e pride they took in their achievements was a sublime
triumph of mind over matter. Our voluntary service regulars are the last
descendants of those rulers of the ancient world, the Roman
Legionaries. Oh that their ranks could be kept filled and that a mould
so unique was being used to its fullest in forming new regulars.

On my way back to the beach I saw the Plymouth Battalion as it marched
in from the front line. They were quite different excepting only in the
fact that they also had done marvels of fighting and endurance. They
were done: they had come to the end of their tether. Not only physical
exhaustion but moral exhaustion. They could not raise a smile in the
whole battalion. The faces of Officers and men had a crushed, utterly
finished expression: some of the younger Officers especially had that
true funeral set about their lips which spreads the contagion of gloom
through the hearts of the bravest soldiers. As each company front formed
the knees of the rank and file seemed to give way. Down they fell and
motionless remained. An hour or two of rest, their Colonel says, will
make all the difference in what the French call their _allure_, but not
quite so soon I think. These are the New Armies. They are not
specialised types like the Old Army. They have nerves, the defects of
their good qualities. They are more susceptible to the horrors and
discomforts of what they were never brought up to undergo. The
philosophy of the battlefield is not part of their panoply. No one
fights better than they do--for a spell--and a good long spell too. But
they have not the invincible carelessness or temperamental springiness
of the old lot--and how should they?

In the evening I received General d'Amade who had come over to pay his
farewell visit. He is permitted to let me see his order of recall.
"Important modifications having come about in the general political
situation" his Government have urgent need for his services on a
"military mission." D'Amade is a most charming, chivalrous and loyal
soldier. He has lost his son fighting in France and he has had his
headquarters right down in the middle of his 75's where the infernal din
night and day must indeed murder sleep. He is a delightful person and,
in the combat, too brave. We all wish him luck. For Kum Kale and for
what he has done, suffered and lost he deserves great Kudos in his
country.

By order of the Vice-Admiral this ship is to anchor at Tenedos. My
informal confa