Upon the Peninsula, it was difficult to estimate the general spirit of the army during the six weeks which followed the valiant but only partially successful efforts of August. They were a period of enforced inactivity seldom interrupted, and the usual effect of inactivity upon an army, as upon civilians, is depression. During the campaign it was often observed that in most Divisions the prospect of action, however perilous, at once reduced the sickness, as though to prove tedium more unwholesome than death. But in September tedium supervened, and the diseases of dysentery and diarrhœa, always prevalent since June, spread like a plague. The average of serious cases rose to 1000 a day, and though by far the greater number of the patients returned to duty, the percentage of “casualties” from sickness alone was in some weeks calculated at 300 per annum of the total force, so that large drafts were required to maintain the army even at its shrunken strength. It must also be remembered that both these diseases have a peculiarly depressing effect upon the spirit, weakening the will equally with the bodily powers. Certainly it was expected that the approach of winter would compel the perilous germs to hibernate in torpor, and would reduce the multitude of flies which now enjoyed a livelihood so rich and unexpected upon that desert land. But in other respects the prospect of a winter campaign was not exhilarating.

The Indians stood the climate far better than the British or Australians, either as vegetarians or as habituated to the sun and protected by their colour, whereas the Australians and many of the British sought to avoid heat by going naked, and so exposed their white skins to the unaccustomed and baleful rays. Life in the bazaar or jungle had also rendered Indians immune to diseases against which our civilisation stands unprotected, and flies did not pursue the cleanly food of Hindus and Sikhs with the same persistent avidity. If some of the British troops upon the Peninsula had been exchanged for the Indian troops serving in France and Flanders, both armies would have gained in health. But perhaps a greater cause of disease than sun or flies or infection was the monotony of the diet, as mentioned before. Sir Ian’s appeals for canteens remained unheard till August 30, when a canteen-ship actually appeared at Anzac. Deputed purchasers from every unit hurried down to buy. Bursting with money, they stood in queues, but none received more than one-sixth of what he asked, and, as in a starving town, scarcity laughed at cash. But after the arrival of that one shipload of variety, the numbers of sick suddenly fell, and ultimately ten shiploads came. Allowance must also be made for the arrival of the 2nd Australian Division, which raised the average of health, until the infection spread among its members also; and that was soon.

But more disheartening even than inactivity or disease was the disappearance of the dead and wounded. During August some 40,000—about one-third of the whole force—had gone. Entirely sufficient provision had now been made for the wounded alike in the largely increased number of hospital ships running to Alexandria, and in the hospital camps established near Suvla A Beach (too near the Hill 10 batteries) and on two positions along the Suvla promontory (also disturbed by shells owing to the proximity of store depôts, landing-places, and Corps Headquarters); at well-sheltered points along the Ocean Beach, near Anzac; upon the flats at the end of Kephalos Bay, in Imbros; and especially on the breezy rising ground overlooking Mudros harbour on the opposite side to Mudros town. The dead either lay beyond reach, gradually shrinking to dust on “No Man’s Land,” or were buried in carefully tended little cemeteries, their graves marked with wooden crosses and decorated with shell-cases or white stones arranged in patterns. Brief as regret and lamentation must be in war, it is melancholy to return to familiar dug-outs and find that the familiar occupants have gone, leaving possessions which they will not need again, and perhaps a written notice to warn off intruders from the deserted habitation. The sense of loss was especially poignant at Anzac, where, united by the bonds of adventure and nationality, the men had lived as in a crowded community of fellowship.

