With our army in Palestine
by Antony Bluett · English · Gutenberg #19941 · 412,859 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: With our army in Palestine
Author: Antony Bluett
Release date: November 27, 2006 [eBook #19941]
Language: English
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Produced by Irma pehar and the Online Distributed
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WITH OUR ARMY
IN PALESTINE
BY
ANTONY BLUETT
LATE OF "A" BATTERY, H.A.C., AND EGYPTIAN
CAMEL TRANSPORT CORPS
LONDON: ANDREW MELROSE LTD.
3 YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C.
1919
TO
MY WIFE
FOREWORD
Little has been said, and less written, of the campaigns in Egypt and
Palestine. This book is an attempt to give those interested some idea of
the work and play and, occasionally, the sufferings of the Egyptian
Expeditionary Force, from the time of its inception to the Armistice.
Severely technical details have been reduced to a minimum, the story being
rather of men than matters; but such necessary figures and other data of
which I had not personal knowledge, have been taken from the official
dispatches and from the notes of eye-witnesses.
Here I should like most cordially to thank the following old comrades for
their generous help: Capt. B. T. Hinchley, R.A.S.C., late of the Egyptian
Camel Transport Corps, and L. Allard Stonard, Esq., late of "A" Battery,
the Honourable Artillery Company, for permission to print their excellent
photographs, which will, I am sure, add materially to the interest of the
book; and R. Arrowsmith, Esq., late of "A" Battery, the Honourable
Artillery Company, whose admirable notes have been of the greatest
assistance to me in compiling some of the later chapters.
ANTONY BLUETT.
HIGHGATE, _July 1919_.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. MERSA MATRUH AND THE SENUSSI 1
II. "SOMEWHERE EAST OF SUEZ..." 19
III. ON 'UNTIN'--AND SOME OTHER MATTERS 38
IV. KANTARA AND THE RAILWAY 46
V. THE WIRE ROAD 63
VI. "THE LONG, LONG TRAIL" 75
VII. ON THE FRINGE OF THE HOLY LAND 88
VIII. THE FIRST BATTLE OF GAZA 98
IX. THE RETREAT 113
X. THE SECOND ATTEMPT 127
XI. TEL EL JEMMI AND THE CAMELS 144
XII. CAVE DWELLERS AND SCORPIONS 157
XIII. IN THE WADI 170
XIV. THE ATTACK ON BEERSHEBA 184
XV. GAZA AT LAST 196
XVI. THE ROAD TO JERUSALEM 211
XVII. OÙ L'ON S'AMUSE 223
XVIII. IN THE JORDAN VALLEY 235
XIX. THE VALLEY OF CHAOS 247
XX. IN FULL CRY 260
XXI. OVER THE LADDER OF TYRE 270
XXII. DESERTED VILLAGES IN LEBANON 281
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE
NATIVE MARKET AT MERSA MATRUH 16
SUNDAY MORNING IN THE GULF OF SUEZ 32
FELUCCAS BRINGING SUPPLIES TO KANTARA (see p. 54) 64
"THE LONG, LONG TRAIL" 80
I. CAMOUFLAGING A TENT WITH DESERT SCRUB (see p. 29) 144
II. A CAMEL CONVOY 144
SUMMER IN THE WADI GHUZZEE 176
IN THE JORDAN VALLEY--WADI AUJA 240
I. A WATER CONVOY 256
II. THE VALLEY OF CHAOS--BEFORE THE TURKISH RETREAT 256
THE VALLEY OF CHAOS--AFTER THE BOMBING RAID (see p. 255) 272
WITH OUR ARMY IN PALESTINE
CHAPTER I
MERSA MATRUH AND THE SENUSSI
It is a little difficult to know the precise place at which to begin this
narrative. There are, as it were, several _points d'appui_. One might
describe the outward voyage, in a troopship packed to three or four times
its normal peace-time capacity; where men slept on the floors, on
mess-tables, and in hammocks so closely slung that once you were in it was
literally impossible to get out until the whole row was ready to move; and
where we were given food (!) cooked and served under conditions so
revolting as to turn the stomach at the bare sight of it. And there were
other things....
But I do not think any useful purpose would be served by such a course. It
was an unspeakably horrible voyage, but most of the troops travelling East
experienced the same conditions; moreover, the praise or blame for those
responsible for the early chaos will doubtless be meted out at the proper
time and in the proper place.
Again, as far as most people at home are concerned, the Great Crusade began
with the taking of Jerusalem and ended when the Turks finally surrendered
in the autumn of 1918. This view, entirely erroneous though it be, is not
unreasonable, for a thick veil shrouded the doings of the army in Egypt in
the early days, and the people at home saw only the splendid results of two
years' arduous preparation and self-sacrifice.
Now the tale of these weary months ought to be told that justice be done to
some of the biggest-hearted men who ever left the shores of Great Britain
and Australasia, and that the stupendous difficulties confronting them may
be properly appreciated. It is no tale of glamour and romance; it is a tale
of sheer, hard graft, generally under terrible conditions--for a white man.
Before we could even think of moving eastwards towards Palestine we had to
set our own house in order. Egypt was seething with sedition, and the flame
of discontent was sedulously fanned by the young excitables from Al Azhar,
who probably were themselves stimulated by Turko-German propaganda--and
"baksheesh." These had to be suppressed; and the task was not easy.
Further, as far south as Aden there were Turkish garrisons, and troops in
considerable numbers had to be detached to overcome them; this, too, was no
small undertaking. Finally, a flowery gentleman called the High Sheikh or
the Grand Sheikh of the Senussi had ideas above his station--and he had to
be disillusionised.
This was a more serious matter, for the Senussi were the largest native
tribe in Egypt, and Turkish and German officers had been very busy amongst
them. Some account of the operations against them has already been
published, but I believe it concerns mainly the Duke of Westminster's
spirited dash with his armoured cars to rescue the shipwrecked survivors of
the _Tara_, who were grossly ill-treated by the Senussi. Yet right up to
the end of 1917 they were a source of trouble, and in 1915 the situation
became so serious that a strong punitive force had to be sent to Mersa
Matruh, on the Western Frontier of Egypt, to cope with it.
Here, I think, is where we must make our bow, for we had some small place
in these operations; it was, in fact, our introduction to actual fighting,
though we had already spent many torrid weeks on the Suez Canal. And no
better _mise en scène_ could we have than the old _Missa_, for the story of
the campaign would be incomplete without mention of her; she was unique.
Besides, everybody in Egypt knows the _Missa_. Those who had the misfortune
to know her intimately speak of her with revilings and cast slurs upon her
parentage.
Far back down the ages, possibly about the time when the admirable Mr.
Stephenson was busy practising with his locomotive, the _Missa_ might have
been a respectable ship, but her engines had been replaced so many times
by others more pernicious and evil-smelling, and new boards had been nailed
so frequently and promiscuously about the hull, that she resembled nothing
so much as an aged female of indifferent repute decked in juvenile and
unseemly clothes; and her conduct matched her looks.
Most men in the army will have noticed that the authorities nearly always
order a move or begin a "show" on the day of rest. I am no statistician,
but if the tally of these lost hours in bed of a Sunday morning were kept,
the army would have a few weeks' arrears of sleep to make up. On this
particular occasion we went one better than Sunday; we began on a day when
normally peace and goodwill go ringing round the world: Christmas Day,
1915. If there was any peace and goodwill about we failed to notice it, for
it was blowing and raining hard, and we had to get half a battery of
horse-artillery on board that deplorable ship.
It is no joke at the best of times embarking horses and mules; and as, in
addition to the weather, we had the _Missa_ to deal with, the humour of the
proceedings did not strike any one--except the onlookers. For she rolled
and pitched and plunged and dived as she lay there at her moorings. She was
never still a moment, and, in a word, behaved like the graceless, mercurial
baggage she was. But she was beaten in the end.
By dint of that curious mixture of patience and profanity characteristic
of the British soldier when doing a difficult job, horses and guns were at
length safely stowed away. Just before we sailed an old salt on the quay
kindly proffered the opinion that it would be dirty weather outside. He was
right. If the old _Missa_ had behaved badly in Gabbari docks, she was
odious once we got out to sea. She did everything but stand on her head or
capsize--and did indeed nearly accomplish both these feats.
Normally the journey from Alexandria to Mersa Matruh, whither we were
bound, occupies about sixteen hours. On this occasion the _Missa_ took five
days! A few hours after we left harbour the pleasing discovery was made
that some one had mislaid a large portion of the rations for the voyage,
though by a fluke several crates of oranges had been put on board--"in
lieu," perhaps.
Not that the question of food interested any one very much just then, for
by this time sea-sickness was taking its dreadful toll. Men were lying
about the wave-washed decks too ill even to help themselves; indeed, the
only thing possible was to seize the nearest firm object and hang on.
Watering and feeding the horses was a horrible nightmare, but somehow it
was done. The former was carried out by means of horse-buckets--an
interminable business, interrupted at frequent intervals when the men were
shaken and torn by awful bouts of sickness as they staggered or crawled
along the foul, evil-smelling hold. Feeding was rather easier and quicker,
for there was little to give the poor brutes, even had they wanted it. So
it went on for four ghastly days.
On the fifth day, rations, water, and even those blessed oranges had almost
given out, and to add to our joy the skipper, who was afterwards discovered
to be a Bulgarian, had not the remotest notion of our whereabouts and lost
his nerve completely. A big Australian actually did take the helm for a
time and made a shot for the right direction. We had almost given up hope
of reaching the land when, in a smother of foam and spray, there appeared a
patrol-boat, the commander of which asked in his breezy naval way who we
were and what the blazes we thought we were doing. On being informed he
told us we were steering head-on for a minefield, and that if we wanted
Mersa Matruh we must alter course a few points and we should be in before
nightfall. Also, he added a few comments about our seamanship, but we were
much too grateful to mind--besides, they really applied to the Bulgarian
skipper.
It sounds rather like an anti-climax to say that we landed safely. True,
men and horses were too apathetic and ill to care a great deal whether they
were landed or no. Many felt the effects of that turbulent trip for weeks
after, and certainly no one wished to renew acquaintance with the _Missa_!
The only pleasing feature about the business was, if report be true, that
the Bulgarian skipper died suddenly from a violent stoppage of the heart.
Those of us who expected to find a great camp seething with activity and
alive with all the pomp and circumstance of war were disappointed to see a
mere collection of tents scattered about promiscuously, as it were, within
handy reach of the shore. Here and there were piles of timber, R.E. stores,
and the beginning of the inevitable ration dump; it was, in fact, a typical
advanced base in embryo. Nobody seemed more than mildly interested in our
arrival, with the exception of a supply officer who was making agitated
inquiries about a consignment of forty crates of oranges which he said
should have been on board.
When we were sufficiently recovered to sit up and take notice of every-day
matters again, we learnt that there had been some very heavy fighting
during December, culminating in a fine show on Christmas Day and Boxing
Day, when the Senussi, although they took full advantage of the
extraordinarily difficult country, were trounced so severely that more
fighting was unlikely for some weeks. Curiously enough, this cheerful news
rather damped our enthusiasm. We had come expecting to find a large and
exciting war on the beach waiting for us. Instead, we found battery-drills
innumerable for the better training of our bodies and the edification of
our minds. Also, there were fatigues, long and strenuous, which our souls
abhorred. It is curious how the British soldier loathes the very word
"fatigue." He will make the most ingenious excuses and discover that he has
extraordinary and incurable diseases in order to dodge even the lightest.
Possibly the authorities, who sometimes see more than they appear to, had
this in mind when later they changed the word to "working-party." There is
a more dignified sound about it, though I don't know that it made the work
any more acceptable.
In the evening we forgathered in an aged marquee used as a canteen, and
cultivated the acquaintance of our new comrades, the Australian Light
Horse, of which splendid corps more in the proper place. They were an
independent but friendly crowd. Indeed, the word "friendly" is not quite
enough; the Army one "matey" expresses so much better our attitude towards
each other, after the first tentative overtures had been made. And this
"matey" feeling animated the whole campaign against the Senussi, to a
greater degree, I think, than any other. Perhaps the conditions drew us
closer together, for they were deplorable.
It rained all day and almost every day; tents were water-logged and one
moved about in a slough of sticky mud. We ate mud, we drank it in our tea,
we slept in it, for our wardrobes had been left behind in Cairo.
Harness-cleaning was another bugbear, but even that succumbed to the mud
after a time; and as the weeks flew by and inspections, infallible
finger-posts to a "scrap," became more frequent we knew that all was not
in vain and that very soon we should have the chance of justifying the
long, arduous days of preparation. And quite suddenly it came.
One evening in the canteen the whispered news--"straight from the horse's
mouth"--was passed round that we should be in action in two days! It was
laughed to scorn. How often had we heard that tale before! There had
certainly been an inspection of field-dressings in the morning, which
usually meant something, yet even that had been done before and nothing had
come of it. We were frankly sceptical. However, this time the doubting
Thomases were wrong, for the very next day we were roused at a depressingly
early hour by the guard, who told us in a hoarse whisper that we were "for
it."
We were sufficiently experienced in turning out to get the preliminaries
over quickly and without the amazing chaos that usually attends the efforts
of the beginner. It is indeed remarkable how soon one becomes accustomed to
working in the dark. Breast collars seem to slide into their places and
buckles and trace-hooks find their way into one's hands of their own
volition. By sun-up we were well on our way across the desolate, dreary
waste.
It was terribly heavy going, over fetlock-deep in mud, as hour after hour
we toiled along. Beyond small bodies of cavalry dotted here and there on
the desert, there did not appear to be any signs of a battle. Men were
riding at ease, smoking and talking, when, almost unnoticeably, the plain
became alive with soldiers. Infantry appeared from nowhere in particular,
the cavalry seemed suddenly to have increased considerably in numbers and
to be massing as if for a charge, and before we realised it, we were
unlimbering the guns and the horses were struggling through the mud back to
the waggon-lines. In a few seconds the roar of an explosion proclaimed that
the guns were firing their first shots against an enemy, and presently over
the waggon-lines came a persistent whining sound indicating that the enemy
had a few remarks to make on his own account.
The Senussi of course had the advantage of ground, but fortunately for us
they had only light field-pieces which did little damage. They made
astonishingly good use of their machine-guns, however, and soon had the
cavalry, who had made an impetuous charge, in difficulties. So serious did
the situation become that a gun had to be swung round--and extremely
difficult it was to move in the mud--until it was almost at right angles
with its fellow, in order to prevent our being surrounded. For some hours
the Senussi made desperate attempts to outflank us, and both cavalry and
infantry suffered considerably, nor did the artillery have much time for
rest and reflection, for at one stage in the proceedings they were firing
over open sights--and as any artilleryman knows, when that happens the
enemy is quite near enough.
It is of course impossible for one to describe an action like this in
detail or say exactly when the turning-point came. There was the general
impression of the infantry at long last heaving themselves out of the mud
and going forward in real earnest, of the cavalry on the flanks speeding
the heels of the retreating Senussi horsemen, and of the artillery firing
as fast as they could load at any target they could pick up.
The whole engagement seemed to last only a few minutes, yet the artillery
alone had been firing steadily for some five hours. When it was all over we
were rather astonished to find ourselves still alive, somewhat dazed with
the excitement and noise and with the cantankerous whine of machine-gun
bullets still in our ears. A violent desire for a smoke was the first real
sensation, but that desire was not destined to be gratified for some time,
for our troubles were only just beginning.
The sticky mud had completely beaten the horses and mules, which latter had
made a very praiseworthy attempt to stampede earlier in the day, and almost
all the vehicles had to be man-handled along. Rain was coming down in a
pitiless downpour and we had to face the prospect of a bitterly cold night
with neither blankets nor greatcoats, for everything had been left behind
to enable us to travel as light as possible. The plight of the wounded was
pitiable. There were practically no medical comforts for them, most of the
transport being stuck in the mud a considerable distance away.
Some of the slightly wounded men rode on the gun-limbers, others with more
serious hurts in such ambulances as had managed to get up, a few on
camel-back, while the remainder were actually carried in stretchers by
their unwounded comrades. That these men with their heavy loads ever
managed to lift their feet out of the mud was a miracle. I do not know what
system of reliefs was adopted, but by the time the wounded were safely
brought in, a whole battalion must have taken its turn merely to carry its
own few casualties.
It was a magnificent example of devotion and dogged fortitude; and withal,
the outstanding feature of the whole affair was the incorrigible
cheerfulness of everybody, rising superior to all discomforts.
It may be thought that undue prominence has been given to an affair which
after all was one in which a few thousands only took part--little more than
a skirmish, perhaps, judged by European standards. It has been done partly
because this was the first time most of us had been under fire, but chiefly
because the battle was so typical of many in the subsequent desert
fighting.
As will be seen later, the cumulative effect of these minor victories was
out of all proportion to the numbers engaged. Moreover, this particular
action again rammed home the lesson that native guerilla troops cannot
hope to tackle with success, well-armed, well-disciplined white troops
supported by artillery.
Well, we had been blooded--lightly, it is true--and we were ready for the
next job. We had learnt one or two lessons, for no one goes into his first
action and comes out exactly the same man. He is rather like the good, but
young and untried cricketer nervously going in to bat. The bowler looks
about seven feet high and the stumps seem absurdly large; but the moment he
is in the crease the mist clears away from his eyes and he is ready to set
about his business. So it is with war: it is the fear of showing fear that
makes many a good man unhappy in his first action; until he finds that he
is not there merely to be shot at but to do a little shooting on his own
account. After that he has little time to think about himself; he is too
busy.
A plethora of fatigues occupied the next few weeks. A column started on a
sweeping drive towards Sollum, but for us, beyond dropping a few shells
into a native village, there was no further artillery action. Life resolved
itself into an affair of G.S. waggons and patrol-duty, which latter chiefly
concerned the cavalry.
There were lines of communication to be formed, contact with the railhead
at Dabaa to be established and maintained, which meant, amongst other
things, a constant carting of telegraph-poles out to unlikely spots in the
desert, and dumping them there for "Signals," who immediately decided they
would like them taken somewhere else even more remote and inaccessible.
Then, too, we were almost our own A.S.C. In the first place stores had to
be brought by boat from Alexandria to Mersa Matruh, and the harassed and
long-suffering troops were told off as unloading parties. At rare intervals
a consignment of canteen stores would arrive, on which occasions the
unloading party would be at the beach bright and early; things get lost so
easily.
There were some crates of oranges once....
Two things the authorities at the base never troubled to send: clothes and
boots. Apparently they were under the impression that we had taken to
troglodytic habits and required none. Almost every man wore a patch; not
like the tiny, black ornament worn on the face by ladies in the old
Corinthian days, but a large, comprehensive affair more or less securely
sewn on the shirt or the seat of one's riding-breeches. The
quartermaster-sergeant complained bitterly over a shortage of grain-sacks:
the reason for it was walking about before his eyes all day long.
It was dreary work at best, however, with only these uninspiring and
never-ending fatigues to occupy our time. Even our little social haven, the
canteen, did not stay the urgent need for something more active. The
appalling thought came that we had been dumped down in this lonely desolate
spot and left there, utterly forgotten, like Kipling's "Lost Legion."
There came a day, however, when our fears were dispelled by an urgent order
to trek back to Alexandria. Apparently the war had broken out in a fresh
place, and there was work to be done after all. Whatever the reason, there
was joy in the camp. Tents were quickly struck and incinerators soon were
working double shifts, for it is astonishing how things accumulate, even in
the desert. Moreover, the army insists--and rightly--that camps be left
clean and free from rubbish.
Rations, forage and water were the chief things to be considered--or
rather, the problem of packing them on to limbers and in waggons--for they
had to last us to railhead, some days' march away. Officially, once a unit
is on the move, it ceases to exist till it reaches the next place on the
time-table; and if rations or water are lost in the desert you go hungry,
and, worse still, thirsty, for there are no more to be had.
Most of those who took part in it will remember that trek when others are
forgotten. Rations were short, forage was short, everything was short,
especially the ropes by which the horse-buckets were lowered into the
wells; which last remark perhaps needs explanation.
All journeys in the desert are regulated by the distances between wells,
which may be twenty, thirty, and sometimes more miles apart. At some of
them we found the old-fashioned "shadouf," or native pump, which, clumsy
though it was, helped matters considerably.
Usually, however, we had to rely on horse-buckets, and it was any odds that
our ropes were too short to reach the surface of the water. The experienced
driver would take a rein to the well with him, for lengthening purposes if
necessary, but often some unfortunate wight, having found his rope two or
three inches too short, would be seen struggling to hold his thirsty horses
with one hand while with the other he endeavoured to unfasten his belt to
make up the extra inches.
It was a maddening business, this watering the horses. Poor brutes! They
would come in after a long day's trek, on short rations, with often a
twenty-four hours' thirst to quench, and then have to stand round a well
and wait perhaps for hours!
Even the quietest of them began to fidget and strain at their head-ropes
the moment they scented the water.
As for the mules, there was simply no holding them. On one occasion--it was
after a forty-mile march--a mule, frantic with thirst, broke away from his
owner, and in a desperate attempt to get to the water, fell headlong down
the well! A crowd of infuriated soldiers, with drag-ropes and everything
that wit of man could devise, laboured for hours to get him out, while
their comrades, equally infuriated, held anything up to a dozen animals
apiece and made strenuous efforts to prevent them from following his
deplorable example.
[Illustration: NATIVE MARKET AT MERSA MATRUH. [_To face p. 16_.]
But, if the watering difficulty was the worst of our troubles, the shortage
of forage was almost as bad, for the meagre ration of grain was about as
satisfying to the horses and mules as Alfred Lester's famous caraway seed
was to him.
The mules were the worst; they were insatiable. They ate the head-ropes
that fastened them to the horse-lines, and the incensed picket spent half
the night chasing them and tying them up again with what was left of the
rope. Fortunately we obtained chains at railhead, and as these were
uneatable they turned their attention to the horse-blankets and ate them!
Soon it was impossible to "rug-up" at night, for there was not enough rug
left. We used as pillows the nose-bags containing the following day's
grain, and many a time were awakened by a half-famished mule poking an
inquisitive muzzle under our heads.
Our own personal worries mainly concerned washing and shaving. Water was
much too precious to be used for such purposes, so the problem was easily
solved; we did neither. And in any case we had little time. We were up and
away before dawn, we trekked anything from twenty-five to thirty-five miles
a day, and when we had attended to the needs of the animals and had
something to eat and drink ourselves, we were too tired to do anything but
roll into the blankets and sleep until a disgruntled picket roused us for
another day. Occasionally some sybarite would be seen using the remains of
his evening tea as shaving-water and laboriously scraping a three days'
growth of hair from his face; but he was the exception. We were a ragged,
unwashed, unshaven crew--yet mighty cheery withal.
And so we came to Alexandria, where baths, new clothes and boots, and, best
of all, a mail awaited us.
CHAPTER II
"SOMEWHERE EAST OF SUEZ..."
If you look at the map of Egypt and follow the line of the Suez Canal to
its southernmost point, then continue a little down the Eastern shores of
the Gulf of Suez, you will see--if the map be a good one--the words "Ayun
Musa," which being interpreted mean: "The Wells of Moses."
Now let your finger continue its journey due east, pausing not for
mountains nor yet rivers, and it will inevitably arrive at a spot the name
of which is variously spelt Nekhl, Nakhl or Nukul.
Concentrate on this for a moment and you will see that in enemy hands it
formed a very effective jumping-off place for an attack on the southern
terminus of the most important commercial waterway in the world and a vital
artery of the British Empire. Moreover, it was very difficult of attack,
for it was defended by a range of exceedingly unpleasant and precipitous
hills, the passes through which were held by the Turks. Hence the agitation
of the authorities and the sudden importance of Ayun Musa as a defensive
barrier to Suez.
It was to this lonely spot that we were ordered to proceed with the least
possible delay. Having collected all the stores and camp equipment we could
lay hands on, and after the usual circus in entraining the horses, we
started for Suez. Incidentally, this was the last time we boarded a train
as a complete unit for more than two years.
With Suez the last vestige of green was left behind us, and turning south
after crossing the canal we entered upon that vast desert trodden by the
Israelites thousands of years ago when they fled from the persecuting hand
of Pharaoh.
It is to be admitted that we failed to observe, till later, the undoubted
grandeur of the scene, for we were mainly concerned with getting our guns
and overloaded vehicles along. Time after time they sank almost up to the
axle-trees in the heavy sand and time after time did the sweating horses
pull them out and struggle on again. One G.S. waggon, laden till it
resembled a pantechnicon, was soon in dire straits. Originally starting
with a six-horse team it acquired on the journey first one extra pair, then
another--with a spare man mounted on each of the off-horses--and finally
arrived in camp at the gallop with twelve horses and eight drivers.
Nobody saw anything funny in it. When you are dog-tired, hungry, and, worse
still, when you arrive after dark in a new camp, nothing short of a cold
chisel can gouge humour out of anything. All you want is a large and
satisfying meal, after which your blankets.
In the morning we found that our usual fate had overtaken us: we were again
pioneers in a new land. There it was, just our allotted square on the map,
as flat and bare as a billiard-table.
Yet the country was not unimpressive. A thousand yards away to our right
were the tamarisks of Moses' Grove, the only spot of verdure in sight; far
in our rear and to our left ran range upon range of low, even-topped hills
of unimaginable barrenness, the approach to which lay over a vast plain,
broken by innumerable smaller hills, grand in its utter desolation; and in
front of us stretched a level, shimmering expanse of sand as far as the
silvery ribbon of the Gulf of Suez, beyond which, and dominating the whole
scene, the gaunt, black mass of Gebel Atakah (Mountain of Deliverance)
thrust its mighty pinnacle into the sky.
Such was the place destined to be our home for six torrid months; and we
had to transform it into a fortified camp! Small wonder that we quailed at
the prospect of work more punishing than any we had yet known, for
literally everything had to be done; we had what we managed to bring with
us, and that was all.
There followed days of unremitting toil. We turned our attention to
road-making and with bowed backs and blistered hands shovelled up half the
desert and put it down somewhere else; the other half we put into sandbags
and made gun pits of them. We dug places for the artificers, kitchens for
the cooks, walled-in places for forage, and but for the timely arrival of a
battalion of Indian infantry we should have dug the trenches round the
camp; we were mercifully spared that, however.
By way of a change we dug holes: big holes, little holes, round holes,
square holes, rectangular holes; holes for refuse; wide, deep holes for
washing-pits; every kind of hole you can think of and many you can't.
We never discovered for what purpose most of these holes were dug, but we
dug them; and as a special treat we were allowed to dig an extra big hole,
lined and roofed with sandbags, wherein to hide two hundred thousand rounds
of S.A. ammunition lest the Turks in a moment of aberration should drop a
bomb on it. All this in a temperature of over 100° in the shade at nine
o'clock in the morning!
For summer was leaping towards us with giant strides, and it was one the
like of which Egypt had not known for seventy-five years. Day by day the
sun waxed stronger until work became a torture unspeakable and hardly to be
borne. With the slightest exertion the perspiration ran in rivulets from
face and finger-tips; clothes became saturated and clung like a glove to
our dripping bodies; and if a man stood for a time in one place the sand
around was sodden with his sweat.
Then, too, we had the usual difficulty about drinking water, for there was
none in the camp. The Wells of Moses, twelve in number, were brackish and
only fit for the horses.
Consequently every drop had to be brought from the Quarantine Station,
three miles away, on the shores of the Gulf of Suez; and twice daily did
the water-cart plough a laborious way through the sand. I think it was the
very worst water we ever had, all but undrinkable, in fact. It was so
heavily chlorinated and nauseous that one drank it as medicine. It tasted
the tea, it spoilt the lime-juice, and even the onions failed to disguise
it in the daily stew.
Fortunately there was washing-water in abundance, as we quickly discovered
in our digging operations. Two or three feet down the sand was quite moist,
and if the hole was left for a time, brackish water percolated through in
sufficient quantities for a bath. It was the daily custom, after
evening-stables, to rush across to the washing-pits, peel off our saturated
clothes and stand in pairs, back to back, while a comrade poured bucket
after bucket of water over our perspiring bodies until we were cool enough
to put on a change of clothes.
And how we revelled in it! It was one of the few alleviations of those
torrid, arduous days. You who dwell in temperate climes, with water--hot
and cold--at a hand's turn, will perhaps accuse me of labouring the point.
I cannot help it; no words of mine can express what it meant to have that
clean feeling just for an hour or two. It was ineffable luxury; it helped
us to endure.
For there were other things to add to our daily burden.
You will doubtless remember the Plagues of Egypt.... At least three of
these survived at Ayun Musa to harass, thousands of years later,
unfortunate soldiers who were trying to win a war. We had lice, boils and
blains, and flies--particularly and perpetually, flies.
The first-named were not so terrible, for as wood was fairly plentiful we
soon made rough beds and thus kept our clothes and blankets off the sand.
The second and third caused the medical authorities in the East more
trouble and anxious experiment than all the other diseases put together.
The slightest scratch turned septic. It was the rule rather than the
exception for units in the desert to have 50 per cent. of their strength
under treatment for septic sores. There was no help for it; active service
is a messy business at best. It was appallingly difficult to give adequate
treatment. Sand would get into the wound; if it were cleansed and covered
up, the dry, healing air of the desert had no chance; if it were left open
the flies made a bivouac of it--and the result can be imagined!
There were men who were never without a bandage on some part of their
person for months on end, and it was a common sight to see a man going
about his daily work literally swathed in bandages. It was not until we had
advanced well into Palestine, where there was fruit in abundance, that this
plague diminished and was in some measure overcome.
But infinitely worse than any other was the plague of flies. When we
arrived at Ayun Musa there was not a fly to be seen. Within a week you
would have thought that all the flies in the universe had congregated about
us. They were everywhere. Did you leave your tea uncovered for a minute the
flies around you hastened to drown themselves in it! And as for jam!
Successfully to eat a slice of bread and jam was a feat, and one requiring
careful preparation. You had to make a tunnel of one hand, wave the
required mouthful about with the other for a few seconds in order to
disturb the flies on it, then pass it quickly through the tunnel and into
the mouth before they could settle again. One man nailed a piece of
mosquito-netting to the front of the mess table and with himself as the
pole made a kind of tent, so as to eat his food in comfort.
But meal-times were among the minor evils; it was in the tents, during the
hours when we could do no work, that we suffered most. Rest was impossible.
The mere touch of clothing was almost unbearable in the heat, but it was
better to swathe the head in a fly-net and roll a blanket round the
outlying portions of the body, than to strip to the buff and lie exposed to
the attacks of those damnable flies.
It is no light thing that sends a strong man into hysterics or drives one
sobbing from his tent, to rush about the camp in a frenzy of wild rage. Yet
the flies did this--and more; they were carriers of disease. Behind the
clouds of flies lurked always the grim spectre of dysentery; and of all our
troubles perhaps this is the best known to the people at home. The
Mesopotamian Commission ventilated it so thoroughly that there is no need
to pile on the agony here. One may say, however, that the sufferings of the
men in Egypt from this terrible disease were, certainly in somewhat less
degree, those of their comrades farther east. And we will let it go at
that.
Meanwhile, what of the Turks? During the six weeks we spent putting the
camp into a state of defence they kindly refrained from annoying us, and
beyond an occasional encounter with our patrols and a false alarm or two,
nothing occurred to disturb the even tenor of our digging. When we had
finished this strenuous pursuit, every ten days or so flying columns were
organised to look for them and, if possible, drive them out of their rocky
fastnesses thirty miles away.
One of the few vulnerable points in these hills was the Raha Pass and
incredibly difficult it was even to approach. The joys of trekking over
the sandy desert we knew, the desert in the rainy season we knew, but they
were as nothing compared with the rocky desert of Sinai. Not only was there
the deep sand to contend with but one had to climb hills and descend
valleys covered with huge boulders. It was a creditable feat merely to get
over the ground at all; manoeuvring was out of the question.
An eight-horse team could with difficulty pull a gun and its limber over
fairly level ground; frequently twelve horses were required and sometimes
as many as sixteen! And it was really wonderful to see them intelligently
thrusting all their weight on the breast-collars, heaving and straining to
get their load over a nasty place. These were the days, too, when the heat
whipped off the rocks in waves and the sun's rays beat upon the back like
strokes from a flail; when it was impossible to march during the noontide
hours and one crawled under the limbers for shelter; and when a man looked
longingly at his water-bottle, even though the water therein was almost
boiling.
For the most part these flying columns drew blank. Rarely did the Turks and
their Bedouin allies come out and fight, but confined themselves to sniping
and harassing our cavalry-patrols at night. Every day these would return to
camp bearing the body of a comrade, killed without seeing the hand that
killed him; and once, saddest of all, two riderless horses, famished and
almost mad with thirst, dashed up to the watering-troughs in camp. Their
riders were never found.
We had to wait long weeks before our chance came. (Even then it came only
just in time, for we left Ayun Musa for good the following day.)
It was rather a curious affair. The solution to the whole question lay in
our being able to get the guns to the top of a certain hill commanding the
Raha Pass. If this could be accomplished things would be very warm indeed
for the people in the Pass.
It took twenty-six horses to pull the gun to the top of that hill! The rest
was easy; almost too easy. The Turks had no heavy artillery, so we sat
about in the open smoking and watching our guns shell them out of their
holes into the arms of the Indian infantry, who went forward with a pleased
smile to receive them.
But the urgent need in those days of the army in the East was aircraft;
fast, modern machines, that is. There was a lamentable lack of anything
that could go near the Fokker or Taube; the men were willing, but the
machines were woefully weak. Almost with impunity the Turks came over and
bombed the camps in the area; the one at El Shatt always received
particular attention, possibly on account of its proximity to Suez, more
probably because it was the largest and most strongly-fortified camp in the
vicinity. Suez itself was attacked many times, as might have been expected,
both on account of its immense oil-tanks and its position as the southern
entrance to the Canal. Curiously enough, Turkish aircraft never troubled us
much at Ayun Musa, though of course there was the usual "wind-up."
As a start we were ordered to convert our eighteen pounders into
anti-aircraft guns. This meant digging pits with a weird kind of platform
in the middle; this was for the reception of the gun-wheels alone. The
trail was thus left free, which enabled the gun to be tilted sufficiently
for high-angle fire. We never did fire at any aircraft from these pits;
they looked very nice, however.
Nor did this finish the business. About this time the word "camouflage"
appeared in the East and curiously enough, synchronising with its arrival,
the mandate went forth that our tents were to be camouflaged. Now the army
is a very wonderful place for teaching one to make bricks without straw,
but if the other materials are lacking----?
Matters were at a deadlock till a bright lad suggested that there might be
a little desert-scrub about if we looked for it. He was quite right; there
was a little, a very little. About one bush to the half-mile was the
average, and usually under a boulder at that. Every morning we rode forth
and scoured the desert for that elusive scrub. As we had, by the process
known in the army as "wangling," acquired sufficient tents and marquees for
a battalion, there was a large quantity to find. Ultimately, after weeks
of searching, we obtained enough, and to stimulate keenness, a prize was
then offered for the best camouflaged tent. The winners' was really a very
beautiful affair, but apparently the honour--or the scrub--was too much for
the tent, for it collapsed during the night.
Shortly after this we had a further insight into the infinite possibilities
of the desert. For a fortnight it had been intolerably hot, and rarely was
the noon temperature below 120° in the shade. No work was done between the
hours of 10 a.m. and 5 p.m., except at midday when the horses were watered
and fed; and we loathed the whistle that summoned us from our tents into
the blinding sunlight to perform this duty, necessary though we knew it to
be. We literally prayed for the night and the cool breeze from the sea. The
Mountain of Deliverance was in truth a symbol to us; for as we watched the
sun sink slowly behind its sheltering bulk we knew that another day was
done. We wondered wearily what this devastating heat could mean; it was
like nothing in our experience.
One evening the whole sky was aflame with lurid light and we missed the
revivifying breeze. In its place came a hot wind from the south-east, and
although the sun was setting we could feel the sickly heat increasing
momentarily. Presently, far over the eastern desert could be seen a gauzy
cloud of immense size travelling towards us at a tremendous pace. In a few
moments we were in the midst of an inferno of swirling sand and
suffocating heat. It was the dreaded khamseen.
