ts out that the implied comparison
with France is fallacious. We are undergunned here as compared with
France in the proportion of 1 to 3. I mean to say that, in proportion to
"bayonets" we have rather less than one third of the "guns."
_Therefore_, if we were really to have munitions on the scale
"considered necessary by General Joffre and Sir John French," we ought
to have three times 17 rounds per day per gun; i.e. 51 rounds per day
per gun. But never mind. _If we do get_ the 17 rounds we shall be
infinitely better off than we have been: "and so say all of us!" Putting
this cable together with yesterday's we all of us feel that the home
folk are beginning to yawn and rub their eyes and that ere long they may
really be awake.

_4th June, 1915. Imbros._ Left camp after breakfast and boarded the
redoubtable _Wolverine_ under that desperado Lieutenant-Commander Keyes.
The General Staff came alongside and we made our way to Cape Helles
through a blinding dust storm--at least, the dust came right out to sea,
but it was on shore that it became literally blinding.

On the pier I met Gouraud who walked up with me. Gouraud was very grave
but confident. My post of command had been "dug out" for me well forward
on the left flank by Hunter-Weston. In that hole two enormous tarantulas
and I passed a day that seems to me ten years. The torture of suspense;
the extremes of exaltation and of depression; the Red Indian necessity
of showing no sign: all this varied only by the vicious scream of shell
sailing some 30 feet over our heads on their way towards the 60 pounders
near the point. A Commander feels desperately lonely at such moments. On
him, and on him alone, falls the crushing onus of responsibility: to be
a Corps Commander is child's play in _that_ comparison. The Staff are
gnawed with anxiety too--are saying their prayers as fast as they can,
no doubt, as they follow the ebb and flow of the long khaki line through
their glasses. Yes, I have done that myself in the old days from
Charasia onwards. Yet how faintly is my anguish reflected in the mere
anxiety of their minds.

Chapters could be written about this furious battle fought in a
whirlwind of dust and smoke; some day I hope somebody may write them.
After the first short spell of shelling our men fixed bayonets and
lifted them high above the parapet. The Turks thinking we were going to
make the assault, rushed troops into their trenches, until then lightly
held. No soon