Mons, Anzac and Kut

I went on to speak of the Julnar. He said that there had been two killed on the Julnar. He was afraid it was the two Captains. He was sorry. It made Beech and me very sad. I did hope they would have got through. Firman was a gallant man—he had had forty-eight hours’ leave in four years—and old Cowley was a splendid old fellow. Well, if you are going to be killed, trying to relieve Townshend is not a bad way to end.

After that, I began talking of the treatment of the Arab population in Kut. I asked Khalil to put himself in the position of Townshend. I said that I knew that he could not help feeling for Townshend, whose lifelong study of soldiering was brought to nought through siege and famine, by no fault of his own. I said that the Arabs with Townshend had done what weak people always do: they had trimmed their sails, and because they had feared him, they had given him their service. If they suffered, Townshend would feel that he was responsible. Khalil said: “There is no need to worry about Townshend. He’s all right.” He added that the Arabs are Turkish subjects, not British, and that therefore their fate was irrelevant, but that their fate would depend upon what they did in the future, not upon what they had done in the past. We asked him for some assurance that there would be no hanging or persecution. He would not give this assurance, for the reasons already stated, but said that it was not his intention to do anything to the Arabs. Then Lawrence turned up.

We discussed the question of our sick and wounded. He said that he would send 500 of them down the river, but that he required Turkish soldiers for them in exchange. I said that he gained by having sound men instead of wounded. He wanted us to send boats to fetch these men. He said that he was sending them drugs, doctors and food, and doing what could be done. Beach asked for the exchange of all our prisoners in Kut against the Ottomans that we had taken. He at first said that he would exchange English against Turk and Arab against Indian, because he had a poor opinion of the fighting qualities of the last two. I said that some of the Arabs had fought very well, and he would gain by getting them back. He then pulled out a list of prisoners of ours, and went through the list of Arab surrenders, swearing. He said: “Perhaps one of our men in ten is weak or cowardly, but it’s only one in a hundred of the Arabs who is brave. Look, these brutes have surrendered to you because they were a lot of cowards. What are you to do with men like that? You can send them back to me if you like, but I have already condemned them to death. I should like to have them to hang.” That ended that. We must see that Arabs are not sent back by mistake.

He then said that he would like us to send ships up to transport Townshend and his men to Bagdad; otherwise they would have to march, which would be hard on them. He promised to let us have these ships back again. Colonel Beach said to me, not for translation, that this was impossible. We have already insufficient transport. He told me to say that he would refer this to General Lake. We then talked about terms and the exchange of the sick and wounded. On this, Khalil said he would refer to Enver or Constantinople as to whether sound men at Kut would be exchanged against the Turkish prisoners in Cairo and India. He did not think it likely. He was going to give us the wounded in any case, at once. He would trust us to give their equivalent.

Guns: Townshend had destroyed the guns. Khalil was angry and showed it. He said he had a great admiration for Townshend, but he was obviously disappointed at not getting the guns, on which he had counted. He said: “I could have prevented it by bombarding, but I did not want to.” Later, one of his officers said to me: “The Pasha’s a most honourable man; all love him. He was first very pleased and said that Townshend should go free. After that something happened, I don’t know what, and now Townshend will be an honoured prisoner at Stamboul.”

Beach told me to say that we would willingly pay for the maintenance of the civilians and the Arabs of Kut. Khalil brushed this aside and returned to his proposal that we should send up boats to transport Townshend’s sick and wounded to Bagdad. Beach whispered to me that we had not enough ships for ourselves at the present moment and no reserve supplies....

Then we talked of the general situation and its difficulties. I asked him if all this business would be possible without an armistice. Khalil said very strongly indeed that he was entirely against an armistice and that he wanted his assurance given to General Lake that even if there was a general offensive the ships carrying the sick and wounded could still come and go. Beach told me to say that we had no idea of an armistice. Khalil, at this point, grew very sleepy. He apologized and said he had had a lot of work to do. He also said that he had seen Townshend that morning and that he was all right, but he had slight fever.

Our final understanding with Khalil was that we were to notify him when we were sending up boats, so that he might clear the river. He laughed and said that he had forgotten all about the mines, which we had not.

We ended with mutual compliments, and we said good-bye to him and Kiazim Bey. As we were leaving he called to me and said that he hoped we should be comfortable that night and that we were to ask for all we wanted. After more compliments, we shook hands and rode away, all the Turks saluting. I talked to Ali Shefket, who now seemed a fast friend and said: “How angry the Germans would be if they could see the Turks and the English.”

We rode on, and before sunset, came to the Turkish camp. There the three of us sat down and, as far as we could for the flies, wrote reports.