Men rushed blindly for their tents and swathed their heads in shirts or
blankets in order to keep out as well as might be the flying particles of
sand. Fortunately for us the high embankment in our rear protected the camp
to some extent and we never got the full force of the sandstorm.
For three days it raged. Little work was possible beyond watering and
feeding the horses. The short walk from the horse-lines to the
watering-troughs was sheer torment, for the hot wind came down the slope
like blasts from a furnace. It did literally turn the stomach. Many a man
staggering blindly along with his three or four horses would pause, vomit
violently and carry on. The horses neither drank nor ate much, poor brutes,
but all day long stood dejectedly with drooping heads, their backs turned
to the scorching wind. It was a scarifying experience. When, on the evening
of the third day, the familiar wind came up from the sea we had the feeling
one has on coming out of a Turkish bath into the cooling-chamber.
Another welcome tonic was the news that the brigade was ordered to
Salonica. We felt that any change would be for the better; in any case it
could not well be worse. And so we fell to making our preparations with
light hearts, confident that in a few days we should be on the move again,
perhaps--who could say?--towards a real war.
At the last moment a wire came cancelling the move. The disappointment was
so bitter that it knocked all the life out of us for days. We felt like a
boxer who, after a knock-down blow, rises at the count of nine, say, and is
at once sent down again for good. The knock-out blow was that in our case
the rest of the brigade did actually leave the camp, in addition to which
the Indian infantry who had lain alongside us also went elsewhere. We felt
thoroughly aggrieved.
I suppose every unit at some time or other during a period of enforced
stagnation has had this grievance. Nobody loves you. You feel that some one
in the high places has a grudge against you. You can hear him saying to his
underlings: "Let me see. So-and-so is a pretty rotten camp, isn't it? I'll
keep this battalion or that squadron or the other battery there. Do 'em
good. Mustn't coddle 'em." And you are kept "there" for weary months.
Most of us knew that the conditions in Salonica were as bad as, if not
worse than, those obtaining in Egypt, so why on earth were we pining to go
there? There is no prize for the answer, but I suspect it was the eternal
desire for a change, of whatever nature. Besides, except for the heat,
flies, septic sores, the khamseen, bad water, dysentery, vaccination,
inoculations many and various, digging holes, and a depressing sameness
about the scenery, we had, according to some, little to grumble at.
[Illustration: SUNDAY MORNING IN THE GULF OF SUEZ. [_To face p.32_.]
We were not unduly harassed by the Turks; indeed, it was our function to
harass them. We slept peacefully in our beds o' nights except for a
pernicious system of false alarms. We had now a metre-gauge line on which
our forage was brought into camp, thus saving us a fatigue. Moreover, on
this line we could take an occasional joy-ride in a tram like an Irish
jaunting-car, drawn by two mules probably also of Irish descent, who
invariably ran away with the tram, and, desiring later to rest awhile, were
as invariably thrust forward again by the violent impact from behind of the
oncoming vehicle.
We had a very passable canteen with sometimes real beer in it. And above
and beyond all these joys we had recently made an ice-chest. True, we were
dependent upon a somewhat fortuitous supply of ice, brought by boat across
the Gulf from Suez to the Quarantine Station, thence by special
fatigue-party, armed to the teeth, into camp; and it usually suffered
considerably _en route_. But think of a long, really cold drink waiting for
you at the end of a three-days' stunt into those iniquitous hills, when you
came in covered with sand and with a throat like a dust-bin! Half of it
went at a gulp to wash the sand down; the rest one drank slowly and with
infinite content. That ice-chest had the prestige of a joss.
Looking back, however, on the summer of 1916 and taking count, as it were,
of the things that amused us and helped us to carry on, I find that we
were for the most part self-supporting. To the best of my recollection,
except for visits of inspection by the Great Ones, which of course do not
count, there were only two occasions when we had strangers within our
gates.
The first was when the navy, some forty strong, in high spirits and a G.S.
waggon, came to cheer us up.
And here I should like to ask why it is that the moment the sailorman is
ashore he goes forth and looks for a horse, quite regardless as to whether
he has ever put a leg across one before or no. For them, too, a horse has
but one pace: a full-stretch gallop. It took hours to catch all the
riderless horses after the navy had started for their gentle exercise, but
we got heaps of fun out of it and it was very good to see somebody from the
outside world.
The other time was when we had a concert in Moses' Grove and a regimental
band came from El Shatt to entertain us. It was fine to sit there under the
tamarisks around an immense camp-fire and listen to a really good band
playing the old favourites again and giving us a few new ones, to be
whistled or sung about the camp for weeks.
The mail, of course, kept us happy where nothing else could, for not only
was it the single link with home and all that it meant, but it brought us
newspapers which, while carefully avoiding all reference to the armies in
the East, did tell us of the war as they waged it in France. Also, it
introduced Bairnsfather to us. "The Better 'Ole" became almost an
institution; we could speak with authority on "'oles." And "When the 'ell's
it goin' to be strawberry?" was the unfailing jest at meal-times, as we
scraped the layer of flies from the top of the inevitable Tickler.
No doubt these things will strike you as trivial. Quite so. But when you
remember our complete isolation, that for six months we saw no one but
ourselves, so to speak, you will understand that if one did not laugh at
trivial things one simply did not laugh at all--and in the desert that way
madness lies.
For there were days when one hated the sight of one's best friend, when the
mere sameness of everything drove one almost to distraction, and when the
heat and the little exasperations of our daily work kept the temper
constantly on edge. One had to laugh at something; it was the only way to
keep sane. So, if there should occasionally creep into these pages a
somewhat frivolous tone, I crave your indulgence, for it was truly the
atmosphere in which we, in common with other lonely outposts, lived and
worked. It was fatal to take life too seriously; wherefore, as we had
little else to laugh at, we laughed at ourselves.
But to all things an end. The weary time of waiting and preparation was
almost over. Sparse news filtered through that the northward advance
towards Palestine had already begun; that there had been heavy fighting at
Katia, where the Turks, under cover of a desert mist, surprised and cut
up--but failed to defeat--our cavalry; and that we had at Romani inflicted
the most summary defeat on the enemy since he made his abortive attack on
the Canal in 1915.
All of which, said the wiseacres, seemed to point in one direction; that
all the available troops would very soon be required for the more
considerable business at the northern end of the desert; in other words,
that we should shortly be on the move again. And for once the prophets were
right, for suddenly there was a great to-do in the camp; such a polishing
of guns and a burnishing of stirrup-irons and bits and chains, such a
cleaning of harness and saddlery as had never been known.
When it was done one of the elect came down and inspected us, after which
we went out into the desert beyond and fired at targets the ranges of which
had been carefully taken days before, so as not to disappoint the great man
by bad shooting. Whereupon, when he had expressed himself satisfied with
the accuracy of our fire and the smartness of our drill, he went away; and
presently came others, still more elect, for whom there was more cleaning
and burnishing, and who further declared their entire approval. Finally the
Commander-in-Chief himself came and inspected all the troops in the area;
and the work was as before, only more so. Now, when he too was pleased, we
knew that a move was what the Americans call a "cinch." And so it proved.
To wind up with a flourish, as it were, we went out to the hills again for
a last--and, as it happened, most successful--attempt on the Raha Pass,
when we climbed the hill mentioned earlier in this chapter.
Marching orders were awaiting us on our return. We were to trek to El
Kubri, a post on the Canal near Suez, there to await train accommodation.
This time the orders were not cancelled.
CHAPTER III
ON 'UNTIN'--AND SOME OTHER MATTERS
Having got us to El Kubri and told us to wait for a train, the authorities
apparently washed their hands of the whole affair and forgot all about us.
For six weeks we waited at a siding which seemed to be ashamed to look a
train in the face. Certainly we never saw one approach it, and we kept a
careful look-out for fear we should miss one.
On our arrival we did not, of course, make a camp, believing that we should
entrain in a day or two at most. But as day followed day and no train
appeared we began to think that this was a joke in deplorable taste. Why,
after working for six months like niggers are supposed to work making a
comfortable camp, should we be taken therefrom, dumped down on an
inhospitable siding and forgotten? It was not playing the game; and a
sinister rumour spread that we were not going north after all but were to
be sent down the Red Sea to the assistance of the Cherif of Mecca, who was
having a little war on his own account.
We knew what that meant. The assisting force would be sent to some
evil-smelling native town with an unpronounceable name, miles from
anywhere, left there to garrison the place and impress the inhabitants with
the might of British arms, while the Cherif and his wild horsemen charged
about the desert firing rifles in the air and emitting extraordinary yells
to frighten away the few stray, half-starved Turks in the vicinity. And the
prospect of travelling in a horse-boat down the Red Sea, even in November,
did not appeal to us in the least. However, tired of sleeping in culverts
and disused drains we pitched our camp on the top of a plateau overlooking
the Canal and prepared to await developments.
It was not unpleasant waiting, for there was the daily bathe in the Canal,
and the big ships and liners passing up and down seemed to bring us once
more in touch with civilisation. It used to be the kindly practice of the
passengers to throw tins of cigarettes and tobacco overboard whenever the
boat passed one of the numerous outposts guarding the Canal. It was quite
an ordinary occurrence for a man to dive in with all his clothes on and
swim after the coveted tins. Tobacco was so scarce that a mere wetting was
nothing; besides, our clothes were dry in an hour.
Also, we hunted the fox--or rather, jackal.
Now the Egyptian native undoubtedly looks on the British soldier as
"magnoon," afflicted of Allah, to be treated kindly, but to be relieved of
as much of his hard-earned pay as possible. And further, if the Faithful
are able to obtain something for nothing from these amiable madmen, it is
to be done. So we made ourselves popular with the fellaheen by hunting
jackals, which had the same predilection for other people's chickens as has
brother fox in England.
We had no hounds, except a fox-terrier who was too fat to run; only our
horses and our prodigious enthusiasm. The method of procedure was to
assemble the hunt near a likely place and send forward a fatigue-party to
dig out the jackal. When he appeared--and he usually did appear in a
hurry--we gave him a couple of minutes' start and then tally-ho! and away
after him over the plain. We had, of course, no fences to leap, but there
were deep nullahs and irrigation dykes wide enough to give one something to
think about. Moreover, the jackals were astonishingly speedy; they would
twist and turn and double on their tracks for half an hour at a stretch,
and they were game to the end.
Christmas came and was made endurable and even enjoyable by the kindness of
the Y.M.C.A., who lent us tables, yea and cloths, in addition to other
things.
But the outstanding event of this period of waiting was the visit of one of
Miss Lena Ashwell's concert parties to El Kubri. It will ever remain a
fragrant memory, for it was the first time we had seen English ladies for
nearly a year and it brought home very near to hear them sing.
They gave their concert in a specially constructed "hall" in the desert.
Sandbags were the mainstay of the platform and a large tarpaulin, G.S.,
formed the drop-scene. The walls were of rough canvas, upon which it was
inadvisable to lean, lest the whole structure collapsed. Primitive, no
doubt, but it suited the environment; and I have never seen in the most
elaborate West-end theatre anything like the enthusiasm here.
You called for a popular song or recitation and you got it, and as many
more as you liked to ask for. One of these talented ladies used to give a
recitation which became a permanent feature of her programme in Egypt. She
would come to the front of the stage and say confidentially to the
audience, "Do you know Lizzie 'Arris?" And back would come a mighty bellow,
"Aiwa!" This rite was always insisted upon before the artiste could
proceed, though she obviously enjoyed it almost as much as we did. She
might probably be amused to know that--such is fame!--amongst the thousands
of troops who heard her recite she was always known as "Lizzie 'Arris."
Early in the New Year the Mecca myth was finally dissipated, for we
moved--no, the train never arrived--to the big concentration camp at Suez,
and there started preparations in real earnest. It was strange to be
amongst people again after so many months of comparative solitude, and
stranger still to see houses and streets and civilians. Not that we had
much time to look around, for with the coming of the cool weather the hours
of work became appreciably longer.
Every day long columns of infantry went forth to get themselves into hard
condition by strenuous route marches. Dotted about the camp were little
groups of specialists and others practising their several trades. Here was
a bombing-school urgently killing imaginary Turks; there a squad of
bayonet-fighters engaged in the same pleasurable pursuit; while farther
away an eager band of signallers with their handy little cable-waggons laid
a wire at incredible speed.
Away out on the plain a string of harassed recruits trotted round a rough
manege lustily encouraged to a rigid observance of the good old maxim,
"'eels an' 'ands low; 'eads an' 'earts 'igh," by the astonishing profanity
of their riding-master; and beyond them their more proficient comrades
charged with wild yells upon a long line of stuffed sacks representing a
terror-stricken foe waiting patiently to be spitted.
Hard by these perspiring cavalrymen a battery of horse-artillery struggled
to master the intricacies of driving with fourteen-horse teams. These were
arranged in three rows of four abreast with one pair in lead, while of the
drivers three rode the near-horses and three the off-horses, with one
driver riding the near-horse of the leading-pair; a complicated business
requiring much skill and nicety of judgment in order to get the best out of
the horses.
Occasionally an apparently wild chaos of guns and limbers and horses
proclaimed that the battery had been successfully brought into action;
usually, however, the work was confined to getting the vehicles along under
these novel conditions. Alongside our own, French artillery with their
natty little "75's" daily strove to put the finishing touches to their
preparation.
It was to the confines of the camp that one went for the final signs that a
"show" was surely preparing, for here were all the dumps of material which
was to minister to the needs of an army in the field.
Sacks of grain and bales of tibbin stood in huge pyramidal mounds;
multitudinous rows of boxes containing bully-beef, condensed milk, dried
fruit, biscuits, cocoa, and tea, seemed to stretch for miles. One walked
down streets of bully-beef, as it were; loitered in squares bounded by
biscuit-tins; dodged up alleys flanked by tea-chests and cases of "Ideal"
milk. Through the streets and squares came an endless procession of lorries
and G.S. waggons, passing on their lawful occasions.
After all, the final word rests with the A.S.C. All your preparation, all
your study of new methods, all your concentrations of guns and men and
horses are futile--and how futile!--if the Army Service Corps says:
"Sorry, gentlemen, but we can't feed you; and if we could, there's nothing
to carry the food in." In the beginning this was especially true of Egypt;
for there was a lamentable shortage of nearly everything that goes to the
successful waging of war. It took nearly two years of patient endeavour
before an advance could really be considered, and by far the greater part
of that time was devoted to amassing supplies and organising means of
transport. It was a colossal task, the magnitude of which was never even
imagined by the people at home.
There was practically nothing in the country. We wanted sleepers, rails,
and locomotives for the railway; pipes, pumps, and other materials for the
water-supply; waggons, motor-lorries and light-cars for transport purposes;
sand-carts, cacolets, and ambulances for the R.A.M.C.; and, with the
exception of most kinds of vegetables, food.
All this had to be brought overseas.
There may not at first sight seem to be any striking connection between an
enemy submarine and the date of an offensive. When, however, that submarine
torpedoes and sinks a vessel containing two million pounds' worth of
absolutely essential material, such as locomotives or motor-lorries, the
connection becomes less, as the date of an offensive becomes more, remote.
In fact, as neither a locomotive nor a motor-lorry, nor a boat wherein to
carry them can be built in five minutes, the offensive temporarily recedes
from view, until the next boatload of material is safely landed.
Add to this the facts that a hundred and fifty miles of desert had to be
cleared of an enemy who fought with the most bitter determination all the
way, that a railway had to be constructed, and an adequate water-supply had
to be maintained over the same desert, before an offensive on a large scale
could even be dreamt about, and the connection mentioned above becomes
strikingly obvious.
Those people at home who, from time to time, asked querulously, "What are
we doing in Egypt?" should have seen Kantara in 1915, and then again
towards the end of 1916. Failing that I would ask them, and also those
kindly but myopic souls who said: "What a picnic you are having in Egypt!"
to journey awhile with us through Kantara and across the desert of Northern
Sinai. For the former there will be a convincing answer to their query; the
latter will have an opportunity of revising their notions as to what really
constitutes a picnic.
And we will start now, while the scent is hot, for already the infantry
have begun their march and guns and waggons are rumbling along the roads
from Suez to Kantara, the gate of the desert.
CHAPTER IV
KANTARA AND THE RAILWAY
At this point it would be as well to confer with the map once more. Be
pleased to imagine that we have trekked northwards from Suez, through the
beautiful little town of Ismailia, "the emerald of the desert," thence to
Ferry Post, which was a position of considerable importance when the Turks
attacked the Canal in February 1915, and finally to Kantara, where we will
pause to see if an answer can be found to the query propounded in the
preceding chapter.
If our inquiring friends had sailed down the Canal in 1915 they would have
seen at Kantara--had they noticed the place at all, which is unlikely--a
cluster of tents, a few rows of horse-lines, some camels, a white-walled
mosque, and a water-tank close to the water's edge; while their nostrils
would have been pungently assailed by the acrid smell of burning
camel-dung.
It is at least probable that the last-named would have made the most
striking impression. (It is still a powerful characteristic of Kantara.)
Certainly they would never have guessed from its appearance what Kantara
was destined to become: the terminus of the great military railway running
across the desert and through Palestine, a military port of the utmost
value, the beginning--or end--of the main road into Palestine, and the
biggest base in Egypt.
They are to be excused; no one would. Kantara did not unduly lift its head
in those days, and one did not, perhaps, at a first glance fully appreciate
its unique geographical position; for it is situated within easy reach of
Port Said and Suez, the two great termini of the Canal, and is thus
conveniently near the sea.
Moreover, the Turks were only some fourteen miles away, and the time was
not yet ripe. It is illustrative of our early limitations that our postal
designation was "Mediterranean Expeditionary Force, Canal Defences." Note
that no idea was then entertained of anything beyond defending the great
waterway.
Nothing else could be done. We had simply to hold off the Turks and make
shift as best we could, meanwhile collecting materials and making
preparations for a definite offensive when the psychological moment
arrived.
