depressing dug-out to a comfortable cabin was appreciated by the officers, and a dry and comfortable place to sleep in, instead of trying to sleep in the mud of a fire trench was welcomed by the men.
The usual stay at Port Said after successfully evading the submarines, where the wily Arab fleeces the unsuspecting Tommy, was not without interest. The Padre tells an interesting story about how, when he was returning from home leave to the Regiment in India in 1913, he had his fortune told by one of the many fantastic liars that fatten on the stories they weave in this Eastern cesspool. The Fortune-teller told him that within a year he would be returning to Europe by the same canal. In those piping days of peace he never suspected that it would be with the regiment on Active Service but when almost to the day and within the year, he passed through Port Said on his way to France, this one saying at least of the Fortune-teller was forcibly brought home to his mind.
Egypt in December is delightful, and more than one expressed the wish that for a time at all events they could be stationed in this most wonderful country. The Canal displayed enormous activity, there had been no such activity since the days when it was made. Thousands of Arabs and others toiled and died in making this great work. To-day the Canal is guarded by thousands of troops. Enormous camps have been established at different places, and Posts are in existence all along the waterway. It being so narrow, 3-worded conversations take place between the troops on the banks and the men on the Trooper. 'Who are you?' asked the men on the bank. When the reply is returned, shouts of 'Good Old Scotland' are raised ashore. Some asked, 'Where are you going!' 'Mesop' they say. 'Poor Devils', is the encouraging reply. Then some lonely soul asks if any of his Regiment are on board, and so it goes on all day. Some swim out from the shore and shout and talk, but one is chiefly impressed by the great number of men guarding this important waterway.
SCENES ON THE CREEKS BELOW BASRAH.
G. J. ANDERSON. H. W. BRUCE, CAPT. A. M. GRIEVE, S. F. G. ALEXANDER, D. H. ANDERSON.
C. J. MCCONAGHY.
C. J. MCCONAGHY, CAPT. A. M. GRIEVE, S. F. G. ALEXANDER, H. W. BRUCE.
At Suez a short stay is made. The water is a wonderful opal colour; the great Desert on our left, the barren rocks, sunburnt and bare on our right, help to make a fascinating picture. One remembers the first time one had passed through the Canal, years before in time of peace, and how one had been filled with admiration for the Medical Officer who came out to the Mail Boat to give it a clean bill of health to pass through the Canal, because she was a woman, and standing month after month of Suez summer weather, which proves too much for many men, leave alone women. But the stay is short and so as the Sun sets, making wonderful colouring over the Desert and sea, the journey down the Red Sea is commenced. The Red Sea in December is shorn of its terrors and can be quite enjoyable. Aden is passed, two or three days steaming along the inhospitable coast of Southern Arabia and the entrance of the Persian Gulf is reached. The Straits of Ormuz have the reputation of being one of the hottest places on earth. The rocky, and wild Arabian coast looks very beautiful in the sunshine with its innumerable islands, and the sea is a dead calm. For some hours the shores on our left are visible, then we steam, up along the Persian shore and get a good view of the barren, rocky mountain range running parallel with the coast. Those who have good glasses make out villages on the shore. The Captain is pestered with questions about the date and time of arrival at Basrah. Excitement is being felt again; one wonders what the news will be, and what has happened to General Townshend; and so at last anchor is dropped at the mouth of the Shatt-el-Arab at the head of the Persian Gulf. The two rivers Tigris and Euphrates join at a place called Kurnah, and from there to the sea the river is called 'Shatt-el-Arab.' Everyone is disappointed that there are no signs of land anywhere, and one wonders in which direction land lies. But what a relief it will be to get off the ship, how delightful to stretch one's legs ashore, as in spite of the good food, the sports and the usual joys of a trooper, it is impossible not to feel cramped and so once again everyone was rejoicing that the sea voyage was at an end. The shore is so low-lying that nothing could be seen of it as the transport had to anchor some miles off the mouth of the river. We had to transship to smaller boats to proceed to Basrah, about eighty miles inland. Transshipping is a long and tedious business but at last it is completed and we say farewell with a cheer to our transport, and the smaller boat steams towards the shore. In about half an hour we make out some palm trees and everyone is on the lookout for their first view of Mesopotamia. Slowly we approach the wide mouth of the river, successfully pass over the bar, and the new campaign for us has begun, and it is the last day of the year—31st December 1915.
CHAPTER II.
It takes about seven hours from the mouth of the river to Basrah. The journey up is of interest as none have been here before, and everything is new. Both sides of the river the banks are covered with palm trees, stretching inland for distances varying from 500 yards to three miles, and after that all is desert. We pass Abadan on our right where the pipes of the oil fields belonging to the Anglo-Persian Oil Coy. reach the river from Ahwaz. It has been said that the Mesopotamian Campaign was started in the first place to protect these oil-fields. One wonders now if it would have been advisable to protect them and hold Basrah only, and not push forward further inland. But it is easy to be wise after the event, and high politics, tactics and strategy do not form part of an account of the doings of the 2nd Battalion—so I must not be led astray. The river is very broad and is navigable for hundreds of miles. Mohammerah, the Persian town at the junction of the Shatt-el-Arab and Karun rivers, looked an interesting place. It is; as many months later I was fortunate enough to be able to spend some time there. The Sheikh of Mohammerah has proved a good friend to the British, and almost opposite his palace one can see the remains of the three steamers in the river which the Turks sunk in a vain endeavour to block the passage as they retreated; as good fortune or Providence would have it, one boat in sinking swung round and left the passage open. At Mohammerah is a big Convalescent Hospital for white as well as Indian troops. We noticed some large barrack looking houses on our left, one in particular, 'Beit Naama', attracting attention; but more about that later on as this establishment has now been turned into an hospital for officers. And so at last anchor is dropped off Basrah, as 'Ashar' is usually referred to as 'Basrah' by everyone out of the actual place. Was this the romantic spot from which Sinbad the Sailor started on his wonderful voyages?—was this the spot that so many have imagined must be one of the wonderful places of the East?—when they are thousands of miles away from it. A famous traveller has said, "that its European inhabitants only remain alive during the day through a perception of the humour of their situation, and by night through the agency of the prayers of their despairing relatives." For Basrah has the most malarial air, the most choleraic water, and the most infernal climate of any spot in the world outside 'Tophet.'
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| THE PADRE. | THE QUARTER-MASTER. |