July 22nd.
We were to start last night, but owing to submarine scare we have not yet sailed.
5 p.m.
The hospital ship Sudan has just come in, and the hospital train, ambulance-lorries, and motor-cars are drawn up waiting the wounded. I have been on board and have spoken to one of the wounded officers, who tells me that there have been two battles since I left, and that we have made further advance, in the centre of our line, therefore straightening it a little, but have lost very heavily. Also he told me that the 29th Division are leaving Gallipoli, and that one Brigade is at Lemnos or Tenedos.
6.30 p.m.
We sail, the Gurkhas and Sikhs giving their respective war-cries, something like that of the Maoris which the New Zealanders sing.
Two other boats leave at the same time, the Alaunia having 6,000 troops on board. We all steer different courses on account of submarines.
9.30 p.m.
The last post sounds, played excellently by a Gurkha, and I turn in, sleeping on deck on account of the heat. They are neat little men, these Gurkhas, something like the Japanese, dressed in wide hats, shirts overhanging the short breech, putties and black bandoliers; bayonets in black cases, and their native weapon, the kukri, in a black case.
Curiously enough, they are not British subjects at all. They are natives of Nepal, governed by the Maharajah of Nepal, and he is quite independent, except for having to pay a salt tax to China. I believe, though, that this payment has now stopped, or is about to stop. The Maharajah lends his male subjects who enlist to the British Government, and they train them as soldiers, in return having them to fight our battles when necessary.