Drafts came, but though the drafts were small they sometimes overwhelmed the original battalions, and, partly owing to the unavoidable suspension of drill, they were long in imbibing a good battalion’s spirit.215 Even more serious was the necessity of hurrying new drafts at once into advanced positions. In a note written at Helles on August 30, after visiting the lines before Krithia, I observed:

Interrupted by only few cool and rainy days, the heat continued through September, and the victims to dysentery increased. The shadow of approaching winter also lay upon the army, and its horrors were exaggerated, partly through the classic reputation of inhospitable Thrace, partly by the inexperience of the Anzacs, who had never seen snow or endured cold. More serious than cold was the anticipated downpour of rain, which would convert our roads along ravines into torrents, and fill the dusty communication trenches with mud. Unhappily, owing to the steep ascent to such positions as Quinn’s Post, and the far longer climb to the Apex, where we still clung to a scarcely tenable position overhanging the Farm below the summit of Chunuk Bair, the chief hardships of winter were likely to fall upon Anzac, where the men were least accustomed to resist them. In a note during the first week of September I observed:

Gangs of Egyptian labourers were, in fact, brought to Imbros and set to work upon the main road through the camps there.

As to numbers, at the end of August we had 83,000, including 15,000 French troops, on the Peninsula, as against an estimate of 100,000 Turks there, with 25,000 in reserve. During September, a few small but serviceable units arrived, such as the Scottish Horse (about 3000 men unmounted) under their commandant, the Marquis of Tullibardine; the 1st and 2nd Regiments of “Lovat’s Scouts,” under Lord Lovat, between whose force and Lord Tullibardine’s a rivalry as of old Highland clans persists; a brigade of East and West Kent and Sussex Yeomanry (Brigadier-General Clifton-Browne); a South-Western Mounted Brigade of North Devons, Royal 1st Devons, and West Somersets; and the 1st Newfoundlanders’ Battalion (Colonel Burton) attached to the 29th Division. These units, together with drafts, brought the forces upon the Peninsula up to about half their nominal strength at the end of September. In the beginning of that month, two brigades of the 10th Division’s artillery also arrived at last. The 55th was stationed at Helles, the 56th at Suvla.216 But even so, on September 10, there were only 60 guns at Suvla in place of the full complement of 340.

None the less, in spite of inactivity, sickness, and the discouragement of decreasing strength, the Divisions continued to improve. The improvement was most marked in the 53rd Division (now under Major-General Marshall), the 54th (still under Major-General Inglefield), and the 11th (now under Major-General E. A. Fanshawe). The 13th Division, which had done so well at Anzac under Major-General Shaw, was sure only to increase its reputation under so fine and ardent a commandant as Major-General Stanley Maude. Finally, there was Major-General Sir Julian Byng, who arrived from his cavalry command in France together with Generals Maude and Fanshawe on August 23. He took over the command of the IXth Corps at Suvla from Major-General De Lisle, who returned to his 29th Division, which was retained at Suvla, except that the brigades went separately to the rest camp on Imbros.

Every one expected the order for fresh advance so soon as the new Generals had thoroughly re-established confidence and the IXth Corps Staff had recovered a more sanguine temper. As is usual in times of inaction, rumours flew. The French, it was stated, were sending out new Divisions under General Sarrail. Another landing was to be made on the Asiatic coast, perhaps at Kum Kali, perhaps at Smyrna, more likely at Adramyti Bay, a scheme much favoured by authorities in Mitylene. Another very persistent rumour was for sending the fleet up the Dardanelles again, and hope rose high in the Navy, tired and irritated at their effective but subsidiary service to the military force. Meantime, the actual fighting was limited to the stationary trench warfare of bombing, casual bombardments, and local assault or defence on either side. It gradually became evident that the fate of the expedition depended no longer upon itself, but upon events and speculations far removed from the scene.217

On the Western Front, the Allied armies were occupied through September in preparing for the combined effort which culminated during the last week of the month in the prolonged battles known by the names of Loos and Champagne. As I before noticed, it was mainly for fear of weakening this effort that British reinforcements were refused to Sir Ian, and that the scheme of advancing on the Asiatic side of the Straits with new French Divisions was abandoned, if ever seriously intended by the High Command in France. The efforts so carefully prepared and gallantly carried out succeeded in gaining valuable positions for future advance, but were not sufficiently successful to break through the German line or to diminish the increasing peril of Near Eastern complications. It would be difficult to compute the exact proportion of the men and explosives thus expended without definite result in France which might have effected a decisive and permanent victory in the Dardanelles; but the proportion would not have been high, and how beneficent the issue for the world’s history! Successive disasters upon the Russian Front continued to encourage the military parties in the Balkan States which trusted to German victory for the furtherance of their national aggrandisement. In August the Russian armies were driven from Warsaw, Kovno, and Brest-Litovsk; in September from Grodno and Vilna. Although their skilful retirement won military praise, and although the exhausted German forces were unable to break the lines beyond their points of advance, or even to occupy Riga, it was evident that from Russia neither danger to her enemies nor assistance to her friends could be expected, even though her unmilitary and vacillating Autocrat assumed command. The encouraging effect of such events as the fall of Warsaw upon the Turkish moral was distinctly marked.