Originally the troops were on the west bank, near the station, which is on
the State Railway from Port Said to Cairo and Alexandria, until some one
high in authority suggested that as we were supposed to be defending the
Canal, and not the Canal defending us, it would be as well to move over to
the other side. The fact is, this would have been done much sooner had it
not been that the Turkish attack in February caused what is called a
vertical draught in political circles in Egypt, and it needed a very great
man indeed to order the move.
We were still dependent on Port Said for rations and supplies, while all
the water was brought up from the same place by boat and stored in the big
tank. The means of communication between the east and west banks were
somewhat primitive. At Kantara a pontoon bridge and a decrepit chain ferry
of uncertain moods maintained irregular intercourse with the other side. It
used to be one of our diversions to watch the ferry bringing across the
daily ration-waggon, whereof the horses, frightened by the clank of the
chains, frequently bolted the moment the "door" of the ferry was lowered.
To the right, in the direction of the camp, was a particularly nasty
incline, so the waggon usually decided to go to the left through the lines
of the Bikanir Camel Corps; whereupon the horses, having an unconquerable
aversion to camels, at once stampeded, and our rations were in dire
jeopardy. There were, too, a few rowing-boats for passengers, but these
were either on the other side when you wanted them or were too full of
holes to use.
Patrol-duty and spy-hunting were our principal occupations, as in most of
the other Canal stations; certainly few dreamed of the greatness in store.
It was not until the spring of 1916 that Kantara dropped its mantle of
obscurity and began to take its place as our principal base of operations.
From then onwards the place hummed with ever-increasing activity, for the
danger of a further attempt on the Canal was now somewhat remote, and work
could be carried on in comparative safety.
One day, perhaps, a scribe will rise up and write of the doings of the
Royal Engineers in this war, more particularly of their deeds in such
places as Salonica, Mesopotamia, East Africa, and Egypt; where, in addition
to the usual shortage of tools and material, they had to wrestle with every
conceivable kind of geographical obstacle that a bountiful Nature could
place in their way. The present scribe can only write of what they did in
Egypt and Palestine, and not half of that can be told.
As far as Kantara is concerned they came, they saw, they conquered. What
they saw was a desert which they proceeded to transform into a city,
certainly of tents and huts, but "replete with every convenience"--as the
house-agents say. As a start they pensioned off the aged chain ferry into
decent retirement and built a goodly swing bridge, over which were brought
timber to be cut into beams and joists; nuts and bolts and screws, and an
olla podrida of materials.
When this was done a gentleman called the Assistant Director of Works came
and made a plan of the city. Here a difficulty arose. In this climate a
white man has his limitations, and one of them is that hard manual labour
when the sun is summer-high is exhausting in the extreme, and is, moreover,
explicitly forbidden between the hours of 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. by the
authorities.
It was then that the voice of the Egyptian Labour Corps was heard in the
land. Little is known outside the country of this admirable corps, yet it
is scarcely too much to say that they saved the situation here as
elsewhere. Recruited from almost every class of the native community, from
the towns and cities, from the Delta, from their "belods" in the far-off
Soudan, they came in thousands to dig and delve, to fetch and carry, to do
a hundred things impossible for a white man to do in that climate. It is
difficult to over-estimate their usefulness; though not as a rule big men,
they would carry for considerable distances weights that a far bigger white
man failed even to lift.
Their staple diet consisted of bread, onions, lentils, rice, dates, and
oil--with perhaps a little meat after sunset. They drank prodigious
quantities of water, and could not in fact go for long without. Firmly but
fairly treated by their British officers and non-commissioned officers,
they went anywhere and did anything; and wherever you found the sappers,
there, too, you would see the khaki galabeahs and hear the eternal chant:
"Kam leila, kam yom?" of the E.L.C. Under their hands Kantara took shape.
Supervised and directed by the Engineers, gangs of them made roads,
workmanlike affairs calculated to stand the strain shortly to be imposed on
them by the daily passage of thousands of lorries and waggons. Eastward
from the Canal what had been a mere track, fetlock deep in sand, became a
broad road macadamised for ten kilos, from which radiated similar roads in
all directions, and on which abutted presently the great camps that seemed
to spring up like mushrooms in a night.
Alongside the roads other gangs laid watermains connected directly with
Port Said, for it soon became utterly impossible to bring an adequate daily
supply of water by boat. At certain points stand-pipes were erected so that
working-parties and other troops could fill their water-bottles without
having to go far to do so; in the hot weather every extra yard tells.
This was the beginning of the pipe-line laid stage by stage as the army
advanced, across the desert and far into Palestine. We shall see more of it
later.
Then the A.D.W. collected his carpenters and bricklayers and bade them
instruct their dusky labourers in the building of gigantic mess-huts, in
size and shape not unlike a hangar, capable of providing meal accommodation
for hundreds of men at a time; ration and store-huts for the numerous
camps; brick enclosures for the kitchens; incinerators, and a thousand and
one things necessary for the troops.
It was a liberal education to watch a British N.C.O. working with the gang
of natives under his command. Usually his entire vocabulary of Arabic
consisted of about ten words, of which the following are a fair sample:--
Aiwa--Yes.
La--No.
Quais--Good.
Mush quais--No good.
Igri!--Quickly!
Imshi!--Clear out!
Ta-ala henna--Come here.
With these, comically interpolated with English expletives, he performed
marvels, from stone-breaking to bridge-building.
Presumably he gave his instruction by some process of thought-transmission,
an art that seems peculiarly suited to the genius of the British soldier.
"Quais!" he would say, when a man had done a job to his liking, and the
man's comrades crowded round carefully to examine the work, after which
they went away and copied it faithfully. If on the other hand, the man
failed to do what was required of him, there would be an aggrieved bellow
of: "La! Mush quais!" and the perspiring native would get down to it once
more, while the others charged up again to see what in future to avoid.
Moreover, whatever mistakes they made subsequently it was rarely that one.
"Igri, Johnny!" or alternatively and more forcibly, "Get a bloomin' igri
on, Johnny!" was the favourite ejaculation of an N.C.O. when he wanted to
cure that tired feeling peculiar to the Egyptian native. (All natives
answer to the name of Johnny, by the way.)
"Imshi!" was the N.C.O.'s great word, however; he used it on all occasions
implying a departure from his presence; when a man's face displeased him,
for instance, and when he dismissed them for the day. They made a weird
combination, these two, the dominant white man and the dusky native; but
they built Kantara--and a few other places.
As the camp grew and grew so also did its needs. The Army Service Corps
arrived in force and demanded for themselves a great depôt, covering many
acres, which was to be the Main Supply of the army advancing into
Palestine. Materials and stores could not now be brought in sufficient
quantities by the State railway on the other bank, and the traffic over the
Canal bridges was becoming increasingly heavy. Accordingly the engineers
found another outlet for their energies: they created a fleet!
Jetties and wharves were built on the east bank, and to them came presently
numbers of strange vessels, broad in the beam like a barge, and with
monstrous lateen sails that looked too unwieldy to be furled or set; and on
their bows they bore the painted letters "I.W.T., R.E." and a numeral.
They were native feluccas, garnered from every canal and waterway in Egypt.
They brought grain and fodder for the horses, rations for the men,
vegetables of all kinds from the fertile province of Fayoum, stores for the
roads; and at Port Said and Suez material from the outside world was
trans-shipped on to them for conveyance to Kantara. Loaded almost down to
the water's edge they came to the jetties, tied up, emptied, and went away
for more. Great wooden warehouses were built to receive the cargoes, and
almost daily the number grew until they extended for miles down the Canal
bank.
It would appear that the zenith of construction had now been reached, but
as it became increasingly evident that the Turks would never again reach
the Canal, so it was obvious that something more ambitious must be
attempted, if the great advance was to be carried out successfully. For the
feluccas were limited by their size to carrying articles of small compass,
capable of being unloaded by hand; the larger implements of war were beyond
them.
Thus the engineers had to tackle the enormously difficult problem of
widening and deepening the Canal sufficiently to allow ocean-going steamers
to come close in to the bank and discharge their cargoes directly on to the
shore; this would serve the double purpose of time-saving in the transport
of material, and lightening the strain on the ports of Alexandria and Port
Said, which had borne a heavy burden since the war began.
It was no mean undertaking to make fundamental alterations in a great
artery like the Suez Canal. No diminution in the traffic was permissible,
since not only ourselves but the larger needs of the troops in France had
to be considered. Supplies were being brought from Australia and India in
large quantities, and most of the vessels had to pass through the Canal.
Thus the alterations had to be carried out while, as it were, the day's
work was going on, and it took months of patient toil before the end was in
sight. Indeed, I am not sure that the troops were not already in Palestine
before the first ocean-going steamer drew up to its berth in the newly-made
docks.
What made the business more difficult still was the incredible shortage of
skilled labour. Owing to our deplorable predilection in the army for
putting square pegs into round holes, there were trained engineers sweeping
out mess-huts or carrying stretchers; capable mechanics digging holes or
grooming horses; and skilled draughtsmen addressing envelopes and writing:
"Passed to you, please, for information and necessary action," on documents
referring to the momentous question as to whether No. 54321 Dr. Jones,
R.H.A., should have a pair of new breeches at the public expense or pay for
them out of his beer-money. All were very necessary tasks, no doubt, but
requiring the right men to do them; and the engineers very urgently wanted
the right men, too, not merely for making the docks, but for their
multifarious activities in the field. In their search for them they went
through the army like a scourge.
A trade-testing centre was established at Kantara to which from every unit
in the field or at the base came butchers, bakers, miners, moulders,
brass-founders, electrical, mechanical, and civil engineers, draughtsmen,
men accustomed to all kinds of steel and iron work, and railwaymen. All
were tested practically in their respective trades by an expert in that
trade, after which they were graded according to their proficiency and
knowledge, transferred to the engineers, and sent about their proper
business. By this system the cream of the skilled trades was obtained; and
there was the double satisfaction that the men were not only working at the
jobs for which they were best suited, but were helping materially to win
the war.
The scheme went further. As the supply of really skilled men was
necessarily somewhat small, and the need great, the apprentices and
semi-qualified men were eliminated from other units by the same process of
selection, sent to Kantara and given the opportunity of learning more of
their trade, being tested from time to time to learn the measure of their
progress, until they could take their places amongst the qualified men.
Thus a constant supply was more or less assured, and the O.C. of a Field
Company of Engineers requiring, say, a fitter or a wheelwright or a
moulder, merely asked for them in much the same way as one orders a ton of
coal; if the goods, so to speak, were to be had, he got them.
So sedulously were the records of trades kept that the authorities never
lost touch of the men, especially of those engaged in intricate or delicate
trades. On one occasion a skilled instrument-maker journeyed 1200 miles to
Kantara in order to do a job for which he happened to be the only man at
the moment available! And similar cases might be multiplied almost
indefinitely.
While provision was laboriously being made to fit Kantara for its mission
as a great base, means had to be prepared to send forward supplies and
material to the army in the desert, now feeling its way towards Romani. One
of the delights of the Egyptian campaign was that no sooner was one
obstacle overcome than another rose up to bar the way. It was a useful aid
to the development of character, no doubt, and at any rate a powerful
incentive to the acquirement of a comprehensive vocabulary.
There was this ever-recurring question of transport. Hitherto the bulk of
the carrying-work had been done by the much-abused camel, the ideal animal
for the job, for he thrives where a horse will starve, and he need not be
watered more than once every three days, or even less often, if necessary.
His only drawback is his comparative slowness of gait. He can do his steady
two and a half miles an hour for ever and ever, but if an army suddenly
takes it into its head to advance twenty miles the camel must somehow go
with it, and some quicker form of transport must be organised behind to
supplement his work.
Thus, born of urgent need, the Railway Operating Division came into being,
and set about the construction of a railway. The difficulties at the outset
were enormous. Not only was the line required quickly to follow in the wake
of the now steadily advancing army, but transport had to be arranged to
bring material from the docks to the railway in embryo. Again the camels
stepped into the breach, and daily long convoys carrying stones and
sleepers and rails went forward into the desert and dropped their loads at
places appointed along the proposed route.
Another and more serious trouble was the lack of men; for if the engineers
had to scour the army for men to make and organise the water-transport,
they had to use a fine comb to get the railwaymen, since only a small
percentage had been allowed to enlist in the first place. However, by the
aid of the system aforementioned, they got together sufficient to meet the
needs of the moment. The bulk of the men had originally been recruited from
two of the great English railways, and either by accident or design,
probably the latter, the authorities kept the men from each railway in
separate companies.
The keenness was terrific. Right from the moment when the railway first
thrust its shining tentacles across the desert, there was a competition
between the two as to which could lay the longer stretch of line in a day's
work. Aided and abetted by the "Camels" and the E.L.C., they progressed at
an astonishing pace, and in spite of all drawbacks from sand and the
terrible heat, an average rate of one mile of line a day was maintained.
To the uninitiated it may seem that railway-making in the desert is a mere
matter of dropping sleepers on to the sand as far as you want to go,
bolting the rails on to them, and running non-stop expresses at once. On
the contrary, except that no rivers had to be bridged nor tunnels made,
laying a line over the desert requires at least as much care and
preparation as elsewhere. For if there is one thing certain about this
unchanging land, it is that the contours of the desert are eternally
changing. The sand is continually silting, and a khamseen may alter the
whole surface of the land, yet to the eye it remains substantially the
same. It is only when you come to study the desert in terms of the
theodolite, so to speak, that you discover its mutability; that which is a
hill to-day may be a plain to-morrow.
All this had to be considered in making the railway-bed, which must have a
firm foundation of stones and a suitable embankment. To put a mile of line
down in a day and maintain that rate is, then, a fairly creditable feat.
Each company worked alternate days; sometimes one company would beat the
record by a few yards, sometimes the other; there was little to choose
between them from the point of view of efficiency.
Here is a story, which I like to think is true, of their intense rivalry
and its results.
As the railway was approaching Romani--this was just before the battle--one
company laid down a stretch of line beating the previous best by some
distance, after which they mentioned the matter casually to their rivals,
and retired to rest in the fond belief that they had effectually "put it
acrost 'em." Life is full of surprises, however. In the chill hour before
dawn the next day a band of soldiers, breathing profanity and
determination, crept across the desert to the line, and made an attack on
that record. All through the day they toiled, pausing seldom for rest or
refreshment, and oblivious to everything but their work. Towards sunset a
triumphant shout proclaimed that victory had been won. At about the same
moment from the rear came another shout, which had in it nothing of
triumph, the shout of a man anxious to do some one grievous bodily hurt.
It was a heated staff-officer who had been sent by the general to know what
the dickens they meant by getting in advance of the troops, whether they
knew that they were pushing the railway right into the Turkish lines, and
whether it was intended for our use or the Turks', etc. etc.
It had apparently taken the staff most of the day to see what was going on,
but the facts were none the less correct; for the railwaymen in their
enthusiasm had failed to notice anything but their general direction, which
was, of course, perfectly accurate; the fact that they had indeed advanced
beyond our lines had utterly escaped them! Later, the general is reported
to have written praising the keenness of the two companies, but
recommending that in future zeal should be tempered with discretion.
Whether the story be true or not is really immaterial, because the incident
could quite easily have happened with these railwaymen; it took much to
stop them.
Not only here but at Kantara a like activity prevailed. A line was laid
running alongside the Canal bank, so that the wharves, and later the docks,
were in direct connection with the main line: thus ships and feluccas could
be unloaded direct on to a train. From this line also branch lines were
made running through the main supply and ordnance depôts, again to preserve
continuity and save time. A network of sidings was constructed, and soon
covered many acres of ground; sheds were built for the locomotives;
repairing plant was installed and signalling apparatus erected; handsome
stone buildings sprang up as station offices; and, in short, one morning
Kantara woke up to find itself the possessor of a railway terminus
complete in every essential detail, even down to a buffet for the troops.
Up to the end the engineers were incessantly extending and improving
Kantara. In time substantial churches were built alongside Dueidar Road;
playing areas were laid out and cinemas erected for the troops; and the
Y.M.C.A. built lounges, concert-halls, and tea-rooms. Of these it is not
necessary to speak, for they were but the trimmings of the place.
The principal attempt has been to present Kantara as it looked to us when
we crossed the bridge that moonlight night in the early spring of 1917: a
cluster of feluccas with their great masts bared to the sky; long lines of
neat huts fringing the Canal; behind them a vast white city; away to the
north the twinkling lights of the railway station; then, when the last gun
and the last waggon had rumbled over the bridge, the broad highroad leading
eastward to the desert and thence into Palestine.
It seemed a very miracle to us, who had lived there little more than a year
before, that so much had been done. Possibly our inquiring friends, had
they been riding with us that night, through those _five miles_ of sleeping
tents, would have believed the evidence of their own eyes.
If visual testimony were insufficient, let the simple fact be recorded that
we had to stop and ask the way!
CHAPTER V
THE WIRE ROAD
I suppose there is on each of our many battle-fronts at least one familiar
road; by which I mean a road traversed regularly of necessity by the many,
and remembered afterwards with feelings either of anger, of respect, or of
loathing, almost as one regards a human being.
I have heard men who fought in France speak of a certain road between
Bapaume and Peronne with a metaphorical lift of the cap; a famous Irish
division who came to Egypt from Salonica, utter winged words when they
refer to a heart-breaking road in that malaria-stricken hole; and
presumably it is the same elsewhere.
We, too, have our road--perhaps the most famous, as it is the oldest, of
them all. It is famous not merely in its present aspect, but chiefly for
its history, extending almost as far back into antiquity as Time itself,
and for its hallowed memories; it has, moreover, seen many, many wars.
It is the great caravan route from Egypt into Palestine. Eastwards from
Kantara it runs, across the desert of Northern Sinai to El Arish, thence
onwards to Jerusalem and Damascus. Phoenicians, Romans, Moslems, and Jews
have traded and fought over it. Napoleon came this way in his hurried dash
into Egypt, and here, too, most of his army left their scattered bones. It
is hallowed by the journey of Joseph and Mary with the infant Christ,
fleeing into Egypt from the wrath of Herod.