The Turks gave us their tent, though I should have preferred to sleep out. They gave us their beds and an excellent dinner. We all sat and smoked after dinner for a few minutes under the stars, with camp fires burning round us. Muezzin called from different places and the sound of flutes and singing came through the dusk. Then Colonel Beach decided that I had better stay and go to Kut, where I was to meet him and Lawrence, who would come up with the boats to take our prisoners away. I didn’t believe that Khalil would accept this sort of liaison business. Beach wanted to go straight back, but would not let Lawrence or me. We pointed out that, if he got shot in the dark by our people, it would upset everything.

I dictated a French letter to Lawrence, asking for permission for me to stay and go across to Kut. I cannot think how he wrote the letter. The whole place was one smother of small flies, attracted by the candle. They put it out three times. B. and I kept them off Lawrence while he wrote. We got an answer at about two in the morning. Khalil said that it was not necessary. All this happened on April 29th.

To-day. April 30th. We left at 4.30 this morning, and this time rode all the way with unbandaged eyes. We ended up on the river bank amongst dead bodies. We walked across to our front line and Colonel Beach telephoned to H.Q. While he was doing this a Turkish white flag went up and we went out again. After several palavers, Ali Shefket came out and said that the river was clear of mines. Beach and Lawrence went back to H.Q.

Our boat could go up if it arrived by 2 o’clock in the afternoon. I, with the Cretan, the man of a hundred fights, Ali Shefket and others, went across. A fierce bearded Colonel came out, arrogant and insolent, talking German. He boasted that he knew Greek, but when I talked to him in Greek, he could not answer. He then harangued me in bad German, talking rot. I said, in Turkish: “Neither you nor I can talk good German, therefore let us talk Turkish.” “Yes,” said the other Turks; “it’s a much better language.”

The ship tarried. At 5 o’clock in the evening she was in sight, but she could not have arrived for another hour. It was decided that we could do nothing that night and that she would have to be put off until next day. A monstrous beetle, the size of half a crown, crawled up my back. The Turks were as horrified as I.

Monday, May 1, 1916. H.M.S. “Mantis.” I came back last night. I saw General Lake this morning to report. I think Khalil is going to play the game, but he has got something up his sleeve. A letter has come in from him. The ships, he said, could go. He wanted boats to send the prisoners to Bagdad. He was answered by General Money that His Excellency would understand that we ourselves needed all our boats. Beach went up this morning with two boats, but they stopped him at No Man’s Land.

Tuesday, May 2, 1916. H.M.S. “Mantis.” Last night I went on the P—— to go to Kut, with a rather tiresome Padre. It rained and blew in the night, and was very uncomfortable on deck. I got up at four, and we started soon after. They opened the bridge of boats for us. A launch followed for me, for I was to get off before entering neutral territory.

At the neutral territory I found white flags and an Indian Major, who was tired and nervous. All the way up the river there had been a curious feeling of expectancy and uncanniness; the Indians looked at us, shading their eyes from the rising sun, and our own troops stared. There was an uncomfortable, eerie feeling in the air. The Major said the Turks refused to allow the boats to go on. I telephoned to Colonel Beach, who was leaving H.Q. He told me to do the best I could.... I took a white flag and went out into No Man’s Land and found the man I had talked to before, the Cretan’s brother. I asked what all this meant. This was neither war nor peace. He said that it was our fellows, who had been shooting on the right bank, and there was quite enough shooting while we talked to make one feel uncomfortable. I said that Khalil had given his word that the boats could go up, even if there was an offensive. This was telephoned to Khalil. Our fellows began loosing off with a machine-gun. The beastly Colonel and the Cretan then came out to say that they had telephoned, and later the Cretan came again, alone, to say that our boats could not go through until the others had returned from Kut. He said it might not be necessary to send them up to Kut. We sat and talked in the great heat. I have given Ali Shefket Bobby Palmer’s photograph and have asked him to make enquiries. He sent it back to me by the Cretan, who read me out what Ali Shefket had written me. It was to say that Bobby Palmer was killed. He spoke very kindly and very sadly. I am so sorry for his family.

I went back very tired and found a lot of men making up burying parties which, reluctantly, I sent back again. A lot of the bodies on the river bank look as if they died of cholera. By the way, we have had a hundred and fifty cases in the last three days. Then I shaved on the deck of the launch, while the Turks looked on in the distance. Then I went and telephoned from the front line to Beach. He told me to bring all the four boats back, which I did. The only news is that the Turks have dug in below us near Sheikh Saad.

Wednesday, May 3, 1916. H.M.S. “Mantis.” You foul land of Mesopotamia! This morning bodies raced by us on the stream and I spent most of the day walking in the ruin of battle. I was sent for by General Gorringe and General Brown. They wanted to know why our boats had not come down from Kut. They said that the Turks had been shooting on the right and sent out white-flag parties, 200 men strong, to bury the dead. I said I thought it would be all right about the ships but I would go and see Khalil. The fact that they did not want us to send more ships showed that it was all right, but I thought they would probably like to nag us into doing something indiscreet, and asked the General if he would give orders that there should be no firing except under instructions, as long as they had our hostages. He sent me off to see the Turks.