In the Balkan Peninsula, fate was supposed still to hang upon the decision of Bulgaria—a decision secretly taken two months before (July 17), although Ferdinand, with lachrymose solicitude, continued to profess the neutrality of a fox between two packs of hounds. From the first, both belligerents had rightly calculated that, in spite of the strong national sympathy with England and Russia inherited by the Bulgarian people, their Tsar, if not their representative Government, could be won by the highest bidder for alliance, and each side attempted to outbid the other with profuse offers of other people’s territory. But when, in mid-September, England and her Allies proposed the cession of Serbian territory at Monastir (a mainly Bulgarian district), Doiran and Ghevgheli (mainly Turkish in race), and part of the Dobrudja, then occupied by Roumania, they had been forestalled by more tempting promises from Turkey and the Central Powers. To the force of such temptation was added the animosity rankling in all Bulgarian hearts against the neighbouring states which two years before (August 1913), by the Treaty of Bucharest, had torn from their country the reward of her decisive victories over the Turk in 1912. Especially against Serbia was this animosity directed, and one might have supposed that even a slight acquaintance with the Balkan States would have warned the Allied Governments of Serbia’s extreme and imminent peril. Yet up to September 20 they continued to hope.

On that day, M. Radoslavoff announced that Bulgaria had signed a treaty with Turkey, but would maintain an armed neutrality for the protection of her frontiers. No one, except perhaps the British Government, was deceived as to the real intention. On September 19 a large German-Austrian army under Field-Marshal von Mackensen had renewed the attack upon Serbia’s capital, and Bulgaria after mobilising her 350,000 rifles could strike at Serbia’s exposed eastern flank almost without opposition from the exhausted Serbian army. Serbia’s one poor chance was to attack her hereditary enemy at once, before the Germans had crossed the rivers in the north. But from this course England discouraged her, and, with unfounded confidence, she awaited the assistance due from Greece according to her treaty of 1913. But Greece, always so justly apprehensive of warlike risks, was presented with a passable means of escape by her own warrior King, that “Bulgar-slayer” and “Napoleon of the East,” whose titles belied his earlier reputation as a leader of panic-stricken flight at Larissa in April 1897.

As a result of the Greek elections in June, when his supporters were returned to power by a two-thirds majority, Venizelos had resumed the Premiership in the middle of August. Clearly perceiving the enemy’s intention of overwhelming the relics of the Serbian forces by armies converging from the north and east, he imagined that Greece was bound by honour and treaty to hasten to her ally’s protection. Greece could nominally mobilise eighteen Divisions, but their fighting strength was probably not over 200,000, for the most part ill-equipped, ill-instructed, and averse from war. Of the Serbian army probably little over 100,000 organised and disciplined troops was left after the struggles of a year. The German-Austrian invaders were estimated at 200,000; the Bulgarians at 300,000, or perhaps not more than 250,000, since the Roumanian frontier needed watching. Attacked on two fronts, Serbia’s strategic position, in any case perilous, became desperate with such inferior numbers. In his zeal for the Serbian alliance, which he recognised as the ultimate defence of Greece herself, Venizelos called upon the Entente to furnish 150,000 men (September 21), and two days later induced King Constantine to mobilise.

