I saw the Admiral in the evening. He had seen Gorringe and was cheered. Gorringe said he had found out the Turks’ weak place and was containing their strong force and attacking their weak spot. We walked by the river. We met some of the Black Watch – clean, smart men. There was a great bridge of boats, without rails, swaying and tossing in the hurricane and covered with driven foam from the raging yellow water. Across this there lurched Madrassis, Sudanese, terrified cavalry horses, mules that seemed to think that there was only water on one side, and that they would be on dry land if they jumped off on the other. We are out of range, but shelling is going on and one can fix points in the landscape by bursts. The eternal flatness is depressing.
This morning I saw Leachman,137 the political officer. He remembered incidents of my stay at Bagdad. He had had a lot of adventures in Arabia – a very good fellow, whom everybody likes, which is rare. He was against our going farther back than Sheikh Saad, both from the point of view of strategy and also because it would be playing a low game on our own friendlies. The Arabs on the bank between Sheikh Saad and Ali Gharbi are, apparently, past praying for.
This afternoon I went out with the Admiral. He said Townshend had telegraphed to India to ask if he might tell his troops that when they were relieved they would all be given leave. The answer was in the negative. Today he telegraphs that the Indians are dying of starvation. The troops here have been on half rations for some time. The boats are many but insufficient. They are everything from Irrawaddy steamers to Gordon relief expedition steamers and LCC boats. We met some of the 6th Devons and I asked them if the road the Admiral was going on was safe. They said: ‘We be strangers here zur’, as if they were talking of Exeter. The Admiral has been asked if he will allow a boat with provisions to run the gauntlet. He is prepared to if it is guaranteed to him that by so doing there will be a chance not of prolonging the agony but of saving Townshend. He does not think that the boat has much hope of getting through. I asked him to let me go. He said on no account; it was folly. I agreed. The rain is still making the relief almost impossible. There was heavy firing last night and we advanced 2,000 yards, but the main positions are untaken. Tonight I met Percy Herbert. He said he would get me a horse to ride up to the trenches but at the present moment my only trousers have again come to pieces.
The Admiral had a message to-night from Townshend by wireless. He welcomed him and said that life at Kut was the limit. I wrote to Colonel Beach138 after a talk with Gillman, saying if I could be of any use to Townshend I would go and be with him when and if he had to surrender. I told the Admiral first.
Stonefly. 13th April 1916
Dear Colonel Beach,
I saw General Gillman yesterday, who advised me to write to you. Before the war I knew many of the leading Turks very well. Several of them, Talaat, Rahmi etc. were personal friends of mine. The war has of course made a difference in relations of that kind, and the fact of German control will have made an even greater difference. But if things do not go well at Kut and you think that I can be of any use to General Townshend I shall be glad if you will dispose of me as you think fit. Any order sent to the Mantis will reach me.
Friday, April 14th, 1916. HMS Stonefly. In the morning I talked to Gillman. He said he wasn’t getting on with his work too quickly. Gorringe was uncommunicative, and while this attack was going on and in preparation he couldn’t go round and worry the Divisional Commanders. The complaint is the same everywhere: that lack of transport is starving this campaign of supplies and necessaries. Lake is the only man who doesn’t complain, and that is because he comes from India and is, I suppose, partly responsible.
A furious wind got up and drove mountains of yellow water before it, against the stream. The skies were black. Captain Nunn, the Senior Naval Officer, wanted to go to Sheikh Saad. I wanted to go to HQ to see Colonel Beach, Chief of the Intelligence, who has written to me to come. We got off with difficulty into the stream. It was like a monstrous snake, heaving and coiling. We only drew 3 feet and we were very top-heavy with iron, and I thought we were bound to turn over. I said so to Singleton, the captain, who said: ‘I quite agree. It serves them d——; well right if we do, for sending us out in this weather.’ This thought pleased him, though it did not satisfy me. Nunn said it was the worst weather he had seen in the year. I got off at Wadi thankfully, and went to see Beach, but it was not all over yet. He wanted to go and see how the bridge of boats was standing the strain. The end of the bridge of boats had been removed to let the steamers through, though there were none passing. It was twisting like an eel trying to get free, and going up and down like a moving staircase in agony. There was foam and gloom and strain and fury and the screaming of the timber, but the bridge held. The engineers were calmly smoking their pipes at the end, wondering in a detached way if it would hold. I infinitely prefer fighting to this sort of thing.
I went walking with Beach. He asked me to hold myself in readiness in case Townshend wanted me. I dined with General Lake, General Money139, Williams, and Dent; capital fellows. Had an interesting time after dinner. The future is doubtful. If we have to retire, we shall have a double loss of prestige, Kut gone and our own retreat. When we want to advance later, we shall find all our present positions fortified against us. A retreat will also involve the abandonment of our friendlies. This campaign has taught me why we have been called perfide Albion. It’s very simple. We embark upon a campaign without any forethought at all. Then, naturally we get into extreme difficulties. After that, we talk to the natives, telling them quite truthfully that we have got magnificent principles of truth, justice, tolerance, etc., that where the British Raj is all creeds are free. They like these principles so much that they forget to ask if we have guns and throw in their lot with us. Then, principles or no principles, we have got to retreat before a vastly superior force, and the people who have come in with us get strafed. Then they all say ‘perfide Albion,’ though it’s really nobody’s fault – sometimes not even the fault of the Government.
