Brigade at Imbros and the remaining Infantry Brigade at
Alexandria to be ready to start at 12 hours' notice whenever I telegraph
for it. Besides all the reasons given above, no troops in existence can
continue fighting night and day without respite."

Three weeks have passed now since I asked for two British Corps or for
Allies and still no reply or notice of any sort except that message of
the 3rd instant expressing doubts as to whether any good purpose will be
served by sending us help "at once." Well; there hasn't been much "at
once" about it but I have not played the Sybilline book trick or doubled
my demand with each delay as I ought perhaps to have done. Now I think
we are bound to hear something but I can't make out what has come over
K. of K. In the old days his prime force lay in his faculty of focusing
every iota of his energy upon the pivotal project, regardless (so it
used to appear) of the other planks of the platform. A "side show" to
him meant the non-vital part of the business, _at that moment_: it was
not a question of troops or of ranks of Generals. For the time being the
interests of an enterprise of five thousand would obliterate those of
fifty. No man ever went the whole hog better. He would turn the whole
current of his energy to help the man of the hour. The rest were bled
white to help him. If they howled they found that K. and his Staff were
deaf, and for the same reason, as the crew of Ulysses to the Sirens.
Several times in South Africa K., so doing, carried the Imperial
Standard to victory through a series of hair's breadth escapes. But
to-day, though he sees, the power of believing in his own vision and of
hanging on to it like a bulldog, seems paralysed. He hesitates. Ten
short years ago, if K.'s heart had been set on Constantinople, why, to
Constantinople he would have gone. Paris might have screamed; he would
not have swerved a hair's breadth till he had gripped the Golden Horn.

_7th June, 1915. Imbros._ Left camp early and went to Cape Helles on a
destroyer. On our little sandbag pier, built by Egyptians and Turkish
prisoners, I met General Wallace and his A.D.C. (a son of Walter
Long's). Wallace has come here to take up his duty as Inspector-General
of Communications. About ten days ago he was forced upon us. He is
reputed a good executive Brigadier of the Indian Army, but we want him,
not to train Sepoys but to create one of the biggest organizing and
administrative jobs in the world