Gallipoli Diary. Ian Hamilton
REVIEW OF FRENCH TROOPS AT ALEXANDRIA
General d'Amade is saying: "We swear that these colours—red, white and blue—shall be defended to the death. We swear looking at this red earth, this white city, and this blue sea, and in the presence of our commander, General.
Coming on to the ground, the French trumpeters blew a lively fanfare which was followed by a roll of drums. Never was so picturesque a parade, the verdict of one who can let his mind rove back through the military pageants of India, Russia, Japan, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, China, Canada, U.S.A., Australia, and New Zealand. Yes, Alexandria has seen some pretty shows in its time; Cleopatra had an eye to effect and so, too, had the great Napoleon. But I doubt whether the townsfolk have ever seen anything to equal the coup d'oeil engineered by d'Amade. Under an Eastern sun the colours of the French uniforms, gaudy in themselves, ran riot, and the troops had surely been posted by one who was an artist in more than soldiering. Where the yellow sand was broken by a number of small conical knolls with here and there a group, and here and there a line, of waving palms, there, on the knolls, were clustered the Mountain Batteries and the Batteries of Mitrailleuses. The Horse, Foot and Guns were drawn up, Infantry in front, Cavalry in rear, and the Field Artillery—the famous 75s—at right angles.
Infantry of the Line in grey; Zouaves in blue and red; Senegalese wore dark blue and the Foreign Legion blue-grey. The Cavalry rode Arabs and barbs mostly white stallions; they wore pale blue tunics and bright scarlet breeches.
I rode down the lines of Infantry first and then galloped through the heavy sand to the right of the Cavalry and inspected them, by d'Amade's request, at a trot, winding up with the six Batteries of Artillery. On reaching the Saluting Base, I was introduced to the French Minister whilst d'Amade presented colours to two Regiments (175th Régiment de marche d'Afrique and the 4th Colonial Regiment) making a short and eloquent speech.
He then took command of the parade and marched past me at the head of his forces. Were all the Houris of Paradise waving lily hands on the one side, and were these French soldiers on the other side, I would give my cold shoulder to the Houris.
The Cavalry swung along at the trot to the cadence of the trumpets and to the clink-clank and glitter of steel. The beautiful, high-stepping barbs; the trembling of the earth beneath their hoofs; the banner streaming; the swordsmen of France sweeping past the saluting base; breaking into the gallop; sounding the charge; charging; ventre à terre; out into the desert where, in an instant, they were snatched from our sight and changed into a pillar of dust!
High, high soared our hopes. Jerusalem—Constantinople? No limit to what these soldiers may achieve. The thought passed through the massed spectators and set enthusiasm coursing through their veins. Loudly they cheered; hats off; and hurrah for the Infantry! Hurrah, hurrah for the Cavalry!! Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah for the 75s!!!
At the end I said a few farewell words to the French Minister and then galloped off with d'Amade. The bystanders gave us, too, the warmest greetings, the bulk of them (French and Greek) calling out "d'Amade!" and the Britishers also shouting all sorts of things at the pitch of their voices.
Almost lost my temper with Woodward, my new A.G., and this was the thusness thereof—
Time presses: K. prods us from the rear: the Admiral from the front. To their eyes we seem to be dallying amidst the fleshpots of Egypt whereas, really, we are struggling like drowning mariners in a sea of chaos; chaos in the offices; chaos on the ships; chaos in the camps; chaos along the wharves; chaos half seas over rolling down the Seven Sisters Road. The powers of Maxwell as C.-in-C., Egypt; of the Sultan and McMahon, High Commissioner of Egypt, and of myself, C.-in-C., M.E.F., not to speak of the powers of our police civil and military, have all to be defined and wheeled into line. We cannot go rushing off into space leaving Pandemonium behind us as our Base! I know these things from a very long experience. Braithwaite believes in the principle as a student and ex-teacher of students. And yet that call to the front!