I slept on the Malamir, on deck. It was very wet in the night, but I kept fairly dry.
Saturday, April 15th, 1916. Malamir. I went and saw the Turkish prisoners in one of the most desolate camps on earth; some Albanians amongst them. They said there were munitions factories in Bagdad, and that 4,000 Turks had gone to Persia – they did not know if it was to the oil-field at or against the Russians. It’s and the oil-field that are important to us.
Lunched aboard the Malamir with General Lake who was very kind. I went off on an Irawaddy steamer, a ‘P’ boat (steamer P6). The captain said that after Ctesiphon they had 900 wounded on board and one doctor. It took them seventeen days to Amara. They had to turn back three times at Wadi and return to Kut, because they were heavily attacked by Kurds. Nixon cursed them the first time for cowardice until he too had to return. The transports were so overcrowded going up the river that the men pushed each other overboard. He said one transport lost five men. On board I met an ex-Bombay Political Officer, now in 82 Punjabis, P.G. Murphy. He said that India had purposely got up trouble on the frontier in order to prevent troops being sent away. That he had been on a couple of these expeditions, one in the Swat Valley. The enemy was not an enemy, had simply come in to get their share of the subsidies which we gave to another tribe. That they or rather the deputation had been captured by this other tribe and that we had said they had been routed etc., and then had stopped all their trade coming across a bridge that was their only road. He had a curious story of how at Abazai he had seen a Pathan wrestling. Before he wrestled he held up his hands and cried: ‘Dynamis’ (Power). He thought it must have come from the days of Alexander. He knew Greek and quoted the odd verse I remember: ‘Partone kori mou, echi kai liras, den ton ethelo echi kai psiras.’ He had been in the Dujaila fight on March 8th. He said they had to advance to attack a shrine, while on their right the Devons had to advance to take a fort which covered the position. They advanced but without the Devons, and were attacked in the flank by the fo
rt, losing 60 per cent. The Sepoys thought that Aylmer was trying to retrieve his reputation, a gambler’s last throw. He said that the corruption at was terrific; they were all in the hands of their Babus.
On board our ship there were piles of bread without any covering, but a swarming deposit of flies; good for everybody’s stomach.
Sunday, April 16th, 1916. Half a day’s food is being dropped daily by aeroplane in Kut. The Admiral has again been asked to send up a ship with supplies. He thinks it is a forlorn hope. There is a strong current, many bends, mines, and guns dug in on the banks at the turnings. He explained all this but it made no difference and everyone volunteered. He refused me with some heat and now appears very angry about the Townshend business. He apparently hadn’t realized what I proposed. I hope this ship will not be another River Clyde on a small scale. She is to go on the 19th. There is a bright moon. He has stipulated that he would not send the ship merely to prolong the agony. He asked for an assurance that in the improbable event of her getting through, her supplies would make the difference necessary to save Townshend. If what one hears is true, namely that they burnt the whole of the home mail of the Sheikh Saad affair (Jan. 21) to hush it up, it’s easily understood why nothing is known at home.
In the morning I went to examine a Turkish prisoner, and talked to Costello140, a VC, a very jolly Catholic Irishman. He said that when the war broke out he, and many like himself, saw the Mohammedan difficulty. They had themselves been ready to refuse to fight against Ulster; why should Indians fight the Turks? We were fighting for our own lives, but the quarrel did not really concern Indians. They might have been expected to be spectators. Then the orders came for them to go to France. They called up the Indian officers and said to them: ‘Germany has declared war, and on second thoughts, a Jehad. She quarrelled with England first and then pretended she was fighting for Islam.’ The Indian officers agreed, and came along readily. They were then ordered to Mesopotamia. They again called upon the Indian officers, who said: ‘We would sooner go anywhere else in the world, but we will go, and we will not let the regiment down.’ They were told to go to Bagdad, and were willing to go, though their frame of mind was the same. Curious position, he said, for: ‘I have often seen men fighting on the frontier, who would as soon shoot the Sepoy beside them as the enemy in front.’ He, too, was hopeful.
Then I went off to interrogate prisoners. It was tremendously hot. The prisoners were under a guard of Indians, and I found it hard to make the Indians understand my few words of Hindustani. The morale of the prisoners (wonderful men) seemed good. They said they weren’t tired of the war and that they didn’t think of disobeying orders, for that would be awful and would mean chaos. They thought what pleased God was going to happen, and they were inclined to think that that was victory for the Turks. They said twenty-seven guns had come up in the last eight days, 17cm. and 20cm. If that is the case they can shell us out of here.
