KUT, 1916 (continued 2)

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.