I rode fast through suffocating heat, with an Indian orderly. At the bridge I found our two ships, the Sikhim and the Shaba, which had come through from Kut. They were banking above the bridge, which was being mended. This altered the whole situation, since the General had sent me out to complain that they had not been let through, and I galloped back. After a talk at H.Q., it was decided that I was only to thank Khalil.

I jumped the trenches and finally arrived at the main trench, where my horse stared down at a horrified circle, lunching. The circle said that no horses were allowed there and that none had ever been there, and that my horse, or rather Costello’s, would be shot immediately by the Turks. So I went to General Peebles, who was lunching farther along in the same trenches, and he had her sent back. I then got a white flag and walked out.... I met a couple of Turks. They wanted us to send up two ships to-morrow, and were quite agreeable. I asked them, as a favour, not to send out again the Colonel who talked German, as I couldn’t stand him, and they said they wouldn’t.

It was blazing hot; a Turkish officer and I sat out between the lines.

There is one incident not recorded in the diary that is, perhaps, worth mentioning, as it had a curious result that will find its place in the sequel to this journal, if it is ever published. On one of the occasions when I was talking to the Turks between the lines, a general fire started from the British and the Turkish trenches. The Turks, for the honour of their country, and I, for the honour of mine, pretended to ignore this fire, and we continued to discuss our business, but in the end the fire refused to be ignored, and, with loud curses, we fell upon the ground and there attempted to continue the discussion. I suggested to the Turks that the whole proceeding was lacking in dignity and that it would be better for each to retire to their own trenches and resume negotiations when circumstances were more favourable.

Next time I returned I was informed that one of the Turks had been hit whilst returning. I naturally said how sorry I was, and that I hoped they would not think it was a case of mala fides, as it might have happened to one of us, and wrote a note explaining my regret.

Diary. It was curious and bitter sitting in that peaceful field talking amicably with the Turks between the lines, with maize round us. The river murmured and the larks were singing, while the stiff clay held the knee-deep prints, like plaster of Paris, of the Black Watch and the others, who had charged across that foul field, when it had been a trap and a bog.

Thursday, May 4, 1916. H.M.S. “Mantis.” Very tired to-day. I rode back last night from the Turks, very fast. The flies made it impossible to go slow, horses couldn’t breathe. At the bridge, I found that the traffic was going the other way and had to hold up an unfortunate brigade to get across, hating to do it.

I met Green Armitage, who had just come from Kut. He had got Townshend’s terriers, who barked like mad. He said that there were three Turkish officers on board the Sikhim, who were asking for me. I didn’t know what to do, as I wanted to go to H.Q., but dashed on board and found they were Ali Shefket and Mehmed Jemal and Salahedin Bey, inspector to the Agricultural Bank of Smyrna. Our people on board wanted me to stay. I told them I would come back. I saw the sick and wounded Indians being carried away, terribly emaciated. I reported at H.Q., where, apparently, half a dozen entirely contradictory orders were being prepared for me. I then went back in a launch to the Turks, who were reported to be taking notes of our position from the bridge. On the Sikhim I found crowds of our officers with the Turks and a general jollification going on. I did not understand how or why they had been allowed to come down. All the Intelligence came along to see what the Turks could tell them. I was fed-up with the whole business, and disliked the Turks being on deck. I said to them: “Of course, it’s a pleasure to have you here, as guests, but we would much rather give you hospitality in London, for there we can show you everything, and, unfortunately, that’s not the case here. So in future, if you please, Turkish officers will not accompany the boats down.” They agreed to that.

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
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Mr. Edward Arnold’s
AUTUMN
ANNOUNCEMENTS, 1919.
JOHN REDMOND’S LAST YEARS.
By STEPHEN GWYNN.
With Portrait. 1 vol. Demy 8vo. 16s. net.

The “History of John Redmond’s Last Years,” by Stephen Gwynn, is in the first place an historical document of unusual importance. It is an account of Irish political events at their most exciting period, written by an active member of Mr. Redmond’s party who was in the confidence of his chief. The preliminary story of the struggle with the House of Lords and the prolonged fight over Home Rule is described by a keen student of parliamentary action. For the period which began with the war Mr. Gwynn has had access to all Redmond’s papers. He writes of Redmond’s effort to lead Ireland into the war from the standpoint of a soldier as well as a member of parliament. The last chapter gives to the world, for the first time, a full account of the Irish Convention which sat for eight months behind closed doors, and in which Redmond’s career reached its dramatic catastrophe.

The interlocking of varying chains of circumstance, the parliamentary struggle, the rise of the rival volunteer forces, the raising of Irish divisions, the rebellion and its sequel, and, finally, the effect of bringing Irishmen together into conference—all this is vividly pictured, with increasing detail as the book proceeds. In the opening, two short chapters recall the earlier history of the Irish party and Redmond’s part in it.

