“It was too good to believe, but then orders were passed down, ‘The Thirteenth Hussars will report at once to G.H.Q. at railway station for orders _re_ garrisoning town.’ There was new life in all of us at once; we hadn’t had a sight of Baghdad and didn’t think we were likely to for an age, but the next minute we were hoofing it at a trot along the highroad that had been used for hundreds of centuries, over trenches that the Turks had held the night before, and over dead bodies of both attackers and attacked. But we got into the city. One seething mass of Arabs greeted us; the same scum that the day before would have delivered up any of our wounded to the Turks now brazenly brought out wounded Turks to us that were not able to get away in the rush, dirty devils always ready to join in with the winning side, but always with an eye to scrupper the unfortunate of either if they can catch him unprotected. [Illustration: TURKISH BARRACKS] [Illustration: ARMY COMMANDER’S HOUSE] [Illustration: BRITISH, AMERICAN, AND FRENCH CONSULATES] BAGHDAD “After standing by for an hour or so Jeffrey was told to take two squadrons and one squadron of machine-gunners to protect Kazimain, three miles up to (?) the river. So I found myself in command of ‘D’ Squadron, and here we are in the lap of luxury (Eastern). Kazimain is where all the pilgrims come to the great mosque, and is entirely composed of caravanserai sort of hotel quarters: there are 5000 of these buildings. We are quartered in the biggest, and even the men are able to have a wooden bedstead to lie on each. It is a big square building with a courtyard in the middle, in which we have picketed over 250 horses comfortably. Jeffrey and I and the Intelligence Officer have a large stone-floored room with four bedsteads in it; there are no windows, of course, but you let down great heavy wooden shutters when the sun is too hot. The Sheikh (elder of the town) brought in beautiful carpets and bedding for us, and the women and children in hordes followed us in the street, all making a tinkly sort of yodelling song. They are in terror of the Turks coming in, and sacking the place, and taking their women. We weren’t looking our best by any means: no change of clothes, unshaven, and unwashed for five days, the dust from the storms begrimed into our skins, and our clothes in rags. But to-day we are all happy and clean. The men, who haven’t had a bath or change since January 24th,[51] can now be seen having their boots polished by Arab children, and strutting about like lords; they do so love to have something to order about. You would laugh to see them when we take prisoners: they make them hold their stirrup-irons while they mount their horses, and hand them their coats to put on--anything for the sake of exercising power....