Nineteen hundred odd years later the British soldier fought his way
eastwards and northwards over the same route on his mission to free the
Holy Land from the ambitions of a modern Herod. Almost the sole reason for
its existence is the wells. The original road, considered as such, is
singularly unimpressive; it is, in fact, little more than a mere track in
the desert, when it is visible at all, for the ever-shifting sand
obliterates as fast as they are made the imprints of marching feet.
The wells regulate the general direction, as on all the great caravan
routes, and also the distance of a day's march. One may be quite certain
that the ancients did no unnecessary wandering in the desert, but took the
shortest cut from one well to another. Hence, the track follows its
milestones, as it were, and not _vice versa_.
We did the same, and until the laying of the pipe-line rendered the army
more or less independent of them, all the marching and fighting in this
desert were for the possession of the wells that marked the old-time
halting-places. Nowadays, the military road runs alongside the older one.
[Illustration: FELUCCAS BRINGING SUPPLIES TO KANTARA see p. 54. [_To
face page 64_]
It is no ponderous affair of logs, or stones, or asphalt; a very simple,
homely thing went to its making: just wire-netting, with a two-inch mesh,
the kind one uses for the fowl-run! Laid in three rows, and pegged down on
to the sand, it is wide enough for infantry comfortably to march four
abreast. Simple though it sounds, it is astonishingly effective, and,
indeed, the sensation is almost that of walking on a hard, macadamised
road.
The cavalry may not use the road, nor the transport, nor the artillery; it
is exclusively for the infantry, and deservedly so, for only they, who,
carrying a rifle and pack, have trudged along ankle-deep over that
blistering desert, know what a relief it is to march for an hour or two on
a good road. And further, it is the infantry who bear the heat and burden
of the day. All through the summer of 1916--and I have said elsewhere what
manner of summer it was--they fought and died that the way might be made
clear for those to follow them, and that the engineers could lay the road
some of them would never use.
People at home generally are under the impression that there was no
fighting in Egypt at all for two years; that the troops there had no
difficulties to encounter nor hardships to endure; and that life, in fact,
was one grand, sweet song.
Ask the men from Lancashire, or the Scottish Territorial division who came
from the horrors of Gallipoli, or the Yeomanry, or the Australian Light
Horse, what they think of the song of the Sinai desert, as they heard it in
1916!
I fear that in this matter I am somewhat like Mr. Dick with King Charles'
head; yet it is maddening, and indeed most monstrously unfair, that the
work of these splendid men should pass unnoticed and unsung. It need hardly
be said that I am not complaining on my own behalf. Heaven forbid! At the
time the wire road was being made, we were away out East of Suez, digging
holes and making other roads, with merely the discomforts peculiar to the
place to endure.
But to the pioneers the glory, who conquered both the desert and the Turks.
There was none of the pomp and circumstance of war about their work, no
great concentration of men and horses and guns, no barrage nor heavy
gunfire for days in preparation for an attack, no aircraft--though the
ancient buses in use did wonderful work, considering their
limitations--nothing but a few thousand men in their shirt sleeves; and it
was out of their sweat and blood that the way was made clear for them that
followed.
Everywhere and in every respect, save courage and endurance, the enemy held
the advantage. During his slow retreat the choice of ground almost
invariably lay with him; and the Turk has a nice eye for position, as we
found on many occasions bitterly to our cost. Nor did he miss any
opportunity of making a surprise attack, as on that black Easter Sunday of
1916, when he crept up and fell upon the Yeomanry at Katia and Oghratina,
two cavalry posts east of Kantara. Under cover of a desert mist the Turks
crawled past the outposts and fell upon the sleeping men in overwhelming
numbers.
Yet even these odds were not too great. Taken completely by surprise as
they were, the Yeomanry fought with everything they could lay their hands
on: sabres, rifles, bayonets, mallets, pegs, even with bare fists, asking
no quarter and with no thought of surrender. They knew that no help could
possibly arrive in time, for the Turks attacked simultaneously at both
places; yet they fought on with desperate courage until the Turks at length
retired, unable to break the gallant little band.
And who now remembers the names of these places, except the relatives of
those who fell there, and the few who, fighting, came safely through? They
were little affairs of outposts, mere skirmishes, perhaps, but they paved
the way for the larger task. And who now speaks of Romani? Yet it was one
of the decisive battles of the war. Here the Turks made a magnificently
organised attempt to break through our defences and reach the Canal. It was
indeed a wonderful feat to bring an army of nearly 30,000 men across a
sparsely watered desert, with their nearest railhead a hundred and fifty
miles away. We found it difficult enough later with the help of the
railway. Not only did they bring an army, but dragged, on sledges, heavy
guns up to 8 inches in calibre with them--a very rude shock to our experts,
who pronounced it impossible until they saw our observation posts on the
summit of Kattigannit literally plastered with heavy shells.
For nearly a fortnight the Turks struggled to get through. First they tried
to break down our defences between Romani and the sea. Foiled in this they
swung across to the other flank and fought for possession of the chain of
hills dominating this region. Mount Royston, Mount Meredith, and the long,
whale-backed Wellington Ridge all changed hands at least once, and the
last-named became the principal Turkish position, around which a terrible
struggle raged for nearly two days.
The infantry and dismounted cavalry advancing to the attack had first to
cross a broad stretch of uneven country as bare as the back of the hand,
and swept from end to end by machine-guns. They sank over the boot-tops
into the sand at every step, they were hampered by their equipment, and the
blazing August sun made their rifles almost too hot to hold.
Painfully the long line struggled on, halted a little while and lay down,
for human endurance has its limits, then went forward again. So,
alternately forcing themselves through the sand, and lying down for very
want of breath, the sweating men came to the foot of the ridge, sadly
decimated in numbers, but unconquerable in their determination to get to
the top.
Now they made a last great effort, and, swearing, sliding, sometimes
sinking up to the knees, sometimes crawling, and all the time swept by a
murderous fire, these wonderful men reached the redoubt and at length got
to grips, only to be thrust back again by the no less determined Turks.
Again they came, a mere handful, and again they were driven back. Now a
second wave reached the slope, and with the shattered remnant of the first
made a great rush, obtained a footing and kept it. It was sheer
hand-to-hand fighting of the fiercest kind; every man marked his man and
went for him with the bayonet.
The Turks gave back thrust for thrust; they yielded no ground, but died
where they stood. Quarter was neither asked nor given. Men fought in little
groups until one or the other was wiped out, when the survivors rushed away
and gave a hand elsewhere. And at last victory was to the strong, and
Wellington Ridge was won--at a price.
Yet although the capture of the ridge turned their position, the Turks
elsewhere retired but slowly, contesting every attempt at an advance with
most bitter determination.
All through these scorching days the battle raged, and even the fine work
of the cavalry failed to break them, for they knew that with every yard
they retreated, their cherished dream of crossing the Canal receded
farther and farther. It was not a question of "reculer pour mieux sauter";
the Turks knew that if they were driven out of a position they left it for
good; wherefore they fought with the courage of despair. They had to go,
however, for nothing human could stand against the inexorable advance of
our men.
But the fighting, bloody and desperate though it was, was not the worst of
the hardships endured by both victor and vanquished; many things pass
unnoticed in the heat of battle. It is afterwards, when the pursuit is
spent, and a man thinks of a meal and a drink, that he counts up his hurts.
In the fight he has perhaps thrown away his haversack to give himself more
freedom of movement, or a chance bullet has pierced his water-bottle; and
there he is, miles from anywhere, with neither rations to eat nor water
wherewith to slake the thirst that seems to be gnawing his throat away. Nor
has he the chance of obtaining more, except from a comrade.
There were small parties of men concerned in the remoter fighting who
advanced too far, and when night fell, lost touch with the main body. For
forty-eight hours some of them were lost in the desert; water and rations
were soon all gone, and they suffered intolerably with the heat. Hunger
they could endure, but they were driven to dreadful and unnameable
expedients to quench the thirst that consumed them.
When at last they did find their comrades, their tongues and lips were so
blackened and swollen that the first drinks had to be given through a
straw.
Imagine the plight of the wounded, lying on the slopes of Wellington Ridge
and elsewhere, racked with pain, and tortured almost to madness by flies
and thirst, exposed for hours to the merciless rays of the sun, until the
stretcher-bearers, working though they were like men inspired, had the
opportunity to carry them away to the rear.
And then, what? Here were no swift, easy-running cars, no comfortable
hospital-trains to whirl them down to a Base where there were baths, clean
linen, and kindly sisters to make them forget what had passed. Instead, two
or three bell-tents wherein doctors and orderlies, worked almost to a
standstill and rocking on their legs with fatigue, strove to dress the
wounds of the maimed and shattered men.
Nor was this the worst. After the wounds had been cleansed and bound up as
well as might be, came the journey down to Kantara. The lucky few were
carried in sand-carts, but the large majority went on camel-back, lying in
a cacolet. A cacolet is a kind of stretcher-bed with a rail round it, and a
hood over the top to protect the occupant from the sun. Each camel carried
two cacolets, one clamped to each side of a specially constructed saddle.
To a wounded man the motion was the very refinement of torture, especially
if the other cacolet were occupied by a heavier man. At one moment the
cacolet swung high in the air, and the sufferer was banged against the
lower rail; the next, it was at the other extreme, and he was almost thrown
out--there was no rest from the maddening motion until a merciful
unconsciousness brought relief to the tortured body.
By means of cunningly placed blankets the medical authorities did all that
was humanly possible to mitigate the terrible jolting, but with all their
care and ingenuity even the shortest journey in a cacolet was a nightmare.
The miracle was that even the uninjured men could endure so much. One
could--and did--live on bully-beef and biscuits for weeks at a time and
take no harm, provided one could get water. But the Turks had a habit of
poisoning the wells as they retreated, and the most stringent orders had
therefore to be issued, forbidding men to drink of water unexamined by a
medical officer. It was pitiful to see the horses, too, after two or three
days' hard riding, watered perhaps once in all that time; for the lightest
driver or cavalryman, with his equipment, rides at least eleven stone, a
heavy burden to carry over the sand in the heat.
Out of such troubles was the victory of Romani won. It meant that a few
more miles of railway could be built; that the wire road could go forward
once more; that the pipe-line could carry onward its precious freight; and
that the Canal was safe.
Of like nature, too, were the victories at Bir El Abd, where the Turks held
on to their positions with such extraordinary tenacity that it was
literally touch-and-go which side retreated; but those dour Scotchmen could
take a deal of hammering, and the Turks had to go in the end; at Mazar, at
Maghdaba, and at Rafa, on the border, where the Turkish dream of an Ottoman
Egypt was shattered for ever. So they retreated into Palestine, with the
shadow of yet a greater cataclysm upon them.
This, then, was the work accomplished by those early pioneers, and scarcely
the half of it has been told. Let those who sat in their arm-chairs in
England demanding querulously what we were doing in Egypt judge of their
achievement.
They marched and toiled and fought--a few scattered, solitary graves mark
the places where some of them lie buried. If they fought only in their
thousands and not in their tens of thousands, the reason is simple: in all
the peninsula between Kantara and El Arish the wells may be numbered on the
fingers, and before an army can be used, its means of procuring food and
drink must be assured. Water did not exist in sufficient quantities for a
big army, nor was there any transport available for food. Dysentery, heat,
flies, bad water, no water--they took them as a matter of course, and went
forward nor stayed for any man.
In the course of twelve months they cleared the enemy out of a hundred and
fifty miles of desert over which they built the railway, laid the
pipe-line, and made the wire road, that their comrades who followed later
might come safely and quickly to the Great Adventure over the border.
And these are their memorials, for they did a great work.
CHAPTER VI
"THE LONG, LONG TRAIL"
The British soldier on the march is really rather a wonderful person; he is
so entirely self-contained. This, by the way, refers not so much to his
manners as to his methods.
To begin with, he has to carry all his goods and chattels on his person.
The infantryman has his pack and equipment, a wonderful assortment of
articles that bristle out from him like the quills on a porcupine, and
which he generally describes as "The Christmas Tree"; with which, too, he
can do most things, from preparing a meal for himself to digging a trench.
The "gunners" and the cavalry, while fortunately for them not obliged to
carry a pack, may take only what they can cram into their haversacks or
pack on to their saddles, and that is necessarily somewhat limited in
quantity. Kit bags and tents are of course left behind. In fact, when we
struck the caravan road leading into Palestine we were destined for many
months to a nomadic, gipsy-like existence, sleeping under the stars, and
scratching for our meals with what means our ingenuity could devise.
I remember seeing, the morning we left Kantara, a steam-roller puffing
stolidly along the road--a ludicrous sight, too, there in the desert--and
it seemed when we left it behind that we were snapping the last link which
bound us to civilisation. As it transpired later, this particular trek was
considerably more civilised than any we had hitherto taken; we had, in
fact, most of the ha'pence and few of the kicks experienced by our
predecessors. Indeed, we had ample opportunity of seeing how much they had
accomplished, and how extraordinarily well it had been done.
As I have said, the railway for the most part ran parallel with the road,
and at no time was it more than a mile away. Every third day the train
brought a load of forage and rations to the appointed stations on the line,
to which each unit sent its representatives to bring back supplies for
three days.
We had, if I remember rightly, fresh meat and bread for one day, and the
remaining two bully-beef and biscuits; in any case we certainly did not
starve. Watering was rather more difficult, particularly just now, for the
Bedouins, who somehow manage to exist in this barren land, were very fond
of tampering with the pipe-line and then fading quietly away, with the
result that exasperated engineers were dashing up and down with white lead
and repairing tools, so that water was generally unobtainable from this
source.
The trouble was that although the main was covered up, the continual
movement of the sand left it exposed to the tender mercies of these
Bedouins. Later, the engineers gathered scrub from the surrounding desert
and replanted it in the embankment covering the pipe, thus binding the
sand, and forming a firm and permanent barrier to future depredations. To
obviate the present difficulty, large cisterns were erected at most of the
stations on the line, and were fed from two-thousand gallon tanks brought
up from Kantara on the train. Always our first business at the end of a
day's trek was to ride away and look for the railway station, with its one
solitary hut and the half-dozen tents occupied by the water-guard.
I have ventured to mention these details in order to show how very
carefully the move across the desert of even one small unit, especially a
mounted unit, had to be planned out from beginning to end, if it was to
have rations and water in the right place at the right time; the least
hitch and men had to go foodless for a day or even longer.
At Pelusium we had an exciting moment: the country hereabouts consists of a
series of hillocks from behind one of which, without the slightest warning,
reared up a monster of grotesque shape emitting unseemly noises.
Simultaneously the horses reared up and made a spirited attempt to return
to home and friends, and it was not until the turmoil had subsided a little
that we realised what this uncouth beast was.
It was a Tank.
We had been mightily intrigued by hearing of the appearance in France of
these monstrous engines of war, but as a cloud of secrecy hung over all
their movements, had never up to that moment seen one. Those used on this
front were much smaller than their French relations, and were as a matter
of fact a comparative failure in Palestine. Whether the sand was too much
for them, or the rough country over which they had to operate, I do not
know, but after the third attempt on Gaza I believe they were never used.
One could easily understand their striking terror into anybody, however,
especially if their appearance on the scene were the least bit unexpected,
for they were uncanny objects.
Another shock, but one we were able to bear with equanimity, was when we
came across those desirable residences occupied (freehold) by the gentlemen
of the Expeditionary Force Canteens. Even the most confirmed pessimist
brightened up when we sighted one. Then there would be a searching in
wallets for the very needful "feloos," and a careful scrutiny of nosebags
to see if there were any holes large enough to allow one precious tin to
escape. You would see a man staggering along with a nosebag slung across
his shoulder and a wild look in his eye, while his lips mumbled
incessantly. "One tin OxfordanCambridge sausages; one tin
chickenanhampaste; one tin pears...."
Then he would butt into some one similarly engaged, and in the exchange of
pleasantries that ensued both would forget what they wanted. And the
pandemonium once you did get inside the marquee! How anybody was ever
served was a wonder, for the air was thick with the names of all the
dainties and comestibles under the sun; but the people behind the counter
were lightning calculators, jugglers, and equilibrists combined.
One of them, balanced perilously on the top of a couple of packing-cases,
was hurling tins of fruit in all directions; and another performed
incredible feats with an armful of bottles; while a third, standing over an
immense crate, shied packets of biscuits across the counter to the
clamorous throng on the other side. A weary-looking youth who had been for
some time chanting dolefully: "Two packets of biscuits, please--two packets
of biscuits, please...." stopped one packet with his eye. In the confusion
the next man to him, on the same errand, helpfully removed the packet,
placed two piastres on the counter, and departed swiftly to his own place,
leaving the weary one ruminating, possibly, on, "Where did that one go to,
'Erbert?"
At another place, I remember, besides the packets on which were the magic
names of Cadbury or Fry, the veal patties, the tins of paste, and bottles
of sauce, there were large bottles of sustenance brewed by one Bass--at
half a crown the bottle--and others with black, red, or white labels on
them, containing a more potent but very nourishing liquid.
At such times as these, it was the custom, when the day's trek was done, to
"win" as much wood as possible from the nearest station--a sleeper was
extremely useful--build a huge fire, and sit round it in the approved
manner, singing songs and drinking wassail, which latter occasionally
worked out to as much as one tot per man, if you got there early. These
were special occasions, however. As a general thing we were too tired to do
more than roll into the blankets very soon after the evening meal.
It was so cold at nights, too, that some nicety of judgment was necessary
in order to get the best out of our blankets, of which we had two, together
with a greatcoat, cardigan-waistcoat, and cap-comforter or balaclava
helmet, this last a very stout bulwark against the cold blast. The first
business was to dig a shallow, coffin-shaped trench large enough to contain
two; it was much better for two men to bivouac together, since by putting
one blanket only to sleep on, we had three with which to cover ourselves,
besides our greatcoats. Nobody took any clothes off, with the exception of
boots and putties. One man who did so, protesting he was unable to sleep in
his clothes, found in the morning a couple of large beetles preparing to
set up house in his riding-breeches, which materially and permanently
altered his views.
[Illustration: "THE LONG, LONG TRAIL." [_To face p. 80._]
The pillow universally used was a nosebag filled with the next day's feed,
and very comfortable it was, especially now that there were no ravenous
mules to break loose and poke an inquisitive muzzle under our ears. Then
with our cap-comforters on, and perhaps the spare shirt wrapped round the
head, we were snug for the night.