But the main interest centres in the character of Redmond himself. Mr. Gwynn does not work to display his leader as a hero without faults and incapable of mistakes. He shows the man as he knew him and worked under him, traces his career through its triumphs to reverses, and through gallant recovery to final defeat. A great man is made familiar to the reader, in his wisdom, his magnanimity, and his love of country. The tragic waste of great opportunities is portrayed in a story which has the quality of drama in it. Beside the picture of John Redmond himself there is sketched the gallant and sympathetic figure of his brother, who, after thirty-five years of parliamentary service, died with the foremost wave of his battalion at the battle of Messines.

A MEDLEY OF MEMORIES.
By the Rt. Rev. Sir DAVID HUNTER BLAIR, Bart.
With Illustrations. 1 vol. Demy 8vo. 16s. net.

Sir David Hunter Blair, late Abbot of Fort Augustus, in the first part of these fifty years’ recollections, deals with his childhood and youth in Scotland, and gives a picture full of varied interest of Scottish country house life a generation or more ago. Very vivid, too, is the account of early days at what was then the most famous private school in England; and the chapter on Eton under Balston and Hornby gives thumbnail sketches of a great many Etonians, school-contemporaries of the writer’s, and bearing names afterwards very well known for one reason or another. Eton was followed by Magdalen; and undergraduate life in the Oxford of 1872 is depicted with a light hand and many amusing touches. There was foreign travel after the Oxford days; and two of the most pleasantly descriptive chapters of the book deal with Rome in the reign of Pius IX. and Leo XIII., both of which Pontiffs the author served as Private Chamberlain. There is much also that is fresh and interesting in the section treating of the lives and personalities of some of the great English Catholic families of by-gone days.

Sir David entered the Benedictine Order at the age of twenty-five; and the latter half of the book is concerned with his life as co-founder, and member of the community of, the great Highland Abbey of Fort Augustus, of which he rose later to be the second abbot. The intimate account given in these pages of the life of a modern monk will be new to most readers, who will find it very interesting reading. The writer’s monastic experiences embrace not only his own beautiful home in the Central Highlands, but Benedictine life and work in England, in Belgium, Germany and Portugal, and in South America. One of the most novel and attractive chapters in the book is that dealing with the work of the Order in the vast territory of Brazil.

The volume is illustrated with an excellent portrait, and with some clever black-and-white drawings, the work of Mr. Richard Anson, one of the author’s religious brethren, and a member of the Benedictine community at Caldey Abbey, in South Wales.

WITH THE PERSIAN EXPEDITION.
By Major M. H. DONOHOE,
Army Intelligence Corps.
Special Correspondent of the “Daily Chronicle.”
With numerous Illustrations and Map. Demy 8vo. 16s. net.

Among the many “side-shows” of the Great War, few are so difficult for the average reader to understand as the operations in Northern Persia, an offshoot of the Bagdhad venture, which had for their object the policing of the warlike tribes in an area almost unknown to Europeans, and included the various attempts to reach and hold Baku, and so get command of the Caspian and Caucasia.

The story of these operations—carried out by little, half-forgotten bodies of troops, mainly local levies who broke at the critical moment and left their British officers and N.C.O.’s to carry on alone—is one of the most amazing of the whole War, and comprises many episodes that recall the most stirring events of the Empire’s pioneering days.

By happy chance, Major M. H. Donohoe, the famous War Correspondent, whose work for the Daily Chronicle in all the wars of the past twenty years is well known, was in this part of the world as a Major on the Intelligence Staff, work for which his knowledge of men and languages off the beaten tract peculiarly fitted him. He has written the story of these operations as he saw them, chiefly as a member of the Staff of the Military Mission under General Byron, known officially as the “Baghdad Party,” and unofficially as the “Hush-Hush Brigade,” which set forth early in 1918 to join the Column under General Dunsterville. Though there is little of fighting in the story, the book gives an admirable picture of the Empire’s work done faithfully under difficulties, and glimpses of places and peoples that are almost unknown even to the most venturesome traveller. Indeed, it is largely as a book about an unknown land that this volume will attract, together with its little pen-portraits of men and little pen-pictures of adventures, that Kipling would love.

A PHYSICIAN IN FRANCE.
By Major-General Sir WILMOT HERRINGHAM,
K.C.M.G., C.B.,
Physician to St. Bartholomew’s Hospital; Consulting Physician to the Forces Overseas.
1 vol. Demy 8vo. 15s. net.

