probably be Suvla and not Anzac which must be
given up, though on account of its advantages as indicated above, and on
account of the moral effect of retiring, you may rely on my not
relinquishing it a single day before I am compelled.

"I do not wish to paint a gloomy picture. It is a simple problem of
arithmetic and measurement. On the basis of normal wastage and the
present scale of drafts my total fighting strength by the middle of
December, including the French, will be only, say, 60,000. Of this
force, a certain percentage must of necessity be resting off the
peninsula, and the remainder will only suffice to hold Cape Helles and
the original Anzac line unless, of course, the enemy collapses. Until
now, however, the Turks replace casualties promptly, although frequently
by untrained men. Also our other foe, sickness, may abate, but seeing
how tired are the bulk of my force, I doubt if it would be wise to
reckon on this."

At 11.15, red hot from France, there arrived in camp Byng (to command
the 9th Corps), Maude and Fanshawe (to command Divisions); also Tyrrell
and Byng's A.D.C., Sir B. Brooke, nephew of my old friend, Harry Brooke.
All three Generals remained for lunch and then the two Divisionals made
off respectively to the 11th and 13th Divisions. Byng and Brooke stayed
and dined. These fellows seem pretty cheery. Maude especially full of
ardour which will, I hope, catch on.

_24th August, 1915. Imbros._ Been resolving yesterday's long cable. How
often it happens that a draft letter, if only it is well put, fixes the
mind into its grooves. My words were brighter than Dawnay's but the
backbone was not really me. No one knows better than myself that a great
deal more than arithmetic or measurement will be needed to make me give
ground at Suvla. The truth is, it is infinitely difficult to spur these
high folk on without frightening them; and then, if you frighten them,
you may frighten them too much. That's why cables are no substitutes for
converse.

To a Commander standing in my shoes, the forces of the infidels are not
one half of the battle. The wobblers sit like nightmares on my chest.
"Tell them the plain truth" cries conscience. What is the plain truth?
Where is it? Is it in Dawnay's draft, or is it in my message, or does it
lie stillborn in some cable unwritten? God knows--I don't! But one thing
at least is true:--to steer a course between an optimism that deprives
us of support and a pessimism that ma