On September 28 Sir Edward Grey spoke in the House of Commons, the most significant part of his speech being the sentence:

Our friends in the Balkans can only have been Serbia and Greece. The support most welcome to them was men, but arms, money, and equipment were welcome. To provide the men, Lord Kitchener asked Sir Ian if he could spare two British Divisions and one French for Salonika. Sir Ian replied by offering the 53rd (Welsh) and the 10th (Irish) Divisions. The French offered their 2nd Division on the Peninsula (156), and the veteran General Bailloud, anxious for fresh fields of youthful ambition, claimed command.

The 10th Division—perhaps the pick of the New Army troops on the Peninsula—being ordered to sail at once, embarked on September 30, and, though passing by way of Mudros, was able to land its first detachments at Salonika on October 5, finding two French Divisions already there.219 General Bailloud’s Division, leaving on October 3, began to reach the rendezvous on the same day. There the whole force soon came under the command of General Sarrail, who arrived on October 12, and it was shortly afterwards augmented by other French and British Divisions, two of which were believed to have left England as reinforcements for Sir Ian, but to have been diverted to the new scene of action upon their way.220

So far as the immediate protection of Serbia was concerned, the Allied force thus hurried over from Gallipoli—not more than 15,000 men221—was almost an absurdity, though its arrival caused futile rejoicing among the Serbian people. Its only possible service was to inspire some sort of confidence in a Greek army hastening to save the ally of Greece from destruction. But the Greek army did not hasten. On September 28 (the day of Sir Edward Grey’s speech) Venizelos announced the necessity of mobilisation. On October 3 Russia issued an ultimatum to Bulgaria warning her to break off relations with the Central Powers and dismiss their officers from Sofia. Two days later, the Entente withdrew their representatives, and Bulgaria entered the war as an ally of Germany, though England did not actually declare war upon her till October 15. But on the very day upon which Bulgaria’s intentions were declared, an unexpected blow, which might have been expected, fell. King Constantine informed Venizelos that he did not support the policy of intervention. “I do not wish to assist Serbia,” he said, “because Germany will be victorious, and I do not wish to be defeated.” After pleading the cause of honour and probable advantage, not for the first time in vain, Venizelos resigned, and M. Zaimis, a peaceful banker, formed a Government based on a neutrality of “complete and sincere benevolence” toward the Western Allies.222

It was in vain that on October 7 England again offered to cede Cyprus to Greece as a tempting inducement to fulfil the claims of honour. The King could only repeat his sentiment of “complete and sincere benevolence,” while, as for honour, he maintained a benevolent correspondence, at least equally complete and sincere, with the Court and General Staff in Berlin. He further soothed the conscientious scruples of his people—a task well within the limits of his capacity—by pointing out that the treaty with Serbia did indeed bind them to resist an attack upon her by Bulgaria, but not an invasion supported by other Powers. Once again the people of Greece had cause to congratulate themselves upon possessing a monarch resolute enough to resist the popular will, and adroit enough to interpret the code of honour in accordance with their interests and their conscience. It was true that the most complete and sincere benevolence, as practised by the Greek officers and officials at Salonika, was designed to hinder rather than assist the small and war-worn body of Allies now landing there. So far as saving Serbia went, their landing had now become a belated and unserviceable chivalry. But a King’s function is to further the interests of his own people, and Greeks might fairly hope to derive material advantage from the presence of a lavishly expensive foreign army in their port; and they derived it.223

As any one with some knowledge of Macedonia, Drama, and the Bulgarian frontier might have anticipated, the objects of the Salonika adventure were frustrated from the outset. Serbia was not saved; Bulgaria was not penetrated; the enemy’s communication with Sofia and Constantinople was not threatened. Salonika certainly was rescued from Austrian or Bulgarian occupation; the enemy was thwarted of its possible use as a submarine base (a dubious possibility, as many naval authorities thought); the Entente retained some hold, however small, upon the Balkan Peninsula, and could treat their position as a fulcrum for levering the Greek monarch from his throne. Those were the only advantages, and one may estimate them as considerable. But upon the far grander strategic conception of the Dardanelles, the Salonika project fell like a headsman’s blow. Little life was left beyond the subsiding spasms of a decapitated man. Balked of reinforcement, deprived of half the French contingent and one among his finest new Divisions, Sir Ian called up all his reserve of indomitable hopefulness—a General’s finest quality—for the support of himself and the army that still remained, however diminished. But the powers of darkness gathered round. In front lay the Turks, soon to be supplied with more German officers, more heavy guns, high explosives, and food. Close around him, and at the centre in London, unexpected figures could be discerned moving in obscurity, whispering despair, and suggesting disaster with the malign satisfaction of prophets whose gloomy forebodings fulfil their prognostications. It became evident that a General’s essential supports—the confidence and zealous co-operation of his own Government, never very enthusiastic in Sir Ian’s case—were melting away faster even than his army.

The Turks, on their side, evidently knew that the Irish and French Divisions were going and had gone; for the morning after the departure of the last detachments their aeroplanes dropped messages over the Indian encampments telling the Indians that they were being abandoned only to have their throats cut on the Peninsula. Otherwise, except for occasional air-raids to drop bombs upon the General Headquarters at Imbros, the impenetrable Turks remained quiescent, perhaps already calculating that the Peninsula would be relieved of invaders without their stir, or perhaps merely awaiting the supply of big guns and ammunition, soon to be so easily transmitted by way of Nish and Sofia. Their very silence was ominous; but more ominous still, for the moment, seemed a violent southerly gale which on the night of October 8–9 swept away the two landing-piers at Anzac, sank the valuable water-lighters there, and drove three of the motor-“beetles” ashore at Suvla. Happily, the Australians had recently constructed a new pier in the bay north of Ari Burnu, sheltered from the south wind by that small promontory. There supplies could be landed in any weather both for Suvla and Anzac, but the storm presaged evil for the approaching winter.

Two days later (on October 11) Lord Kitchener telegraphed asking Sir Ian for an estimate of the losses which would be involved in an evacuation of the Peninsula. After consultation with Major-General Braithwaite, his Chief of Staff, and other members of the Staff, Sir Ian replied that the probable loss was estimated at 50 per cent. No estimate could be anything but a guess. All depended upon incalculable weather and incalculable Turks. Earlier in the campaign, General Gouraud had estimated a loss of two Divisions out of six in case of evacuation at Helles. In any case, Sir Ian replied on October 12 in terms showing that such a step as evacuation was to him unthinkable.224 Apart from losses, evacuation would release an army of the best Turkish troops for renewed attack in Mesopotamia or Egypt, to say nothing of the Caucasus and Persia. The risk to our position throughout Asia, dependent as it was upon prestige rather than power, had in such a case also to be gravely considered.

On October 16 Lord Kitchener again telegraphed, saying that the War Council wished to make a change in the command. As he afterwards informed Sir Ian, “the Government desired a fresh, unbiased opinion, from a responsible Commander, upon the question of early evacuation.”225 To supply this fresh, unbiased opinion they had appointed General Sir Charles Monro, with Major-General Lynden-Bell as his Chief of Staff. Until their arrival, General Birdwood was to assume command on the Peninsula.

During the morning of the 17th General Brulard, who had succeeded General Bailloud in command of the French contingent, came over to Imbros with his Staff to say good-bye. Generals Davies and Byng, with the Staffs of the VIIIth and IXth Corps, followed. To say good-bye to his own Staff, Sir Ian rode to the new Headquarters at the entrance of the main valley across the bay, whither he was himself to have removed that very afternoon. To the army he issued the following special order as farewell:

On the Triad he said good-bye to Admiral de Robeck, and to Commodore Roger Keyes, the Admiral’s Chief of Staff. He then embarked on the cruiser Chatham. As she passed down Kephalos Bay, each of the war vessels manned ship in salute. Cape Kephalos was rounded; Suvla, Anzac, and the Helles of the landings were seen by their Commander-in-Chief for the last time, and the Peninsula, which had been the dramatic stage of such high hopes, noble achievement, and bitter frustration, faded in the distance, as the living events there enacted were already fading into a story of the past.