Gallipoli Diary. Ian Hamilton
said they had abandoned the idea of forcing the passage by naval operations alone.
They have done so. The fat (that is us) is fairly in the fire.
No doubt we had our views. Birdie and my own Staff disliked the idea of chancing mines with million pound ships. The hesitants who always make hay in foul weather had been extra active since the sinking of the three men-of-war. Suppose the Fleet could get through with the loss of another battleship or two—how the devil would our troopships be able to follow? And the store ships? And the colliers?
This had made me turn contrary. During the battle I had cabled that the chances of the Navy pushing through on their own were hardly fair fighting chances, but, since then, de Robeck, the man who should know, had said twice that he did think there was a fair fighting chance. Had he stuck to that opinion at the conference, then I was ready, as a soldier, to make light of military croaks about troopships. Constantinople must surrender, revolt or scuttle within a very few hours of our battleships entering the Marmora. Memories of one or two obsolete six inchers at Ladysmith helped me to feel as Constantinople would feel when her rail and sea communications were cut and a rain of shell fell upon the penned-in populace from de Robeck's terrific batteries. Given a good wind that nest of iniquity would go up like Sodom and Gomorrah in a winding sheet of flame.
But once the Admiral said his battleships could not fight through without help, there was no foothold left for the views of a landsman.
So there was no discussion. At once we turned our faces to the land scheme. Very sketchy; how could it be otherwise? On the German system plans for a landing on Gallipoli would have been in my pocket, up-to-date and worked out to a ball cartridge and a pail of water. By the British system (?) I have been obliged to concoct my own plans in a brace of shakes almost under fire. Strategically and tactically our method may have its merits, for though it piles everything on to one man, the Commander, yet he is the chap who has got to see it through. But, in matters of supply, transport, organisation and administration our way is the way of Colney Hatch.
Here am I still minus my Adjutant-General; my Quartermaster-General and my Medical Chief, charged with settling the basic question of whether the Army should push off from Lemnos or from Alexandria. Nothing in the world to guide me beyond my own experience and that of my Chief of the General Staff, whose sphere of work and experience lies quite outside these administrative matters. I can see that Lemnos is practically impossible; I fix on Alexandria in the light of Braithwaite's advice and my own hasty study of the map. Almost incredible really, we should have to decide so tremendous an administrative problem off the reel and without any Administrative Staff. But time presses, the responsibility cannot be shirked, and so I have cabled K. that Lemnos must be a wash-out and that I am sending my troops to get ship-shape at Alexandria although, thereby, I upset every previous arrangement. Then I have had to cable for Engineers, trench mortars, bombs, hand grenades, periscopes. Then again, seeing things are going less swimmingly than K. had thought they would, I have had to harden my heart against his horror of being asked for more men and have decided to cable for leave to bring over from Egypt a Brigade of Gurkhas to complete Birdwood's New Zealand Division. Last, and worst, I have had to risk the fury of the Q.M.G. to the Forces by telling the War Office that their transports are so loaded (water carts in one ship; water cart horses in another; guns in one ship; limbers in another; entrenching tools anyhow) that they must be emptied and reloaded before we can land under fire.
These points were touched upon at the Conference. I told them too that my Intelligence folk fix the numbers of the enemy now at the Dardanelles as 40,000 on the Gallipoli Peninsula with a reserve of 30,000 behind Bulair: on the Asiatic side of the Straits there are at least a Division, but there may be several Divisions. The Admiral's information tallies and, so Birdie says, does that of the Army in Egypt. The War Office notion that the guns of the Fleet can sweep the enemy off the tongue of the Peninsula from Achi Baba Southwards is moonshine. My trump card turns out to be the Joker; best of all cards only it don't happen to be included in this particular pack!
As ideas for getting round this prickly problem were passing through my mind, two suggestions for dealing with it were put forward. The sailors say some lighters were being built, and probably by now are built, for the purpose of a landing in the North: they would carry five hundred men; had bullet-proof bulwarks and are to work under their own gas engines. If I can possibly get a petition for these through to Winston we would very likely be lent some and with their aid the landing under fire will be child's play to what it will be otherwise. But the cable must get to Winston: if it falls into the hands of Fisher it fails, as the sailors tell me he is obsessed by the other old plan and grudges us every rope's end or ha'porth of tar that finds its way out here.
Rotten luck to have cut myself off from wiring to Winston: still I see no way out of it: with K. jealous as a tiger—what can I do? Also, although the sailors want me to pull this particular chestnut out of the fire, it is just as well they should know I am not going to speak to their Boss even under the most tempting circs.: but they won't cable themselves: frightened of Fisher: so I then and there drafted this to K. from myself—
"Our first step of landing under fire will be the most critical as well as the most vital of the whole operations. If the Admiralty will improvise and send us out post haste 20 to 30 large lighters difficulty and duration of this phase will be cut down to at least one half. The lighters should each be capable of conveying 400 to 500 men or 30 to 40 horses. They should be protected by bullet-proof armour."
Everyone agreed but Birdwood pointed out that, by sending this message, we implied in so many words, that we would not land until the lighters came out from England. He assumed that we had definitely turned down any plan of scrambling ashore forthwith, as best we could? I said, "Yes," and that the Navy were with me in that view, a statement confirmed by de Robeck and Wemyss who nodded their heads. Birdwood said he only wanted to be quite clear about it, and there the matter dropped.
Actually I had thought a lot about that possibility. To a man of my temperament there was every temptation to have a go in and revenge the loss of the battleships forthwith. We might sup to-morrow night on Achi Baba. With luck we really might. Had I been here for ten days instead of five, and had I had any time to draft out any sort of scheme, I might have had a dart. But the operation of landing in face of an enemy is the most complicated and difficult in war. Under existing conditions the whole attempt would be partial, décousu, happy-go-lucky to the last degree. There are no small craft to speak of. There is no provision for carrying water. There is no information at all about springs or wells ashore. There is no arrangement for getting off the wounded and my Principal Medical Officer and his Staff won't be here for a fortnight. My orders against piecemeal occupation are specific. But the 29th Division is our pièce de résistance and it won't be here, we reckon—not complete—for another three weeks.
All the same, I might chance it, for, by taking all these off chances we might pull off the main chance of stealing a march upon the Turks. What puts me off is not the chances of war but the certainties of commonsense. If I did so handle my troops on the spot as to sup on Achi Baba to-morrow night, I still could not counter the inevitable reaction of numbers, time and space. The Turks would have at least a fortnight to concentrate their whole force against my half force; to defeat them and then to defy the other half.
I must wait for the 29th Division. By the time they come I can get things straight for a smashing simultaneous blow and I am resolved that, so far as in me lies, the orders and preparations will then be so thoroughly worked out—so carefully rehearsed as to give every chance to my men.[6]
If the 29th Division were here—or near at hand—I could balance shortage against the obvious evils of giving the Turks time to reinforce and to dig. Could I hope for the 29th Division within a week it might be worth my while to fly in the face of K. by grasping the Peninsula firmly by her toe: or—had my staff and self been here ten days ago, we could have already got well forward with our plans and orders, as well as with the laying of our hands upon the thousand odds and ends demanded by the invasion of a barren, trackless extremity of an Empire—odds and ends never thought of by anyone until the spur of reality brought them galloping to the front. Then the moment the Fleet cried off, we might have had a dash in, right away, with what we have here. The onslaught could have been supported