I told the Admiral, and in the evening we walked. We met General Gorringe who said that he could make sure of relieving Townshend if we had ten days more. I am tremendously sorry for these men here. Last year the God of battles was on our side. We ought not to have won, by any law of odds or strategy, at Shaiba, at Ctesiphon, or Nasryah, but we did. They won against everything, and now the luck has turned. They have brought Indian troops to fight on holy soil for things that mean nothing to them. They have been hopelessly outnumbered by the Turks. They have been starved of everything, from food to letters, not to speak of high explosives. They have been through the most ghastly heat and the most cruel cold, and they are still cheerful. I have never seen a more friendly lot than these men here. They have always got something cheerful to say when you meet them. The weather has changed and it’s very fine, with a beautiful wind and clear skies, but there are no scents, like in Gallipoli of thyme and myrtle. It’s a limitless bare plain, green and sometimes brown mud, covered by an amazing mixture of men and creatures: horses and mules and buffaloes, Highlanders, Soudanese and Devons, Arabs and Babus. Camp fires spring up, somehow, at night by magic. We generally have a bombardment most days, but no shells round us.
Monday, April 17th, 1916. HMS Waterfly. Harris is Captain. While we were having breakfast this morning a German aeroplane flew over and bombed us ineffectually. Bombs fell a couple of hundred yards away in camp, not doing any damage, but they’ll get us sometime, as we are a fine target, three boats together.
Tuesday, April 18th, 1916. HMS Waterfly. Last night the Admiral went to Amara. He left Jack Marriott, Philip Neville, Dick Bevan and me here. There was no work down there and a lot here. Last night we did well, took about 250 prisoners and the Bunds that are essential to us. If the Turks have these and want to, they can flood the country to the extent of making manoeuvring impossible. There was peace yesterday at the crimson sunset. Then after that came the tremendous fight. Guns and flares blazed all along the line. Now comes the news that we have lost the Bunds and the eight guns we had taken. The position is not clear. We are said to have retaken most of the positions this morning.
The prisoners’; morale here is much better than in Gallipoli. I asked an Arab if he was glad to be a prisoner. He said that he was sorry, because his own people might think that he hadn’t fought well, but that he was glad not to have to go on fighting for the Germans. Jack Marriott wrote for me while I translated. The prisoners could not or would not tell us anything much about the condition of the river. This morning I had an experience. I walked out through tremendous heat to where the last batch of officer prisoners were guarded in a tent. As I came up, I heard loud wranglin, and saw the prisoners being harangued by a fierce black-bearded officer. I said: ‘Who here talks Turkish?’ and a grizzled old Kurd said: ‘Some of us talk Kurdish and some Arabic, but we all talk Turkish.’ I picked out Black-beard and took him apart from the others, whom I saw he had been bullying. He was a schoolmaster and a machine-gunner, and fierce beyond words. He began by saying sarcastically that he would give me all the information I wanted. ‘You have failed at Gallipoli,’ he said. ‘We hold you up at Salonica, and you are only visitors at. I do not mind how much I tell you, because I know we are going to win.’ I answered rather tartly that it was our national habit to be defeated at the beginning of every war and to win in the end, and that we should go on, if it took us ten years. ‘Ah, then,’ he said, ‘you will be fighting Russia.’ I did not like the way this conversation was going, and said to him: ‘Do you know the thing that your friends the Germans have done? They have offered Persia to Russia. How do you like that?’ ‘The question is,’ he said, ‘how do you like it?’ He then said that he was sick of the word ‘German,’ that Turkey was not fighting for the Germans, but to get rid of the capitulations. He said they had four Austrian motor-guns of 24cm. coming in a few days. I congratulated him. In the end he became more friendly, but I got nothing out of him. One prisoner had a series of fits: I think it was fright. He got all right when he was given water and food. The river has given another great sigh and risen a foot and a half. We have crossed over from the right to the left bank. It’s a black, thundery day. Much depends on to-day and to-night.
Good Friday, April 21st, 1916. HMS Waterfly. I have had no time to write these last days. This morning is a beautiful morning, with a fresh north wind. When we first came here Townshend was supposed to be able to hold out until the 12th. Now the 27th April is the last date. All the reports that we have been getting from the Turks are bad. Masses more men and guns coming up, heavy calibre guns. Still, Townshend is getting some food and money. The Julnar is to go up in a few days, when the moon is waning. It looks perfectly hopeless. I tried to find out whether there was a barrier across the river but Costello objected to this as he thought the prisoners might be able to send word to the Turks. I realized the danger, but it is essential to get all possible information. General Browne, generally an ass, agreed on this. Leachman is trying to get it from the Arabs which is really more dangerous. Costello is chief of the Intelligence here, a capital f
ellow.
Mons, Anzac and Kut Page 21