In the mornings there was little temptation to linger between the blankets,
for we were usually awakened by the remarkable change in the temperature of
that hour just before dawn; it was precisely as if a stream of cold air had
suddenly been turned on. Besides, the horses had to be fed, our belongings
had to be made into the neat roll which is strapped on the front of the
saddle, the daily Maconachie had to be devoured, after which came the
saddling-up ready for an early start.
For the first hour or two the journey in the fresh morning air was pleasant
enough; pipes and cigarettes were lit and chaff bandied about. But the very
monotony of the country soon banished any attempt at conversation, and hour
after hour we jogged along in silence. With the exception of ourselves
there was no living thing in sight, no sign of human habitation; even the
wire road was deserted. As the nearest line of low hillocks loomed up and
was passed, you knew the next would be precisely the same, and the next, as
far as the remote horizon. In places the route was strewn with bones of
horses and camels, while here and there a human arm or leg protruded from
the sand, for the Turks did not dig very deeply, and the desert soon gives
up its dead. At Romani especially the ground was littered with bones, great
ravens hung over the putrifying bodies of animals, and a horrid, fetid
smell pervaded the atmosphere. We were glad to get away from this Golgotha
of the desert.
Another rather curious feature was the appearance in the midst of the dunes
of a broad, flat expanse of sand covered with glittering white particles,
damp and salty to the taste, and exactly like the bed of a shallow lake.
Curious, because these "subkuts," as they are called, were seldom found
near a well, and it was difficult to see whence came the water with which
obviously at some time of the year they were covered.
We welcomed them for strictly utilitarian reasons; it was a great relief to
the horses to pull the guns and waggons over the firm sand for an hour or
two. Sometimes, indeed, it took half a day to cross a subkut.
At one point we came across one of the strangest things I have ever seen in
the desert. This was a small hill literally blazing with poppies! Whether
some migrating birds had dropped the seeds here or whether there was some
botanical reason for their appearance, I do not know, but it was a
beautiful and wonderful sight; a riot of scarlet in a barren land. It was
worth a bad quarter of an hour from nostalgia to get a glimpse of home,
after the horror we had just left.
Occasionally the dreary monotony of the days was broken by the visits of
Turkish scouting aeroplanes which hovered about us for a quarter of an hour
or so, until they had found out all they wanted to know, while the long
line of guns and waggons broke up and scattered itself over the desert,
lest the Turks should also feel inclined to drop a little present. This
kindness was always denied to us, however.
Apart from these visits mile followed mile almost without incident. But
there came a day, to be marked prominently as one of these days when
nothing seems to go right.
We awoke to a bluster of blinding sand so that the morning was darkened
with it. Breakfast in consequence was a fiasco, and very empty, very angry,
we faced the trail head-on to the sandstorm. Hour after hour it continued
with no sign of abatement, and with caps pulled down to shield the eyes and
handkerchiefs tied over nose and mouth we struggled on. The day seemed a
thousand years long; and when at last we did come to a halt, it was found
that we had overshot the watering-place by some miles! Back we trailed
wearily to the right place and there made the pleasing discovery that the
water had to be pumped up by hand, with the aid of the cumbersome old
"shadouf." We felt then that the gods had no more to offer us.
How many hours passed I do not know, but the stars had come out and the
storm had almost spent its violence, when we rode back sleepily to the
camping-ground. I may add that this was the only time I was really and
earnestly grateful for an army-biscuit; it was the sole article of food
untouched by the sand!
A day or two later our route took us on to the sea-shore and we knew then
that we were approaching the end of the journey; moreover, if further
indication were necessary, every halting-place now was populous with men,
all, like ourselves, marching towards El Arish, which is the only native
town in the whole desert. It was here that the ancient River of Egypt once
flowed until some violent upheaval of the earth's surface caused it
completely to disappear. Arab tradition has it that the river now flows
underground, which probably accounts for the fertility of the wadi, or
valley, and ultimately for the existence of the town.
Approaching the place we passed a very large grove of date-palms beyond
which the white roofs and walls shimmered in the setting sun. The Turks
were expected to make a great stand here, not only because of its strategic
position but also for its value as a port. When our aircraft reconnoitred
the ground about the middle of December, they discovered that for some
unknown reason the enemy had departed bag and baggage in the night, and the
cavalry, after a terrible march of nearly thirty miles, had nothing to do
but walk in and take possession. This was something of an anti-climax,
considering the preparations the Turks had made for putting up a stern
fight.
But as usual they retired with a sting in their tails. At Maghdaba, some
twenty miles down the wadi, they left a garrison in immensely strong
positions, with orders, apparently, to delay our advance at all costs.
Our horses and men were deadly tired after their long march, and the
watering problem was acute. There was literally no water between El Arish
and Maghdaba, and the wells at the latter place were in the hands of the
Turks. However, the Imperial Camel Corps, the Anzacs, and the Royal Horse
Artillery, entirely oblivious to everything but their objective, captured
the whole series of redoubts and the survivors of the garrison, who fought
on till they were completely surrounded.
El Arish was chiefly remembered by us because we were able to take all our
clothes off for the first time in ten days, and indulge in the unwonted
luxury of sea-bathing. Throughout all our subsequent wanderings in
Palestine no joy ever approached that of a complete bath; indeed, it is
ludicrous to note the number of places about which everything was
obliterated from the memory save the fact that one had a bath there.
From El Arish onwards the track was now thick with marching men, and at
Sheikh Zowaid, another spot of green in the desert, we came to a great
camp, where it was easy to read the signs of a coming "show." The bivouac
areas were crowded with troops of all arms, and as fast as one brigade left
another marched in to take its place.
There is a subtle difference between a concentration camp near the front
line and one down at a base; something more purposeful, perhaps, in the
former than in the latter. There is, withal, considerable less ceremony.
Here there were canteens--observe the plural--of surpassing magnificence.
In the mere attempt to get near them we experienced something of what our
people were going through at home. The queues were prodigious! As two
canteens were rather close together we had carefully to note which queue we
were in lest we should inadvertently find ourselves at the end of one when
we ought to have been at the head of the other, or _vice versa_. In the
latter case the unobservant one would have his correct and ultimate
destination described with a wealth of epithet and in a variety of
dialects.
The ever-enterprising Y.M.C.A. had a marquee, too, where we could sit in
comparative comfort, where we met men from other units with whom we
exchanged views on how the campaign should be run, on the appalling
iniquity of those A.S.C. people at the base, who lived on the fat of the
land while the fighting men starved--a slight but very popular exaggeration
with the troops--on the possibility of a mail within the next year or two,
and on similar great matters.
After this we gave each other cap-badges or buttons as a sign of mutual
goodwill and returned to our palatial burrows in the sand, a perilous
journey in the dark across an area literally honeycombed with similar
burrows, into which we fell with monotonous regularity. Our progress was
punctuated by a series of muffled but pungent remarks from people whose
faces we had stepped on, or who had been suddenly interrupted in a snore of
powerful dimensions by the violent impact of a hard head against the
diaphragm. By the time we had reached our own place the remarks had swelled
to a chorus with a deplorable motif.
Next day we started for Rafa, the last stage of the march, which brought us
to the southern border of Palestine. And, let me record the fact with due
solemnity, we celebrated our arrival by cleaning harness!
CHAPTER VII
ON THE FRINGE OF THE HOLY LAND
After the decisive victory of the 9th January, Rafa had been formed into an
advanced base for the next attack on the Turks, who had retreated some
twenty miles to immensely strong positions, of which Gaza formed the right
and Beersheba the left flank, with Sheria in the centre. During the whole
of February, troops of all arms had been steadily marching eastwards across
the desert. By the middle of March Rafa presented an inspiring spectacle.
Every day brigade after brigade of cavalry, artillery, and infantry poured
in, dusty, thirsty, and leg-weary, but in high spirits at leaving the
desert behind at last. One infantry division in particular--the 52nd
Lowland--had good reason to be thankful, for, coming straight from
Gallipoli to Egypt, they marched and fought every yard of the way across
Sinai.
The mounted division certainly did the same, but it takes an infantryman
thoroughly to appreciate the joys of tramping in full marching order over
the sand. The 52nd, moreover, did most of their marching before the wire
road was laid. Where all did so well, it is rather invidious to single out
any one division, but I do not think any one will object to throwing a few
bouquets at the Scotsmen, except possibly the Turks, who heartily disliked
them, especially behind a bayonet.
By now the railway had caught us up again, and almost daily long supply
trains come in from Kantara with loads of rations and forage. Also the
Egyptian Labour Corps arrived in hundreds and once more made the day
hideous with their mournful dirge. But if this eternal chant made one yearn
to throw something large and heavy at the performers, their work compelled
profound admiration. They must have beaten all previous records in laying
the line from Sheikh Zowaid to Rafa and were preparing to carry it forward
at the same pace. It was a characteristic of the railway now and later, to
appear in all sorts of unlikely places, and it was quite a common
experience to be awakened two or three days after our arrival in some
remote spot, by the shrill whistle of a locomotive.
The most striking thing at Rafa, however, was the organisation of the
water-supply. The great tanks that had done duty farther down the line were
brought up and long rows of them stood by the side of the railway. There
were fanatis literally by the thousand, ready to be filled and carried
forward when the time came. This apparently liberal provision was very
necessary, for except at Khan Yunus, six miles away to the north-east, Rafa
represented the only place for twenty miles whence to obtain water.
Though we could see the Promised Land, we were not there yet, nor did we
know much about the state of the wells after the Turks had finished with
them. Until we had advanced into and consolidated the country near to Gaza,
therefore, we had to carry every drop of water with us, sufficient,
moreover, to last for several days.
What the infantry would have done without the camels, one shudders to
contemplate, for they were practically the only means of water-transport.
Right into the firing line they would come at sundown, drop their fanatis
and fade away again. Nobody bothered to find out whence the camels came or
whither they went, but they were always there when wanted. It is no
exaggeration to say that the desert and subsequent campaigns would have
been impossible without the camels, both in their carrying and fighting
capacity. The mounted units for the most part used water-carts, though
these in turn were filled from fanatis brought up as far as possible by
camels.
By the time headquarters arrived at Rafa on the 20th, preparations had
about reached their zenith, and on the 23rd we moved out, with six days'
marching rations for men and horses loaded on to the limbers, which looked
uncommonly like business.
Our destination we did not of course know, and we were content at the
moment to be crossing the border into the Holy Land. Before us lay the
gently undulating plain, in the midst of which nestled the smiling village
of Khan Yunus, a beautiful sight, and one never to be forgotten. Everywhere
was green; fields of young barley rippled in the light breeze, palms and
almond trees nodded to the morning, and between the rows of cactus and
prickly pear ran the slim grey ribbon of the caravan road winding away to
the north.
Peeping out from amongst the trees were the flat-topped roofs of the
village, at the entrance to which in the most commanding position stood the
ruins of an old castle. Only the grey weather-beaten walls remained, but
the odour of antiquity was on the place, for it was built by Saladin,
Prince of Saracen fighters and conqueror of our own Richard the
Lion-hearted. How appropriate and impressive a place for the beginning of
the great Crusade!
Many places of historical and biblical interest did we see in our
wanderings, but I think the memory of our first real glimpse of the Land of
Goshen will ever remain the most vivid. Disillusionment came later, as it
does everywhere in the East, yet on that spring morning Khan Yunus, shining
like an emerald, came as balm to eyes weary with the aching barrenness of
the desert.
The Turks had originally intended to hold the place, probably on account
of its valuable water-supply, but thought better of it and retired to Gaza.
When we rode through the village the engineers were already busy repairing
the walls of the deep well in the market-place, one that had probably done
duty for hundreds of years, to judge from the state of the steps leading up
to it; they were in some places worn almost flat. The water was ice-cold
and wonderfully refreshing after the lukewarm, chlorinated stuff which had
corroded our insides for so long.
It was easy to see that an enemy of unpleasant habits had recently been in
the place. Few inhabitants were abroad, with the exception of the crowd of
dirty, ragged children watching the engineers at their work, but nothing
short of a bomb would upset the average Arab urchin.
It was the custom of the Turks here and elsewhere in Palestine to allow the
unfortunate fellaheen to grow and garner their harvest of barley or millet
without let or hindrance, after which they commandeered the major portion
and gave in payment--a promise! Most of the inhabitants are still waiting
for the redemption of that promise.
When they found that the British were prepared to pay in cash for what they
took, they acted on the sound principle that what is lost on the swings may
be gained on the roundabouts. Until a fixed and reasonable tariff was
adopted, we performed the function of roundabouts with great spirit and
dash, though at considerable cost. Meanwhile the fellaheen refilled their
pockets or wherever they keep their money, and lived in fatted peace.
We had scarcely halted to await orders on the outskirts of Khan Yunus
before an aged Arab, rather the worse for wear, arrived with a basket of
large and luscious oranges for sale. Ye gods, oranges! And we had seen no
fresh fruit for months! The old gentleman was fairly mobbed, and we cleared
his stock for him in a very few seconds. When he had recovered he went away
to spread the glad news abroad that a large body of madmen had arrived
thirsting for oranges, and, moreover, eager to pay for them.
Presently the ladies of the village came out _en masse_, all with baskets
of oranges, some as big as the two fists. We had a glut of them. Personally
I ate ten--this is not claimed as a record--and never enjoyed fruit so much
in my life; it was a very satisfying experience.
Later in the day we rode into the village again to water the horses and
fill the water-carts. As the well was not yet in full working order the
engineers had dug a large shallow hole in the ground, lined with a
tarpaulin, and not unlike a swimming bath in appearance. This was filled
with water from fanatis brought up by the camels, and connected up by
hand-pumps to the canvas troughs erected alongside, by which ingenious
means we were enabled to water the horses in comparative comfort. For this
blessing we were truly grateful after our recent experiences in the desert.
Coming back we met some wretched half-starved Bedouins fleeing into the
village for safety. One mournful little cavalcade struck the eye
arrestingly as it passed. At the head of the party and mounted on a white
donkey rode the handsomest Arab I ever saw in Palestine, with clean-cut
features and large, sorrowful eyes. Behind him, also on donkeys, rode his
womenfolk, heavily veiled, and his retainers in burnous and flowing robes.
Hereabouts the road was strewn with leaves and branches blown from the
trees, and the whole made a picture startlingly suggestive of that
representing Christ's entry into Jerusalem.
It must be remembered, lest this scene be set down as a figment of the
imagination, that the people of this land are still the people of the
Bible: their dress, their habits, their methods of travelling are precisely
as they were two thousand years ago. The husbandman still uses the
cumbersome wooden plough of the Old Testament, the women still go with
their "chatties" down to the well at sunset, to draw water and gossip with
their neighbours, as did Rachel before them, and any day can be seen,
tending their flocks, shepherds the exact prototype of those who followed
the Wise Men of the East to the cradle of the world.
I am not going to suggest that this incident of the fugitive sheikh was
instantly linked up with the sacred picture, the process was gradual.
There was first a sense of being on familiar ground, of having witnessed
the whole scene before somewhere, which was followed by the transition to
the Bible stories of childhood's days. Then came the inevitable dénouement,
and the picture was complete. Similar scenes constantly recurred the
farther we advanced into Palestine, and it was impossible that they should
leave no impression.
We found our orders waiting for us when we arrived back at our halting
place and at once hooked in and started again, only to be held up a little
way out by the congestion of troops who had marched into the village during
the morning. The cactus-hedges bordering the lanes afforded admirable
protection from observation by enemy aircraft, some of which were hovering
in the neighbourhood.
Dispatch-riders on motor-cycles threaded their way to the front in and out
amongst the horses with amazing skill, the cavalry swung forward _en route_
for the open country, staff officers galloped along the lanes, and in a few
short moments the whole atmosphere had changed from pastoral peace to the
tense excitement of military activity. Every few moments an enemy plane
came over to have a look at Khan Yunus, though it is doubtful whether they
saw very much, for an army could easily have hidden itself between the
hedgerows of the village.
So great was the bustle that most of us fully expected that the first
battle in the Holy Land was about to begin. It was by now high noon and
insufferably hot, and the soft alluvial dust churned up by motor bicycles
and galloping hoofs rose in suffocating clouds. We were penned in by the
high cactus-hedges and not a breath of air could reach us to dissipate the
choking dust. We had, it would appear, escaped the sand only to encounter a
worse enemy, and to add to our discomfort, we were still wearing the serge
tunics of the winter months. Nor could we ease ourselves by taking them
off, for this was a lengthy business, first necessitating the removal of
water-bottles, haversacks, bandoliers, and revolver-belts; and orders to
move might arrive while we were _in medias res_. The early morning
rhapsodies about Palestine were, like ourselves, rapidly melting away under
the influence of these trials to the flesh, and as the blazing hours wore
on with no change in the situation, we began strongly to feel that the
country was vastly overrated.
All through the afternoon generals, colonels, and minor constellations
charged past and disappeared, and with every fresh layer of dust on our
already begrimed faces, we thought that the moment had surely come to move
out of that atrocious lane. But for the entire absence of gunfire, you
would have thought that a frightful battle was going on somewhere beyond
our narrow prison. Not until sundown did we at last receive orders to go
forward till we were clear of the village--and camp for the night!
For most of us whose imaginations had been fired by the scenes we had
witnessed, this order came as a bitter disappointment. Later in the evening
we learnt what has already been told earlier in this chapter: that we had
still some fourteen miles of the country to cover before we could get in
touch with the Turks. While we had been waiting in the lane the cavalry had
made a reconnaissance in some strength, in order to see if any Turkish
patrols were in the neighbourhood. Apparently the "All clear" had been
reported, hence our peaceful return with the instructions to be ready to
start on the longer journey at a moment's notice.
The horses, at any rate, were satisfied to stay the night at Khan Yunus,
for they were mad with delight at finding themselves amongst the green
again. They broke loose and charged into the fields of young barley, they
trampled on it, they lay down and rolled in it. Finally they ate it and had
to be treated for pains in their insides. The men who were doing
picket-duty in a mounted unit during the first few weeks we were in
Palestine aged perceptibly with the responsibility of preventing the horses
from stuffing themselves with the unaccustomed green food. It was quite
enough to keep our horses fit in the ordinary way without having colic to
add to our joys.