How the war, as seen at close quarters, struck a man eminent in another profession than that of arms is the distinguishing feature of this volume of personal impressions. It is not, however, merely the outcome of a few weeks’ sojourn or “trip to the trenches,” with one eye on an expectant public, for the author has four times seen autumn fade into winter on the flat country-side of Flanders, and, when the war ended, was still at his post rendering invaluable services amidst unforgettable scenes. The author’s comments on the day-to-day happenings are distinguished by a tone that is at once manly, reflective, and good-humoured. Medical questions are naturally prominent, but are dealt with largely in a manner that should interest the layman at the present time. Sir Wilmot was with Lord Roberts when he died. A very pleasing feature of the book is the constant revelation of the author’s love of nature and sport, and his happy way of introducing such topics, together with descriptions of the country around him, makes a welcome contrast to the stern events which form the staple material of the book. There are some very amusing stories.

LONDON MEN IN PALESTINE.
By ROWLANDS COLDICOTT.
With maps. 1 vol. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.

This book embraces so much more than the ordinary war story that we have a peculiar difficulty in describing it in a few chosen words.

The curtain lifts the day after the battle of Sheria, one of the minor fights in General Allenby’s first campaign—those movements of troops which came only to a pause with the capture of Jerusalem. Gaza has just been taken. You are introduced to one of the companies of a London battalion serving in the East, of which company the author is commander. The reading of a few lines, the passing of a few moments, causes you (such is the power of right words) to be attached to that company and to move in imagination with it across the dazzling plain. When you have tramped a few miles you begin to realise, perhaps for the first time, the heat and torment of a day’s march in Philistia. It is not long before you feel that you, too, are adventuring with the toiling soldiers; with them you wonder where the halting place will be, what sort of bivouac you are likely to hit upon. By this time you will have met the officers—Temple, Trobus, Jackson—and are coming to have a nodding acquaintance with the men. Desire to compass the unknown, and sympathetic interest in the experiences of a company of your own country-men, Londoners footing it in a foreign land, now takes you irresistibly into the very heart of the tale, and you become one with the narrator. With him you wander among the ruins of Gaza, pass into southern Palestine, and come to the foot-hills of Judea. With him you slowly become conscious that the long series of marches is planned to culminate in an assault upon Jerusalem. Now you are part of a dusty column winding up into Judea by the Jerusalem road, looking hour by hour upon those natural phenomena that suggested the parables. “London Men in Palestine” brings all this home to you as if you were a passer-by. Next, the massing of troops about the Holy City is described, and you are given a distant view of the city itself. A chapter follows that describes the coming of the rains. Then you spend a night in an old rock-engendered fortress-village while troops pass through to the attack, the storm still at its height. A chapter follows that tells of a crowded day—too complex and full of incident here to be described. The book closes with an exciting description of a fight on the Mount of Olives.

MONS, ANZAC, AND KUT.
By an M.P.
1 vol. Demy 8vo. 14s. net.

The writer of these remarkable memoirs, whose anonymity will not veil his identity from his friends, is a man well known, not only in England, but also abroad, and the pages are full of the writer’s charm, and gaiety of spirit, and “courage of a day that knows not death.” Day by day, in the thick of the most stirring events in history, he jotted down his impressions at first hand, and although parts of the diary cannot yet be published, enough is given to the world to form a graphic and very human history.

Our author was present at the most critical part of the Retreat from Mons. He took part in the dramatic defence of Landrecies, and the stand at Compiegne. Wounded, and a prisoner, he describes his experiences in a German hospital and his subsequent recapture by the British during the Marne advance.

The scene then shifts to Gallipoli, where he was present at the immortal first landing, surely one of the noblest pages of our history. He took part in the fierce fighting at Suvla Bay, and, owing to his knowledge of Turkish, he had amazing experiences during the Armistice arranged for the burial of the dead.

Later, the author was in Mesopotamia, where he accompanied the relieving force in their heroic attempt to save Kut. On several occasions he was sent out between the lines to conduct negociations between the Turks and ourselves.

“Mons, Anzac, and Kut”.... A day and a day will pass, before the man and the moment meet to give us another book like this. We congratulate ourselves that the author survived to write it.

THE STRUGGLE IN THE AIR.
1914-1918.
By Major CHARLES C. TURNER (late R.A.F.).
Assoc. Fellow R.Aer.Soc., Cantor Lectures on Aeronautics, 1909. Author of
“Aircraft of To-day,” “The Romance of Aeronautics,” and (with
Gustav Hamel) of “Flying: Some Practical Experiences,”
Editor of “Aeronautics,” etc., etc., etc.
With Illustrations. 1 vol. Demy 8vo. 15s. net.

Major Turner served in the flying arm throughout the great conflict, chiefly as an instructor of officers of the Royal Naval Air Service, and then of the Royal Air Force in the principles of flight, aerial navigation, and other subjects. He did much experimental work, made one visit to the Front, and was mentioned in dispatches. The Armistice found him in the position of Chief Instructor at No. 2 School of Aeronautics, Oxford.