We've got to tackle the landing scheme on the spot and quick. Luckily the problems at Alexandria are all non-tactical; pure A.G. and Q.M.G. Staff questions; whereas, at present, the problems awaiting me at the Dardanelles are mainly tactical; G.S. questions. So I am going to treat G.H.Q. as Solomon threatened to treat the baby; i.e., leave the Administrative Staff here until they knock their pidgin more or less into shape and send off the G.S. to pluck their pidgin at the Straits. The Q. people have still to commandeer offices for Woodward's men, three quarters of whom stay here permanently to do the casualty work; they have to formulate a local code of discipline; take up buildings for base hospitals and arrange for their personnel and equipment; outline their schemes for getting sick and wounded back from the front; finish up the loading of the ships, etc., etc., etc., ad infinitum. Whilst the Q. Staff are thus pulling their full weight, the G. Staff will sail off quickly and put their heads together with the Admiral and his Staff. As to myself, I'm off: I cannot afford to lose more time in getting into touch with the sailors, and the scene of action.
All was well until the Commander-in-Chief said he was going, but that moment arose the good old trouble—the trouble which muddled our start for the Relief of Chitral and ruined the Tirah Campaign. Everyone wants to rush off to the excitement of the firing line—(a spasm usually cured by the first hard fight), and to leave the hum-drum business of the Base and Line of Communication to shift for itself. Braithwaite, of all people, was good natured enough to plead for the Administration. He came to tell me that it might tend towards goodwill amongst the charmed circle of G.H.Q. if even now, at the eleventh hour, I would sweeten Woodward by bringing him along. I said, yes, if he, Braithwaite, would stand surety that he, Woodward, had fixed up his base hospitals and third echelon, but if not, no! Next came Woodward himself. With great pertinacity he represented that his subordinates could do all that had to be done at the base. He says he speaks for the Q.M.G., as well as for the Director General of Medical Services, and that they all want to accompany me on my reconnaissance of the coasts of the Peninsula. I was a little sharp with him. These heads of Departments think they must be sitting in the C.-in-C.'s pocket lest they lose caste. But I say the Departments must be where their work lies, or else the C.-in-C. will lose caste, and luckily he can still put his own Staff where he will. Finally, I agreed to take with me the Assistant to the Director of Medical Services to advise his own Chief as to the local bearings of his scheme for clearing out the sick and wounded; the others stay here until they get their several shows into working order, and with that my A.G. had fain to be content.
D'Amade and two or three Frenchmen are dining with me to-night. Sir John Maxwell has just arrived.
6th April, 1915. Alexandria. Started out at 9.15 with d'Amade and Sir John to review the Mounted troops of the 29th Division. We first saw them march down the road in column of route. What a contrast between these solid looking men on their magnificent weight-carrying horses and our wiry little Allies on their barbs and Arabs. The R.H.A. were superb.
After seeing the troops I motored to Mex Camp and inspected the 86th and 87th Infantry Brigades. There was a strong wind blowing which tried to spoil the show, but could not—that Infantry was too superb! Alexander, Hannibal, Caesar, Napoleon; not one of them had the handling of legionaries like these. The Fusilier Brigade were the heavier. If we don't win, I won't be able to put it on the men.
Maxwell left at 4 p.m. for Cairo. I have pressed him hard about Cox's Indian Brigade and told him of my conversation with Cox himself and of how keen all ranks of the Brigade are to come. No use. He expects, so he says, a big attack on the Canal any moment; he has heard nothing from K.; the fact that K. has ignored my direct appeal to him shows he would not approve, etc., etc., etc. All this is just the line I myself would probably take—I admit it—if asked by another General to part with my troops. The arrangement whereby I have to sponge on Maxwell for men if I want them is a detestable arrangement. At the last he consented to cable K. direct on the point himself and then he is to let me know. Two things are quite certain; the Brigade are not wanted in Egypt. Old campaigners versed in Egyptian war lore tell me that the drying up of the wells must put the lid on to any move across the desert until the winter rains, and, apart from this, how in the name of the beard of their own false prophet can the Turks attack Egypt whilst we are at the gates of Constantinople?