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?
But if the Brigade are not wanted on the Canal, we are bound to be the better for them at the Dardanelles, whatever course matters there may take. Concentration is the cue! The German or Japanese General Staffs would tumble to these truths and act upon them presto. K. sees them too, but nothing can overcome his passion for playing off one Commander against another, whereby K. of K. keeps all reins in his hands and remains sole arbiter between them.
Birdwood has just turned up. We're off to-morrow evening.
'Phoned Maxwell last thing telling him to be sure not to forget to jog K.'s elbow about Cox and his Gurkhas.
7th April, 1915. S.S. "Arcadian." 10 p.m. D'Amade looked in to say good-bye.
On my way down to the harbour I overhauled the Assyrian Jewish Refugee Mule Corps at the Wardian Camp. Their Commander, author of that thrilling shocker, "The Man-killers of Tsavo," finds Assyrians and mules rather a mouthful and is going to tabloid bipeds and quadrupeds into "The Zion Corps." The mules look very fit; so do the Assyrians and, although I did not notice that their cohorts were gleaming with purple or gold, they may help us to those habiliments: they may, in fact, serve as ground bait to entice the big Jew journalists and bankers towards our cause; the former will lend us the colour, the latter the coin. Anyway, so far as I can, I mean to give the chosen people a chance.
Got aboard at 5.15, but owing to some hitch in the arrangements for filling up our tanks with fresh water, we are held up and won't get off until to-morrow morning.
If there drops a gnat into the ointment of the General, be sure there are ten thousand flies stinking the ointment of the troops.
8th April, 1915. S.S. "Arcadian." Sailing free to the Northwards. A fine day and a smooth sea. What would not Richard Cœur de Lion or Napoleon have given for the Arcadian to take them to St. Jean d'Acre and Jerusalem?
As we were clearing harbour a letter was brought out to us by a launch: