seeing the troops I motored to Mex Camp and inspected the 86th and
87th Infantry Brigades. There was a strong wind blowing which tried to
spoil the show, but could not--that Infantry was too superb! Alexander,
Hannibal, Caesar, Napoleon; not one of them had the handling of
legionaries like these. The Fusilier Brigade were the heavier. If we
don't win, I won't be able to put it on the men.

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