "I have just sent you off a cable giving my first impressions of the situation, and am now steaming in company with Generals d'Amade and Paris to inspect the North-western coast of the Gallipoli Peninsula." I tell him that the real place "looks a much tougher nut to crack than it did over the map,"--I say that his "impression that the ground between Cape h.e.l.les and Krithia was clear of the enemy," was mistaken. "Not a bit of it." I say, "The Admiral tells me that there is a large number of men tucked away in the folds of the ground there, not to speak of several field Batteries." Therefore, I conclude, "If it eventually becomes necessary to take the Gallipoli Peninsula by military force, we shall have to proceed bit by bit." This will vex him no doubt. He likes plans to move as fast as his own wishes and is apt to forget, or to pretend he has forgotten, that swiftness in war comes from slow preparations. It is fairer to tell K. this now, when the question has not yet arisen, than hereafter if it does then arise.

Pa.s.sing the mouth of the Dardanelles we got a wonderful view of the stage whereon the Great Showman has caused so many of his amusing puppets to strut their tiny hour. For the purpose it stands matchless.

No other panorama can touch it. There, Hero trimmed her little lamp; yonder the amorous breath of Leander changed to soft sea form. Far away to the Eastwards, painted in dim and lovely hues, lies Mount Ida. Just so, on the far horizon line she lay fair and still, when Hector fell and smoke from burning Troy blackened the mid-day sun. Against this enchanted background to deeds done by immortals and mortals as they struggled for ten long years five thousand years ago,--stands forth formidably the Peninsula. Glowing with bright, springtime colours it sweeps upwards from the sea like the glacis of a giant's fortress.

So we sailed on Northwards, giving a wide berth to the sh.o.r.e. When we got within a mile of the head of the Gulf of Saros, we turned, steering a South-westerly course, parallel to, and one to two miles distant from, the coastline. Then my first fears as to the outworks of the fortress were strengthened. The head of the Gulf is filled in with a horrible marsh. No landing there. Did we land far away to the Westward we must still march round the marsh, or else we must cross it on one single road whose long and easily destructible bridges we could see spanning the bog holes some three miles inland. Opposite the fortified lines we stood in to within easy field gun range, trusting that the Turks would not wish prematurely to disclose their artillery positions. So we managed a peep at close quarters, and were startled to see the ramifications and extent of the spider's web of deep, narrow trenches along the coast and on either front of the lines of Bulair. My Staff agree that they must have taken ten thousand men a month's hard work from dark to dawn. In advance of the trenches, Williams in the crow's nest reported that with his strong gla.s.ses he could pick out the glitter of wire over a wide expanse of ground. To the depth of a mile the whole Aegean slope of the neck of the Peninsula was scarred with spade work and it is clear to a tiro that to take these trenches would take from us a bigger toll of ammunition and life than we can afford: especially so seeing that we can only see one half of the theatre; the other half would have to be worked out of sight and support of our own ships and in view of the Turkish Fleet.

Only one small dent in the rockbound coast offered a chance of landing but that was also heavily dug in. In a word, if Bulair had been the only way open to me and I had no alternative but to take it or wash my hands of the whole business, I should have to go right about turn and cable my master he had sent me on a fool's errand.

Between Bulair and Suvla Bay the coastline was precipitous; high cliffs and no sort of creeks or beaches--impracticable. Suvla Bay itself seems a fine harbour but too far North were the aim to combine a landing there together with an attack on the Southern end of the Peninsula. Were we, on the other hand, to try to work the whole force ash.o.r.e from Suvla Bay, the country is too big; it is the broadest part of the Peninsula; also, we should be too far from its waist and from the Narrows we wish to dominate. Merely to hold our line of Communications we should need a couple of Divisions. All the coast between Suvla Bay and for a little way South of Gaba Tepe seems feasible for landing. I mean we could get ash.o.r.e on a calm day if there was no enemy. Gaba Tepe itself would be ideal, but, alas, the Turks are not blind; it is a ma.s.s of trenches and wire. Further, it must be well under fire of guns from Kilid Bahr plateau, and is entirely commanded by the high ridge to the North of it.

To land there would be to enter a defile without first crowning the heights.

Between Gaba Tepe and Cape h.e.l.les, the point of the Peninsula, the coastline consists of cliffs from 100 to 300 feet high. But there are, in many places, sandy strips at their base. Opinions differ but I believe myself the cliffs are not unclimbable. I thoroughly believe also in going for at least one spot that _seems_ impracticable.

Sailing Southwards we are becoming more and more conscious of the tremendous bombardment going on in the Straits. Now and then, too, we can see a huge sh.e.l.l hit the top of Achi Baba and turn it into the semblance of a volcano. Everyone excited and trying to look calm.