The classification of this book explains its scope and arrangement. The chapters are as follows:

Capabilities of Aircraft; Theory in 1914; The flight to France and Baptism of Fire; Early Surprises; Fighting in the Air, 1914-1915; 1916; 1917; 1918; Zeppelins and the Defence; Night Flying; The Zeppelin Beaten; Aeroplane Raids on England; Bombing the Germans; Artillery Observation; Reconnaissance and Photography; Observation Balloons; Aircraft and Infantry; Sea Aircraft; Heroic Experimenters; Casualties in the Third Arm; The Robinson Quality.

CAUGHT BY THE TURKS.
By FRANCIS YEATS-BROWN.
1 vol. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.

This book contains a full measure of adventure and excitement. The author, who is a Captain in the Indian Cavalry, was serving in the Air Force in Mesopotamia in 1915, and was captured through an accident to the aeroplane while engaged in a hazardous and successful attempt to cut the Turkish telegraph lines north and west of Baghdad, just before the Battle of Ctesiphon. Then came the horrors of the journey to Constantinople, during which the “terrible Turk” showed himself in his worst colours; but it was in Constantinople that the most thrilling episodes of his captivity had their origin. The story of the Author’s first attempt to escape (which did not succeed) and of his subsequent lucky dash for freedom, is one of intense interest, and is told in a most vivid and dramatic way.

JOHN HUGH ALLEN
OF THE GALLANT COMPANY
A Memoir by his Sister INA MONTGOMERY.
With Portrait. 1 vol. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.

This book is the life-story of a young New Zealander who was killed in action at the Dardanelles in June, 1915. It is told mainly in his own letters and diaries—which have been supplemented, so far as was needful, with the utmost tact and discretion by his sister—and falls naturally into three principal stages. Allen spent four very strenuous years, 1907-1911, at Cambridge, where he occupied a prominent position among his contemporaries as an active member, and eventually President of the Union. Though undergraduate politics are not usually taken very seriously by the outside world, yet this side of Allen’s Cambridge career has an interest far transcending the merely personal one. Possessed, as he was, of remarkable gifts, which he had cultivated by assiduous practice as a speaker and writer, and passionately interested in all that concerns the British Empire, and the present and future relations between the United Kingdom and the Overseas Dominions, his record may well stand as representative of the attitude of the élite of the New Zealand youth towards these vital matters in the period just preceding the war.

After Cambridge, he returned for a time to New Zealand, where he resolved to make his permanent home, but came back to England in December, 1913, to complete his legal studies and get called to the bar, and was still in England when the war broke out. Consequently the second stage is the story of seven months’ experience as a lieutenant in the 13th Battalion of the Worcesters, and his letters of this period give an attractive, and intensely graphic account of the making of the new army. Finally, he was despatched, with a few other selected officers, to the Dardanelles, arrived on May 25th at Cape Helles, and was attached to the Essex regiment. The last stage, brief, glorious, and terrible, lasted only twelve days but, brief as it was, he had time to draw an enthralling picture of the unexampled horrors of this particular phase of trench-warfare. The book is steeped, from beginning to end, in a sober but fervent enthusiasm; and the cult of the Empire, in its noblest form, has seldom been as finely exemplified as by the life and death of John Allen.

NOËL ROSS AND HIS WORK.
Edited by HIS PARENTS.
1 vol. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.

A series of charming sketches by a young New Zealander, who died in December, 1917, on the threshold of a brilliant literary career. Noël Ross was one of those daring Anzacs who made the landing on Gallipoli. Wounded in the early days of the terrible fighting there, he was discharged from the Army, came to London, rejoined there, and obtained a commission in the Royal Field Artillery. Afterwards he became a valued member of the Editorial Staff of The Times, on which his genius was at once recognized and highly appreciated. Much of his work appeared in The Times, and he was also a contributor to Punch. In collaboration with his father, Captain Malcolm Ross, the New Zealand War Correspondent, he was the author of “Light and Shade in War,” of which the Daily Mail said: “It is full of Anzac virility, full of Anzac buoyancy, and surcharged with that devil-may-care humour that has so astounded us jaded peoples of an older world.”

His writings attracted the attention of such capable writers as Rudyard Kipling, and Sir Ian Hamilton, who said he reminded him in many ways of that gallant and brilliant young Englishman, Rupert Brooke.

WITH THE BRITISH INTERNED IN SWITZERLAND.
By Lieut.-Colonel H. P. PICOT, C.B.E.,
Late Military Attaché, 1914-16, and British Officer in Charge of the Interned, 1916-18.
1 vol. Demy 8vo. Cloth. 10s. 6d. net.

In this volume Colonel Picot tells us, in simple and lucid fashion, how some thousands of our much tried and suffering countrymen were transferred—to the eternal credit of Switzerland—from the harsh conditions of captivity to a neutral soil, there to live in comparative freedom amid friendly surroundings. He describes in some detail the initiative taken by the Swiss Government on behalf of the Prisoners of War in general, and the negociations which preceded the acceptance by the Belligerent States of the principle of Internment, and then recounts the measures taken by that Government for the hospitalization of some 30,000 Prisoners of War, and the organization of a Medical Service for the treatment of the sick and wounded.

