Gallipoli Diary, Volume I | Page 3

encore passer la nuit. Vous aurez pour vous le soleil Levant."
Vous, Mon Général, vous aurez été l'ouvrier de cette grande idée, et l'annonciateur de cette aurore. Gén. A. d'Amade.
Fronsac, Gironde, France. 22 décembre, 1919.

CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE v
LETTER FROM GENERAL D'AMADE TO THE AUTHOR x
CHAPTER
I.
THE START 1
II. THE STRAITS 21
III. EGYPT 54
IV. CLEARING FOR ACTION 86
V. THE LANDING 127
VI. MAKING GOOD 159
VII. SHELLS 196
VIII. TWO CORPS OR AN ALLY? 219
IX. SUBMARINES 243
X. A DECISION AND THE PLAN 283
XI. BOMBS AND JOURNALISTS 314
XII. A VICTORY AND AFTER 343

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
SIR ROGER KEYES, VICE-ADMIRAL DE ROBECK, SIR IAN HAMILTON, GENERAL BRAITHWAITE Frontispiece
LIEUT.-GEN. SIR J.G. MAXWELL, G.C.B., K.C.M.G 58
REVIEW OF FRENCH TROOPS AT ALEXANDRIA 78
S.S. "RIVER CLYDE" 132
"W" BEACH 176
GENERAL D'AMADE 222
VIEW OF "V" BEACH, TAKEN FROM S.S. "RIVER CLYDE" 254
MEN BATHING AT HELLES 294
THE NARROWS FROM CHUNUK BAIR 330
GENERAL GOURAUD 346
MAPS
KEY MAP Inside front cover
CAPE HELLES AND THE SOUTHERN AREA At end of volume

GALLIPOLI DIARY
CHAPTER I
THE START
In the train between Paris and Marseilles, 14th March, 1915.
Neither the Asquith banquet, nor the talk at the Admiralty that midnight had persuaded me I was going to do what I am actually doing at this moment. K. had made no sign nor waved his magic baton. So I just kept as cool as I could and had a sound sleep.
Next morning, that is the 12th instant, I was working at the Horse Guards when, about 10 a.m., K. sent for me. I wondered! Opening the door I bade him good morning and walked up to his desk where he went on writing like a graven image. After a moment, he looked up and said in a matter-of-fact tone, "We are sending a military force to support the Fleet now at the Dardanelles, and you are to have Command."
Something in voice or words touched a chord in my memory. We were once more standing, K. and I, in our workroom at Pretoria, having just finished reading the night's crop of sixty or seventy wires. K. was saying to me, "You had better go out to the Western Transvaal." I asked no question, packed up my kit, ordered my train, started that night. Not another syllable was said on the subject. Uninstructed and unaccredited I left that night for the front; my outfit one A.D.C., two horses, two mules and a buggy. Whether I inspected the columns and came back and reported to K. in my capacity as his Chief Staff Officer; or, whether, making use of my rank to assume command in the field, I beat up de la Rey in his den--all this rested entirely with me.
So I made my choice and fought my fight at Roodewal, last strange battle in the West. That is K.'s way. The envoy goes forth; does his best with whatever forces he can muster and, if he loses;--well, unless he had liked the job he should not have taken it on.
At that moment K. wished me to bow, leave the room and make a start as I did some thirteen years ago. But the conditions were no longer the same. In those old Pretoria days I had known the Transvaal by heart; the number, value and disposition of the British forces; the characters of the Boer leaders; the nature of the country. But my knowledge of the Dardanelles was nil; of the Turk nil; of the strength of our own forces next to nil. Although I have met K. almost every day during the past six months, and although he has twice hinted I might be sent to Salonika; never once, to the best of my recollection, had he mentioned the word Dardanelles.
I had plenty of time for these reflections as K., after his one tremendous remark had resumed his writing at the desk. At last, he looked up and inquired, "Well?"
"We have done this sort of thing before, Lord K." I said; "we have run this sort of show before and you know without saying I am most deeply grateful and you know without saying I will do my best and that you can trust my loyalty--but I must say something--I must ask you some questions." Then I began.
K. frowned; shrugged his shoulders; I thought he was going to be impatient, but although he gave curt answers at first he slowly broadened out, until, at the end, no one else could get a word in edgeways.[3]
My troops were to be Australians and New Zealanders under Birdwood (a friend); strength, say, about 30,000. (A year ago I inspected them in their own Antipodes and no finer material exists); the 29th Division, strength, say 19,000 under Hunter-Weston--a slashing man of action; an acute theorist; the Royal Naval Division, 11,000 strong (an excellent type of Officer and man, under a solid Commander--Paris); a French contingent, strength at present uncertain, say, about a Division, under