CHAPTER VIII
THE FIRST BATTLE OF GAZA
Early next morning we started for Deir el Belah, which was to be our
jumping-off place for the attack on Gaza, whither the Turks had now
retreated. It was a beautiful trek. If there were not "roses, roses, all
the way," the green fields and the almond blossom made very acceptable
substitutes. But for the cactus and prickly pear which lined the lanes we
might have been riding leisurely over an English countryside. We saw as
many trees during this nine or ten miles' ride as during the whole of our
time in Egypt. There were few palms. The sycamore, which grows to greater
perfection in Palestine than I have seen elsewhere, was in the majority and
cast a beneficent shade on us. There were limes, too, and a tree which
looked something like a laburnum, together with the almond tree now covered
with its delicately-tinted bloom.
The utter tranquillity of the place made one wonder if the grim business
upon which we were engaged was indeed real, for here there was none of the
dust and bustle of the previous day. The clear freshness of the morning
made us feel glad to be alive, and there was, moreover, no disillusionment
in the shape of dirty mud houses, nor anything to spoil our enjoyment. It
was just Nature at her very best, and in her spring dress she is very
pleasant indeed in Palestine.
As I have said, it was probably by contrast with the desert that this
lovely country appealed so strongly to us. Even the morning pipe had a
different flavour. For a few brief hours we could forget that our ultimate
mission was to kill as many Turks as possible and could plod along on our
horses as though all Time were our own, wanting nothing to our infinite
content. An agreeable aroma hangs over the memory of that day though it was
absolutely uneventful in itself. We arrived at our destination in a state
of peace with all the world, which is a most inappropriate condition to be
in for a soldier--even amateurs like ourselves. However, it was only
temporary. At Belah we learnt something of the order of battle in so far as
it affected ourselves. While the infantry were making a frontal attack on
the positions defending Gaza, we--that is, the mounted divisions--were to
strike out east and north with the double object of holding up Turkish
reinforcements from Beersheba and Hereira (S.E. of Gaza), Huj (E. of Gaza),
and cutting off the retreat of the main body should the town be taken. What
to do should the attack fail we were not informed. Presumably we were to
trust to what Mr. Kipling aptly calls "the standing-luck of the British
Army" to pull us through.
Be that as it may, there was--to anticipate a little--something badly wrong
with the information respecting the forces opposed to us. According to this
we had to beat only the meagre remains of the division that had been so
severely mauled in the recent fighting on the desert, together with a few
thousand infantry and cavalry from the places mentioned above. The
impression most of us received was that the whole affair would be a
"cake-walk." We were to take Gaza _en passant_, as it were, and reach
Jerusalem by Whitsuntide.
"The best laid schemes...."
We started at 3 a.m. the next day, March 26th, while it was yet dark, and
steering east for some four or five miles came to a narrow, steep-sided
riverbed. This was the soon-to-be famous Wadi Ghuzzee. By some
extraordinary oversight, the Turks had neglected either to fortify the wadi
or even to leave outposts there; at any rate the crossing was accomplished
with difficulty but without interference. Arrived on the other side we
halted to wait for the sunrise to dissipate the fog through which we had so
far travelled. So far from lifting, as the dawn approached it grew denser,
until it was impossible to discern any object more than a few yards away.
It was eerie waiting in the clammy atmosphere with the feeling that we were
shut off from the rest of the world by the thick wall of fog. Memories of
Katia and Oghratina sprang unbidden to the mind, and a repetition of those
disastrous affairs seemed not unlikely. We felt with relief the sudden cold
that precedes the dawn, and in a little while it grew lighter. Presently
the sun appeared dimly over the Eastern horizon and we waited hopefully for
the fog to lift. We waited....
At seven o'clock we unhooked the horses from the guns and
ammunition-waggons and let them graze on the herbage.
No sound of battle came to our ears; indeed, so profound was the silence
that enveloped us, we might have been in a tomb. Then, perhaps half an hour
later, the fog suddenly lifted like the drop-scene in a theatre, and we
found ourselves in the middle of a wide undulating plain stretching to the
remote horizon. Then we saw that the stage was set and the actors were
ready. On our left, their approach unnoticed by us in the fog, our infantry
were marching in fours; from away to the south-west, as far as the eye
could see, came three mighty columns of marching men, sunburnt, silent,
inexorable.
They looked immensely efficient, these veterans of Gallipoli, tramping
steadily along in their shirt sleeves--best of all fighting kit--and there
were two divisions of them. Alongside them came another long column of
ambulance-carts drawn by mules, beyond which, again, marched the auxiliary
branch of the medical service, the camels, soft-footed and supercilious,
with the white hoods of the cacolets swaying unevenly as they marched. Then
came the light armoured-car batteries and in the centre the
horse-artillery. Out on the flank the plain was black with the horses of
the mounted divisions, disposed in brigades, and on the right the Imperial
Camel Corps had a roving commission. So the army marched steadily forward
to the assault, a wonderful spectacle. There was this to be said for the
fighting in Palestine: you fought in the open most of the time; with
certain limitations you could see your enemy and he could see you. The
personal element, therefore, played a more important part than when there
was an overwhelming concentration of artillery on one side or the other,
and as a rule battles were won because the victors were both collectively
and individually the better men.
Soon the infantry diverged to the left, and the columns, moving toward the
sea, were presently lost to view beyond the low western hills. We continued
our flanking movement eastward, with cavalry screens thrown forward and the
remainder advancing in beautiful order over the undulating plain. Within a
couple of hours or so we had reached our appointed place, whereupon some of
the cavalry galloped forward to keep in touch with the other mounted
division operating toward the north, the armoured cars disappeared swiftly
on their lawful occasions, and the Imperial Camel Corps went off to attend
to the needs of such Turkish reinforcements as were to be found. We had not
long to wait before an enemy aeroplane arrived and, locating us at once,
dropped a smoke bomb. Hardly had the little puff dispersed when the first
shell arrived with a hideous, screaming whine, and exploded with a
shattering roar on the hillside some hundred and fifty yards in our rear.
It was followed instantly by another which burst a similar distance in
front--a perfect bracket, and we were in the middle of it. It looked any
reasonable odds that the third shell would arrive in the middle of _us_,
for we offered a splendid target: thousands of horses and men in a shallow
saucer-shaped depression the range of which the enemy evidently had to a
yard.
Even the most confirmed optimist could scarcely help feeling that in a few
seconds we were likely to be put out of action--polite euphemism!--before
striking a blow. But the God of battles was with us, for the third shell,
to our utter astonishment, not unmingled with relief, never came! The
reason was soon apparent: a battery of horse-artillery was seen galloping
madly over the stretch of level plain a mile or so in our rear, in the
direction of the Turkish big guns. With beautiful precision they swung into
action and in a few seconds were firing round after round in a determined
effort to put their larger adversary _hors de combat_. Whether the Turkish
gun-positions were known beforehand and this effort part of a pre-arranged
plan I do not know. As we saw it, it looked like a spontaneous and
magnificent act of self-sacrifice.
It was David and Goliath over again, but unfortunately the luck on this
occasion was with the latter. He plastered the battery with his heavy
shells; one of them, bursting near the battery-staff, put almost the entire
party out of action from the concussion alone. There was not a scrap of
cover either for horses or guns, and soon the gallant gunners were forced
to withdraw. They had, however, succeeded in their object--if it were
indeed to create a diversion in our favour--and had in addition completely
destroyed the crew of one enemy gun. With the exception of a parting round
which burst near the field-ambulance on our left we had no further trouble
in this direction. Subsequently we went forward without let or hindrance,
except from enemy aircraft, whose bombs disturbed quite a quantity of
earth.
Meanwhile on our left the infantry were heavily engaged. Their lot was not
an enviable one. The natural defences of Gaza are immensely strong, and
these were in addition strengthened by every conceivable human device. The
town stands in the midst of a chain of sandy ridges, inside which is a
smaller ring, with a wide stretch of open country absolutely devoid of
cover between the two. The extreme niceness of the position lay in the fact
that any one ridge was well within range of most if not all of the
remainder. Without much difficulty, the infantry captured two of these
outer ridges--Mansura and Shalouf--and immediately prepared for the attack
on the central positions. The chief of these was the place to which Samson
carried the gates of Gaza: Ali Muntar--how familiar we were destined to be
with that name!--a great, bleak rock, whose terraced slopes rose far above
the rest and commanded a wide field of fire over the plains of Gaza. It was
defended in its several tiers by machine-guns cunningly placed, concealed
rifle pits, trenches protected by rows of cactus and prickly pear, the
broad leaves of which are almost impervious to rifle-bullets and even
shrapnel, and heavy guns hidden in cavities in the rock itself.
It was, I think, about noon and intensely hot when the infantry began the
attack. From our position on the flank it was, of course, impossible to see
in detail what was going on, or much beyond the actual deployment of the
troops. But the machine-gun fire, which during the morning had reached us
in purring waves of sound, now increased to such awful intensity that the
rattle became a roar incessant and deafening. From the moment the first
waves started to advance across the open country they came under a
devastating fire. They were bespattered with shrapnel from the guns,
enfiladed on three sides by machine-guns whose fire swept them away in
scores, rifle-pits spat death at them, and from the crowded trenches came
a terrible volume of rifle-fire. It seemed impossible that any one could
live to reach the slopes of Ali Muntar; yet these men from Wales and East
Anglia went forward with a steadiness almost past belief, and ultimately,
with ranks sadly thinned, did reach the foot of the hill. From this point
they fought their way inch by inch and drove the desperately resisting
Turks back through their cactus hedges and over each successive terrace
until, late in the afternoon, the summit was won.
The cost was terrible: some battalions had lost three-quarters of their
effectives, many had lost half, and all had suffered very heavily. True, a
very large percentage of the casualties were lightly wounded in arms and
legs; nevertheless, they were out of action and the battle was by no means
won.
Earlier in the afternoon we on the flank had at last got on the move.
Aeroplane reconnaissance showed that large bodies of Turkish infantry and
cavalry were marching swiftly from Beersheba and Hereira, to the assistance
of their comrades in Gaza, and we went forward to delay their advance.
A squadron of Anzacs operating from the north-east fought with such dash
that they found themselves at the outskirts of Gaza itself. They charged an
Austrian battery, slew the gunners and captured two of the guns. Not
content with this, with characteristic impudence they swung the guns round
on to the town at point-blank range! Then they sent a message to the
battery of horse-artillery operating with them to ask for gunners to give
them instruction in the art of gunnery, as they were not doing enough
damage themselves! I cannot say whether the instructors arrived or not, but
the Anzacs clung to their captured guns like leeches and continued to use
them in spite of the furious counter-attacks immediately delivered by the
incensed Turks. Indeed, so uplifted were the Anzacs by their recent
performance that not only did they repel all attempts to regain the guns
but they charged the town and got into the streets, where the bayonet
fighting was of the fiercest and most desperate kind. Here they suffered
very heavy casualties, for machine-guns in numbers were on the flat-topped
roofs and the bullets swept the narrow streets like hail, killing friend
and foe indiscriminately. In spite of this they managed to drive the Turks
out of a portion of the town, and from this they refused to be dislodged,
though the greater part of the men were wounded, some of them severely.
Farther east, meanwhile, another party of Australians were supplying a
little comic relief. Their function originally had been to prevent the
escape of any Turks should the town be captured, but as the refugees failed
to appear, for obvious reasons, the Australians rode forth to inquire into
the matter. A mist of obscurity hangs over their doings until the moment
when they saw before them an open landau--or gharry, as it is termed in
Egypt--with an escort bearing all the trappings of high officialdom,
proceeding at a gentle trot some distance away over the plain. This seemed
to be fair game, so with a wild "Coo-ee" the Light Horse charged down upon
the totally unsuspecting party. The driver of the gharry lost his head and
his seat simultaneously, the vehicle overturned and pinned the unfortunate
occupant underneath, and the escort surrendered hurriedly several times
over. This last was perhaps as well, for the attackers were so weak with
laughter at the sight of a very dignified Turkish general in full regalia
crawling from under the gharry that they were in no condition to put up a
serious fight. It transpired later that the general so ignominiously and
comically made prisoner was a divisional commander who, with all his staff,
was apparently proceeding to his advanced headquarters with no thought of
danger. It was humiliating for him and his entourage but was a highly
important capture for us, in that he was one of the cleverest Turkish
generals.
Another brigade of the Light Horse, under General Royston--"Galloping
Jack"--operating in this area, were fighting desperately hard to drive a
large force of Turks from a ridge, east of Gaza, which they had
unexpectedly occupied and from which they were trying to get in touch with
cavalry coming from Huj. In their successful attempt to defeat this project
the Light Horse had the spirited assistance of the armoured cars whose
utter disregard of danger saved the situation time after time. One group
of half a dozen cars ran into half a division of Turkish reinforcements and
were given up as lost by the brigade. But no! Instead of surrendering
tamely the inspired madmen in the cars ran amok and played a merry game of
follow-my-leader up and down and round and through the ranks of the enemy,
until they had fired off most of their ammunition. Whereupon they made a
final burst and got away almost unscathed--they had less than half a dozen
casualties--leaving some four hundred Turkish killed and wounded on the
field and the remainder probably wondering, like the nigger when the
meteorite hit him, "who frowed dat brick"!
As far as our part of the front was concerned it was a day out for the
armoured cars and the Imperial Camel Corps. The latter were early engaged
with some of those unsuspected reinforcements from Hereira and elsewhere
and suffered terribly heavy casualties in beating off their attempts to get
through. The Turks were overwhelmingly superior in numbers, yet a brigade
was held up for half the day by one company of the "Cameliers"! Another
company formed up like cavalry and actually charged--and took--a position,
the camels taking the hurriedly vacated trenches in their stride, as a
horse leaps a ditch! I should think this charge is almost unique in the
annals of war.
Yet a third company fought on until only one officer and seventy men were
left and few of those were without a wound of some sort. It is not too
much to say that their amazing efforts saved a large number of the mounted
division from destruction, or, at least, capture.
For the greater portion of the day we ourselves had performed the rôle of
spectators. With the exception of the contretemps already mentioned not a
single shot came near us; we occupied an oasis of calm in the midst of a
hell of fire--and looked on. At certain intervals we walked or trotted, and
once we galloped madly for half a mile, expecting at the end of it to hear
the order: "Halt--action front!" It was a false alarm. We halted for two
hours--till about five o'clock, when, judging from the firing, Gaza was
hemmed in on all sides.
We were then in a kind of shallow nullah situated about half-way down a
gently sloping hill. Suddenly, over the top of the hill came a "Signals"
waggon at the gallop laying a line at tremendous speed. The battery was
galvanized into action by a sharp order, and in a few seconds the guns were
unlimbered in a position facing due east, whence the rattle of musketry
came in increased volume. Another battery tore down the hill, across the
valley, and swung into action behind the crest opposite. Soon they were
firing salvoes as fast as they could load, while our guns were yet idle.
Something seemed to have gone wrong. Anxious eyes were turned to the west,
for the sun had by now nearly reached the horizon and in half an hour at
most it would be too dark to fire.
How precious those three fog-spoilt hours of the early morning would have
been, could we have had them now! The minutes dragged on and still no
orders came. Gradually, as the sun sank, the hideous din of firing around
us died down and then ceased abruptly, as if some unseen hand had descended
and shut off all the guns simultaneously. We limbered up and withdrew a
little way up the hill, and unhooked again for the night. I cannot hope to
describe the bitter disappointment of that moment. That we had been
spectators all day was bad enough, that the horses had been waterless for
thirty hours and that we ourselves were hungry, thirsty, and very weary,
was worse, but that the pernicious fog should have prevented us from
loosing off at any rate one round was the last straw.
We found a small grain of comfort in the shape of a well at the bottom of
the hill, to which, without removing their harness, we took the horses.
After the usual wearisome process of dragging up the water in canvas
buckets we found it to be muddy, yellow stuff, and the horses, thirsty
though they were, would have none of it. Perhaps they were wiser than we
knew....
From the western end of the valley, travelling at a tremendous pace, came a
small cloud of dust making straight for us.
It was a dispatch-rider, bringing word that the Turks were on the other
side of the farther hill in great force and ordering us to clear out at
once to avoid capture.
It never struck us till afterwards that the fact of the water being
undrinkable saved us. Had it not been that we had spent something like half
an hour dragging it from the well and trying to persuade the horses to
drink, the harness would have been removed and we should have been in our
blankets and fast asleep.
As it was, the Turks were in our position twenty minutes after our hurried
departure.
CHAPTER IX
THE RETREAT
Bewildered by this sudden turn of events, we hurriedly hooked the horses in
again to guns and ammunition-waggons, slung on the personal equipment
recently discarded--though our water-bottles were now, alas, empty--and
quickly vacated the nullah.
Where we were going to nobody save those in command knew; most of us were
too weary to care. Our deadened senses were hardly capable of realising
that the relieving Turks had somewhere broken through the cordon; we had to
clear out and, in spite of what the firing had told us at sundown, we had
failed to take Gaza. That much was now obvious; victorious troops do not as
a rule retreat, especially at our present pace.
Hence we had no option but to keep moving as fast as we could until we were
ordered to stop.
A mile or two out of the nullah we encountered the rest of the brigade, and
gradually a troop from one unit or a squadron from another joined the
column. By now it was pitch dark, but as far as one could judge we were
taking a different route from that by which we had come. Our present
direction was due west, and had we persisted in following it this route
would have led us straight into the Turkish lines at Gaza.
The reason, which I give with some reserve, was learnt later. A German
officer speaking perfect English and dressed in the uniform of a British
staff-officer, rode up to the head of the column and announced that he had
been sent by Headquarters as a guide. Thereupon the column followed this
audacious gentleman's leadership for some miles, until a pukka British
officer, who had providentially spent some years surveying this very
country, asked his commander whether he knew that we were making a bee-line
for the Turkish defences. A startled ejaculation burst from the general,
who turned to the guide to ask him if he was quite sure of the way.