At 4 p.m., precisely, we rounded Cape h.e.l.les. I had promised de Robeck not to take his fastest cruiser, fragile as an egg, into the actual Straits, but the Captain and the Commander (Cameron and Rosomore), were frightfully keen to see the fight, and I thought it fair to allow one mile as being the _mouth_ of the Straits and not _the_ Straits. Before we had covered that mile we found ourselves on the outskirts of--dream of my life--a naval battle! Nor did the reality pan out short of my hopes. Here it was; we had only to keep on at thirty knots; in one minute we should be in the thick of it; and who would be brave enough to cry halt!

The world had gone mad; common sense was only moonshine after all; the elephant and the whale of Bismarckian parable were at it tooth and nail!

Sh.e.l.ls of all sizes flew hissing through the skies. Before my very eyes, the graves of those old G.o.ds whom Christ had risen from the dead to destroy were shaking to the shock of Messrs. Armstrong's patent thunder bolts!

Ever since the far-away days of Afghanistan and Majuba Hill friends have been fond of asking me what soldiers feel when death draws close up beside them. Before he charged in at Edgehill, Astley (if my memory serves me) exclaimed, "O, G.o.d, I've been too busy fixing up this battle to think much about you, but, for Heaven's sake, don't you go and forget about me," or words to that effect.

The Yankee's prayer for fair play just as he joined issue with the grizzly bear gives another glimpse of these secrets between man and his Maker. As for myself, there are two moments; one when I think I would not miss the show for millions; another when I think "what an a.s.s I am to be here"; and between these two moments there _is_ a border land when the mind runs all about Life's workshop and tries to do one last bit of stock-taking.

But the process can no more be fixed in the memory than the sequence of a dream when the dew is off the gra.s.s. All I remember is a sort of wonder:--why these incredible pains to seek out an amphibious battle ground whereon two sets of people who have no cause of quarrel can blow one another to atoms? Why are these Straits the c.o.c.kpit of the world?

What is it all about? What on earth has happened to sanity when the whale and elephant are locked in mortal combat making between them a picture which might be painted by one of H.M.'s Commissioners in Lunacy to decorate an asylum for homicides.

Whizz--flop--bang--what an a.s.s I am to be here. If we keep on another thirty seconds we are in for a visit to Davy Jones's Locker.

Now above the _Queen Elizabeth_, making slowly backwards and forwards up in the neck of the Narrows, were other men-o'-war spitting tons of hot metal at the Turks. The Forts made no reply--or none that we could make out, either with our ears or with gla.s.ses. Perhaps there was an attempt; if so, it must have been very half-hearted. The enemy's fixed defences were silenced but the concealed mobile guns from the Peninsula and from Asia were far too busy and were having it all their own way.

Close to us were steam trawlers and mine-sweepers steaming along with columns of spray spouting up close by them from falling field gun sh.e.l.ls, with here and there a biggish fellow amongst them, probably a five or six inch field howitzer. One of them was in the act of catching a great mine as we drew up level with her. Some 250 yards from us was the _Inflexible_ slowly coming out of the Straits, her wireless cut away and a number of shrapnel holes through her tops and crow's nest.

Suddenly, so quickly did we turn that, going at speed, the decks were at an angle of 45 and several of us (d'Amade for one) narrowly escaped slipping down the railless decks into the sea. The _Inflexible_ had signalled us she had struck a mine, and that we must stand by and see her home to Tenedos. We spun round like a top (escaping thereby a salvo of four from a field battery) and followed as close as we dared.

My blood ran cold--for sheer deliberate awfulness this beat everything.

We gazed spellbound: no one knew what moment the great ship might not dive into the depths. The pumps were going hard. We fixed our eyes on marks about the water line to see if the sea was gaining upon them or not. She was very much down by the bows, that was a sure thing. Crew and stokers were in a ma.s.s standing strictly at attention on the main deck.

A whole bevy of destroyers crowded round the wounded warrior. In the sight of all those men standing still, silent, orderly in their ranks, facing the imminence of death, I got my answer to the hasty moralizings about war, drawn from me (really) by a regret that I would very soon be drowned. On the deck of that battleship staggering along at a stone's throw was a vindication of war in itself; of war, the state of being, quite apart from war motives or gains. Ten thousand years of peace would fail to produce a spectacle of so great virtue. Where, in peace, pa.s.sengers have also shown high constancy, it is because war and martial discipline have lent them its standards. Once in a generation a mysterious wish for war pa.s.ses through the people. Their instinct tells them that _there is no other way_ of progress and of escape from habits that no longer fit them. Whole generations of statesmen will fumble over reforms for a lifetime which are put into full-blooded execution within a week of a declaration of war. There is _no other way_. Only by intense sufferings can the nations grow, just as the snake once a year must with anguish slough off the once beautiful coat which has now become a strait jacket.