Turning, then, more particularly to the group of British prisoners, he deals with their discipline, their camp life, the steps taken for spiritual welfare, and the organization of sports and recreations, and an interesting chapter records the efforts made to afford them technical training in view of their return to civil life.

The book also comprises a resumé of the formation and development of the Bread Bureau at Berne, which ultimately, in providing bread for 100,000 British prisoners of war in Germany, doubtless saved countless lives; and a description of the activities of the British Legation Red Cross Organization, both of which institutions were founded by Lady Grant Duff, wife of H.M.’s Minister at Berne.

Colonel Picot throws many interesting sidelights on life in Switzerland in war-time—diplomatic, social, and artistic—and his modest and self-effacing narrative dwells generously on the devotion of all those who, whether by appointment or chance, were associated with him in his beneficent labours.

It is hoped that this account of a special phase in the history of our countrymen will prove of interest to that large public who have shown in countless ways their sympathy with all that concerns the welfare of Prisoners of War.

A CHILDHOOD IN BRITTANY EIGHTY YEARS AGO.
By ANNE DOUGLAS SEDGWICK,
Author of “Tante,” “The Encounter,” etc.
Demy 8vo. Cloth. 10s. 6d. net.

With exquisite literary art which the reading public has recognised in “Tante” and others of her novels, the author of this book tells of a great lady’s childhood in picturesque Brittany in the middle of the last century. It covers that period of life around which the tenderest and most vivid memories cluster; a childhood set in a district of France rich in romance, and rich in old loyalties to manners and customs of a gracious era that is irrevocably in the past.

Charming vignettes of character, marvellous descriptions of houses, costumes and scenery, short stories in silhouette of pathetic or humorous characters—these are also in the book.

And through it all the author is seen re-creating a background, which has profoundly influenced one of the finest literary artists of the last century.

GARDENS: THEIR FORM AND DESIGN.
By the Viscountess WOLSELEY.
With numerous Illustrations by Miss M. G. CAMPION.
1 vol. Medium 8vo. 21s. net.

The present volume, which is beautifully got up and illustrated, deals with form and line in the garden, a subject comparatively new in England.

Lady Wolseley’s book suggests simple, inexpensive means—the outcome of practical knowledge and experience—for achieving charming results in gardens of all sizes. Her College of Gardening at Glynde has shown Lady Wolseley how best to make clear to those who have never before thought about garden design, some of the complex subjects embraced by it, such as Water Gardens, Rock Gardens, Treillage, Paved Gardens, Surprise Gardens, etc. The book contains many decorative and imaginative drawings by Miss Mary G. Campion, as well as a large number of practical diagrams and plans, which further illustrate the author’s ideas and add to the value of the book.

MEMORIES OF THE MONTHS.
SIXTH SERIES.
By the Rt. Hon. Sir HERBERT MAXWELL, Bt., F.R.S., D.C.L., LL.D.
With photogravure frontispiece. Large Crown 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.

It is some years since the fifth series of “Memories of the Months” was issued, but the demand for Sir Herbert Maxwell’s charming volumes continues unabated. Every year rings new changes on the old order of Nature, and the observant eye can always find fresh features on the face of the Seasons. Sir Herbert Maxwell goes out to meet Nature on the moor and loch, in garden and forest, and writes of what he sees and feels. It is a volume of excellent gossip, the note-book of a well-informed and high-spirited student of Nature, where the sportsman’s ardour is tempered always with the sympathy of the lover of wild things, and the naturalist’s interest is leavened with the humour of a cultivated man of the world. This is what gives the work its abiding charm, and makes these memories fill the place of old friends on the library bookshelf.

SINGLE-HANDED CRUISING.
By FRANCIS B. COOKE,
Author of “The Corinthian Yachtsman’s Handbook,” “Cruising Hints,” Etc.
Illustrated. 10s. 6d. net.

The contents of this volume being based upon the author’s many years’ practical experience of single-handed sailing, are sure to be acceptable to those who, either from choice or necessity, make a practice of cruising alone. Of the four thousand or more yachts whose names appear in Lloyd’s Register, quite a considerable proportion are small craft used for the most part for week-end cruising, and single-handed sailing is a proposition that the owner of a week-ender cannot afford altogether to ignore. To be dependent upon the assistance of friends, who may leave one in the lurch at the eleventh hour, is a miserable business that can only be avoided by having a yacht which one is capable of handling alone. The ideal arrangement is to have a vessel of sufficient size to accommodate one or two guests and yet not too large to be sailed single-handed at a pinch. In this book Mr. Cooke gives some valuable hints on the equipment and handling of such a craft, which, it may be remarked, can, in the absence of paid hands, be maintained at comparatively small cost.

MODERN ROADS.
By H. PERCY BOULNOIS, M.Inst.C.E., F.R.San.Inst., etc.
Demy 8vo. 16s. net.

The author is well known as one of the leading authorities on road-making, and he deals at length with Traffic, Water-bound Macadam Roads, Surface Tarring, Bituminous Roads, Waves and Corrugations, Slippery Roads, Paved Streets (Stone and Wood, etc.), Concrete Road Construction, etc.

A THIN GHOST AND OTHERS.
By Dr. M. R. JAMES,
Provost of Eton College.
Crown 8vo. Cloth. 4s. 6d. net.

The Provost of Eton needs no introduction as a past master of the art of making our flesh creep, and those who have enjoyed his earlier books may rest assured that his hand has lost none of its blood-curdling cunning. Neither is it necessary to remind them that Dr. James’s inexhaustible stories of archæological erudition furnish him with a unique power of giving his gruesome tales a picturesque setting, and heightening by their literary and antiquarian charm the exquisite pleasure derived from thrills of imaginary terror. This latter quality has never been more happily displayed than in the stories contained in the present volume, which we submit with great confidence to the judgment of all who appreciate—and who does not?—a good old-fashioned hair-raising ghost story.

New Editions.

GHOST STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY.
By Dr. M. R. JAMES,
Provost of Eton College.
New Edition. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.

MORE GHOST STORIES.
By Dr. M. R. JAMES.
New Edition. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.

THE PERFECT GENTLEMAN.
By Captain HARRY GRAHAM,
Author of “Ruthless Rhymes,” etc.
New Edition. Crown 8vo. Cloth. 3s. 6d. net.

THE COMPLETE SPORTSMAN.
By Captain HARRY GRAHAM.
New Edition. Crown 8vo. Cloth. 3s. 6d. net.

The Modern Educator’s Library.
General Editor: Professor A. A. COCK.

The present age is seeing an unprecedented advance in educational theory and practice; its whole outlook on the ideals and methods of teaching is being widened. The aim of this new series is to present the considered views of teachers of wide experience, and eminent ability, upon the changes in method involved in this development, and upon the problems which still remain to be solved, in the several branches of teaching with which they are most intimately connected. It is hoped, therefore, that these volumes will be instructive not only to teachers, but to all who are interested in the progress of education.

Each volume contains an index and a comprehensive bibliography of the subject with which it deals.

EDUCATION: ITS DATA AND FIRST PRINCIPLES.
By T. PERCY NUNN, M.A., D.Sc.,
Professor of Education in the University of London; Author of “The Aims and Achievements of Scientific Method,” “The Teaching of Algebra,” etc.
Crown 8vo. Cloth. 6s. net.

Dr. Nunn’s volume really forms an introduction to the whole series, and deals with the fundamental questions which lie at the root of educational inquiry. The first is that of the aims of education. These, he says, are always correlative to ideals of life, and, as ideals of life are eternally at variance, their conflict will be reflected in educational theories. The individualism of post-reformation Europe gradually gave way to a reaction culminating in Hegel, which pictured the state as the superentity of which the single life is but a fugitive element. The logical result of this Hegelian ideal the world has just seen, and educators of to-day have to decide whether to foster this sinister tradition or to help humanity to escape from it to something better. What we need is a doctrine which, while admitting the importance of the social element in man, reasserts the importance of the individual.

This notion of individuality as the ideal of life is worked out at length, and on the results of this investigation are based the conclusions which are reached upon the practical problem of embodying this ideal in teaching. Among other subjects, the author deals with Routine and Ritual, Play, Nature and Nurture, Imitation, Instinct; and there is a very illuminating last chapter on “The School and the Individual.”

MORAL AND RELIGIOUS EDUCATION.
By SOPHIE BRYANT, D.Sc., Litt.D.
Late Head Mistress of the North London Collegiate School for Girls Author of “Educational Ends,” etc.
Crown 8vo. Cloth. 6s. net.

In this book, Mrs. Bryant, whose writings on educational subjects are widely known, takes the view that in order to produce the best result over the widest area, the teaching of morality through the development of religious faith, and its teaching by direct appeal to self-respect, reason, sympathy and common sense, are both necessary. In religion, more than in anything else, different individuals must follow different paths to the goal.

Upon this basis the book falls into four parts. The first deals with the processes of spiritual self-realisation by means of interest in knowledge and art, and of personal affections and social interest, which all emerge in the development of conscience. The second part treats of the moral ideal and how it is set forth by means of heroic romance and history, and in the teaching of Aristotle, to build up the future citizen. The third presents the religious ideal, its beginnings and the background of ideas implied by it, together with suggestions for study of the Bible and the lives of the Saints. In the fourth part the problem of the reasoned presentment of religious truths is dealt with in detail.

There is no doubt that this book makes a very considerable addition to what has already been written on the subject of religious education.