But he asked in vain, for the man had disappeared!
Whether this explanation be true or no, there are in connection therewith
two somewhat significant points: one was that some days later a German,
masquerading as a British staff-officer, was undoubtedly captured, and paid
the customary penalty; the other was that after we had trekked for perhaps
a couple of hours in a westerly direction, we turned sharply to the left
and continued almost due south, at right angles to our previous route.
We had not proceeded far this way when we came across the remainder of the
mounted divisions, and fell in beside them, a heterogeneous mass. Troopers
of the Light Horse were riding with gunners from the artillery; cacolet
camels, whose native drivers had their heads shrouded in blankets, trudged
beside ambulance carts; here and there a man who had lost his horse
stumbled wearily along, first in one column then in another; guns and
ammunition-limbers were mingled with cable-waggons; and all followed
blindly man or waggon in front of them. The army slept as it marched. Men
slid gradually down into the saddle, with bowed heads, until the tired
horses stumbled and jerked them again into a hazy consciousness for a few
yards. Then the heads drooped once more, the nerveless hands loosed the
reins, and bodies swayed unevenly back and forth. Here and there a man,
utterly overcome by sleep, lurched from his saddle, pitched headlong and
lay where he had fallen until one more wakeful picked him up and set him on
his waiting horse again or in an ambulance. Some tied themselves on
gun-limbers and slept there, while their riderless horses gregariously
followed the column.
A slumbering, ghostly army, moving like automata. What sounds there were
seemed to come from a great distance: the soft pad-pad of the camels, the
creaking of the cacolets swaying high and low and the moans of the tortured
men in them, the uneven beat of hoofs, and mingled with every sound was
the monotonous crunching of waggon-wheels on the rough ground.
It was terribly difficult work for the drivers in the engineers and
artillery, for the country now was broken by great boulders, dust rose in
clouds obscuring the vision, and no semblance of a road was to be found.
The lead-drivers had to keep a sharp look-out lest they ran down somnolent
stragglers wandering across their path, and if the column halted suddenly
they had to throw off quickly to one side to avoid running into the waggon
immediately in front and telescoping the whole team. This was a
particularly onerous task, for the dust made it impossible to see more than
a yard or two ahead. The wheel-drivers were in no better case and in
addition they had the waggon-pole to look after, and the centre-drivers
were betwixt the devil and the deep sea.
Besides the rough country there were deep, narrow nullahs to be crossed,
some of them with sides as steep as the roof of a house. Then the
wheel-drivers reined in till the pole-bars almost lifted the weary horses
from the ground, and those in front picked a perilous way step by step over
the rocky surface of the incline.
Nearing the floor of the nullah the drivers loosed the reins and flogged
their horses into some semblance of a gallop in order to gain enough
impetus to carry them up the ascent on the other side. One of these nullahs
was a fearsome place: half-way down the descent the path had a twist in it
and at the angle of the turn was a gigantic boulder almost blocking the
way. In the inky darkness it was hideously difficult to get down without
overturning the vehicles. The very path itself was a mere narrow cleft in
the side of the nullah, and the lead horses, thrown out of draught to allow
those in the wheel to bring their waggon round the boulder, had to scramble
up the rocky slope again until they were almost level with the waggon
itself. Many encompassed the journey in safety, but soon the inevitable
happened: a limber failed to clear the boulder. As the horses were making
the turn the off-wheel crunched against the side, lifted, hung poised for a
second, then, as the other wheel continued to move, swung farther over, and
the waggon overturned with a sickening crash, dragging men and horses to
the earth in inextricable confusion. The way was completely blocked, and
meanwhile those behind, ignorant of what had passed, were preparing to make
the descent!
A terrible débâcle was prevented by the quick presence of mind of one who
scrambled to the lip of the nullah and called a halt. How the waggon was
righted and set on its way again nobody could say clearly. Men tugged at
drag-ropes and strained at the wheels, it seemed for hours. But the task
was at last done--horses and men were providentially unhurt. One of the
drivers, who had been pinned between his two horses by the fall, had fallen
asleep while waiting to be extricated, and lay peacefully oblivious to the
pother around him.
When all was clear and the waggon once more sent on its way, the remainder
started to come down, the dangerous turn now being lighted by a
hurricane-lamp, held by an officer mounted on a boulder. By the disastrous
delay, however, the column was riven into two parts and there was grave
danger of one losing touch with the other. For some miles the pace of those
in the rear was accelerated in the hope of catching up, but the country was
so rough that real speed was impossible.
Moreover, during the long wait men had fallen into a stupor of sleep so
profound that even the incessant jogging failed to rouse them. Occasionally
we encountered a level stretch of ground, and the horses were urged into a
trot which set the drooping figures on them bobbing in their saddles like
marionettes on strings. For some seconds the absurd motion continued until
the riders, becoming unbalanced, instinctively clutched the pommel of their
saddles to save themselves or dug their heels into their horses' sides.
Whereupon the startled animals broke into a shambling canter for a few
yards till for very weariness they dropped again into a walk. So it went on
for hours--walk march--trot--halt, till the gaps were closed; then: walk
march--trot--halt again. Even the wheels beat out the words with damnable
iteration and made of them a maddening refrain. We seemed to be marching
to the ends of the earth. During a brief moment of wakefulness I found
myself wondering, in a detached kind of way, if we should ever stop. It did
not appear to matter much anyway, for we could only go on till we dropped,
and then perhaps should be able to sleep.
At last we caught up with a long line of camels softly plodding along,
which seemed to be at the rear of the leading column. Shortly afterwards we
reached the Wadi Ghuzzee and attempted the crossing, which was the worst we
had yet encountered by reason of its precipitous nature. Indeed, seen
afterwards by daylight, it was difficult to understand how the horses
managed even to keep their feet, so steep was the path.
At the foot of the farther slope, lying in the bed of the wadi, was an
overturned ammunition-waggon by the side of which was a dead horse--a
silent warning of the danger of the ascent. There was no room here for a
final gallop to help the waggons up the hill; it was simply sheer, steady
tugging all the way. If the strain were relaxed for a moment the waggons
began to slide down the slope, and the gunners had hurriedly to scotch the
wheels till the horses were ready to take hold and pull again. When the
gallant brutes did eventually reach the top they were shaking in every limb
as if with ague.
But the worst was now over. Some time or other we must have reached our
destination; I cannot remember. I have the vaguest recollection of placing
a nosebag for a pillow, but that is all; the rest of that night is lost in
deep oblivion.
It was a curious sight that presented itself next morning. Men were lying
just where they had fallen. Some were stretched straight out with faces
upturned to the sky; others huddled up in strange attitudes; others again
lay with their heads pillowed on their saddles; and all had utter weariness
stamped in every line of their bodies. Nearly all the horses were lying
down, a sure indication of extreme fatigue, for as a rule they slept
standing.
One by one the men stirred, stretched, and looked dazedly about them.
Presently, when consciousness returned, we began to remember that it was
twenty-four hours since we had eaten. Haversacks were searched for what
remained of the bully-beef and biscuits, which were very hard to get down
without water, and of that we had none.
In this respect the horses were in worse plight than we. It was forty hours
since they had been watered. In no country, save Mesopotamia, did the
exigencies of the campaign lie so heavily upon our four-legged comrades as
in Egypt and Palestine. But for the fact that all animals in the army are
better treated and looked after than any in the world, it would have fared
very hardly with them. You should have seen some of the captured Turkish
horses! It made us heartsick to look at them, so emaciated were they from
ill-usage and neglect. The Eastern has no idea of kindness to animals; it
was a common practice for them to ride horses with open sores as big as the
hand on the withers and elsewhere, day in and day out, with no thought of
giving the tortured creatures treatment for their ills.
It is a poor day for the British soldier when he cannot find some little
dainty for his horse, or "win" an extra handful of grain when the
quartermaster-sergeant is looking the other way; his first thought is
always for his horse.
When we had snatched a hurried meal we set out to look for water. The only
known wells were at Deir el Belah, whither we proceeded. We had apparently
crossed the wadi some distance to the east, for we went seven miles or
thereabouts before we reached the wells, which were, however, only for the
use of the men. The horses were watered at a large lagoon, bordered with
tall reeds, considerably nearer the sea, which lagoon I shall remember.
There were no troughs, and we had to ride the horses some yards into the
water to clear the reeds before they could drink. The bed was covered to
the depth of nearly a yard with black sticky mud, and my horse, plunging
forward to get at the water, stepped into a steep hole where the mud was of
Stygian blackness and incomparable stickiness, and we investigated these
qualities together. As I was leading another horse as well, my position was
exceedingly uncomfortable, for in the confusion a trace slipped over my
head and was caught by the back of my helmet, pinning me under the water.
Nor were the most desperate efforts to free myself of any avail, for the
horse was struggling like a mad thing to get his--or rather, her--head
above the surface.
I had reached the stage where one's hectic past is supposed to pass in
mournful panorama across the mental vision, when the chin-strap of my
helmet broke and the trace was released, jerking my head above the surface
of the water with a force that nearly dislocated my neck. The pent-up
wrath--and mud--inside me came out in a yell which almost drowned the
shouts of laughter from the bank, and covered with black slime from head to
foot I scrambled out.
This personal reminiscence is here obtruded because the incident made the
rest of the day a blank.
Orders to harness up and go out again came almost immediately the watering
was finished. We went somewhere and came back again towards nightfall, but
what happened in the interim I know not. At every halt I was engaged in
scraping the mud off myself with a jack-knife, an indifferently successful
implement for the purpose. An officer gave me half a pailful of water
wherewith to wash myself, but as my entire wardrobe was at the moment
modestly hiding under a thick layer of mud, his kindly act did not help
very much. However, as the troops bellowed with joy every time they looked
at my piebald countenance, somebody was pleased, which was all to the good.
That lagoon loomed very large on our horizon for some days. We camped near
it on our return and, hoping to make up some arrears of sleep, settled down
very early. The plan went awry, however. We had neighbours so anxious to
make our acquaintance that they called--nay, thrust themselves upon us--at
sundown. Mosquitoes! They came in clouds and very nearly caused a panic.
This was a new terror. We had suffered most of the plagues of Egypt--which
did not include mosquitoes; those of Palestine were beginning their
operations already.
Even the tiniest creature on the earth has its function in life, we are
told, but for the life of me I cannot see the use of the mosquito, which
may sound uncharitable. But when, after lying down for a rest that you know
is well-earned, thousands of these pernicious insects fasten on you and
bite you and raise large lumps on your person, hatred, malice, and all
uncharitableness are the only emotions you are capable of feeling. And
these mosquitoes from the lagoon were of surpassing virulence. Presumably
they had been living on a diet of lean and hungry Bedouin for many months
and had found no sustenance therein; for they made of our well-nourished
bodies a feast of Lucullus and gorged themselves to repletion. A doctor
once told me that the female mosquito hums but does not bite, while the
male bites but does not hum. That is just the kind of immoral trick a
mosquito would practise. While the female is creating a diversion--and a
disturbance--by her vocal camouflage, the other criminal silently puts in
his deadly work. Having stuffed himself till he can hold no more he goes
into a corner, well out of reach, and pretends to weep over his evil deeds.
This is merely Pecksniffian; indigestion is his trouble.
Another neighbour we had was the frog--several thousands of him--and his
voice was out of all proportion to his size. Just after sundown the Chief
Frog made a loud noise like stones rattling in a can, apparently calling
the tribe to attention. For a moment there was deep silence. Then the
chorus burst forth, rose to a hideous crescendo and descended to a
monotonous rattle; and this was the motif of the song. Frogs must have very
powerful lungs, for these never seemed to draw breath; theirs was, as it
were, a continuous performance and a most infernal din withal. We became
accustomed if not reconciled to the nightly chorus during the three weeks
we camped by the lagoon, and after that first night the row failed to
disturb our rest, which is more than can be said of the mosquitoes.
Familiarity with them breeds anything but contempt; it is generally
malaria.
Although the mounted divisions had been obliged to retreat the battle was
by no means over. During the night of the 26th Turkish reinforcements, now
unopposed, poured into Gaza from all over the country. Next day the Turks
counter-attacked Ali Muntar in great strength, and though our infantry, who
had suffered and were suffering great privations from want of water, put up
a magnificent resistance, they were at length driven from the positions
gained at such heavy cost. The Turks followed up this success by capturing
a ridge farther east, from which they could shell our positions at Mansura
practically with impunity, and could, moreover, prevent supplies and water
from reaching the beleaguered garrison.
The daring little band of Anzacs who had penetrated into Gaza were also cut
off and captured, though the Turks failed to retake their lost guns, which
were proudly brought in by the remnants of the brigade. The situation now
looked extremely serious, for the Turks, growing bolder, launched a most
determined attack on Mansura, and in spite of numerous counter-attacks
rapidly made the ridge untenable. The "Cameliers" again sacrificed
themselves in a gallant effort to raise the siege and played sad havoc with
the Turkish cavalry. Temporarily the advance was held, but as death from
starvation and thirst was the only alternative to ultimate capture by the
Turks, the garrison made good their escape in the second night of the
battle, and the following day all our troops were on the western bank of
the wadi.
I wish it were possible to speak here of some of the countless acts of
gallantry and self-sacrifice performed by our infantry during this three
days' battle. Most of these, however, reached me at second-hand, and it is
as well to write mainly of things seen.
The story of one may perhaps be told as being typical of many, and this
story I know to be true. A man taking part in the first assault on Ali
Muntar was shot through both legs, and for many hours lay exposed to the
heat of the sun. Succour could not reach him and his sufferings from thirst
and the pain of his wounds can faintly be imagined. His constant and
semi-delirious cries for water were heard by a comrade lying, shot through
the lungs, some thirty yards away. This man had still a little water left
in his water-bottle, and, in spite of his own intolerable agony, dragged
himself painfully across the intervening space. The exertion killed him; he
died in the act of raising the bottle to the lips of his comrade.
CHAPTER X
THE SECOND ATTEMPT
The business was to begin over again. We had failed; and if our defeat was
as proud as victory it was none the less a defeat. Our firm belief at that
time was that the fog had been solely responsible; certainly it was through
no dereliction of duty that we had been unsuccessful.
Looking back, however, after the lapse of two years, it is difficult to see
what other result could have been obtained even with the aid of the extra
hours of daylight. We might, and probably should, have taken Gaza; that we
could have held it against the undreamt-of reinforcements who poured down
in their thousands from as far north as Anatolia is extremely doubtful.
Further, the difficulties of maintaining a large army in this almost
waterless region were enormous. The Turkish railhead was on their doorstep,
as it were; ours was then twenty miles away at Rafa.
From that place all supplies and most of the drinking-water had to be
brought up by any transport available--chiefly camels; this obviously could
not go on for long. Opinions differ as to the wisdom of delivering the
attack at all until the railway had been brought as far as Belah. The chief
reason was, I believe, that the authorities were afraid that the Turks
would retire without fighting right back to the Judæan hills where, during
the months that must necessarily have elapsed before we could attack them,
they would have so fortified their naturally strong positions as to render
them, if not impregnable, at least infinitely more difficult to take than
those defending Gaza.
But, as an end to speculation, the hard facts were these: we had the Wadi,
the Turks still had Gaza--and intended to keep it. Inside of a fortnight,
moreover, they had concentrated six divisions for that purpose. Also, they
fortified an important ridge, east of Gaza, from which to prevent another
attempt at encircling the town. This was a nasty blow, especially for the
mounted divisions. The next attack would have to be delivered frontally,
and as the Turks held all the important positions it was likely to prove
expensive. Our counter-preparations were begun as soon as the infantry were
firmly established on the western bank of the wadi. By dint of the most
extraordinary exertions on the part of the engineers, assisted gamely by
the coloured sportsmen in the E.L.C., railhead was brought up to Belah by
the first week in April. Approximately fourteen miles of broad-gauge line
were laid in well under a fortnight, which feat was a great deal more
impressive than it looks on paper; for the country was now undulating and
hilly, in sharp contrast to the desert.
The first cutting was being made at Khan Yunus when we passed through on
the way north, and there were several more subsequently, all of which
needed time and hard work. But the single line was now insufficient for the
needs of the army. Another division had been brought up, and the 52nd
Lowland Division, who, by way of a startling change, had not been engaged
in the first battle, also arrived from Khan Yunus to swell the tide of
troops. Accordingly a branch line was laid from Belah down to the seashore,
where immense quantities of ammunition and stores were landed from
cargo-boats coming direct from Port Said or Alexandria.
Landing the stores was a particularly difficult task. All the ships had to
stand about a mile off-shore and discharge their cargoes into lighters and
smaller craft. Nor was this too easy, for the currents hereabouts were
exceptionally strong--several men were drowned while bathing--and the coast
was rocky and dangerous; nevertheless the work was done at express speed.
At the beginning of April a notable arrival was that of the Tanks. We had
left them behind at Pelusium and had not seen them since, for it was a slow
business bringing them across the desert. Extraordinary precautions were
taken to hide them from observation by Turkish aircraft; indeed, so
effectually were they screened that even we failed to spot them.
Enemy machines now hovered over us daily, seeking information and dropping
powerful reminders of their presence. In this latter respect they paid
particular attention to the long trains arriving daily and also to a large
shell-dump near the station, which they bombed unmercifully. A remarkable
and, to my mind, deplorable feature here and elsewhere was the frequency
with which a field-ambulance or hospital of some sort found itself
alongside an ammunition-dump. So common was the practice that a man seeking
temporary treatment would first look for the dump, and sure enough the
hospital was hard by. We used to strafe the Turks for bringing up
ammunition to the firing-line under cover of the Red Cross, but it seems to
me that in effect we were doing much the same thing. You cannot expect the
enemy to play the game according to the Geneva Convention if you yourself
fail to observe the rules.
Turkish airmen used to drop messages asking us kindly to move our hospitals
lest they should be hit by bombs intended for the dumps. Presumably out of
pure cussedness the hospitals stayed where they were; and inevitably they
were bombed. Then they moved. As a case in point: there was a large field
ambulance alongside the main shell-dump at Belah upon which several bombs
were dropped with disastrous results. One marquee full of sick and wounded
men was completely destroyed. Several others were badly damaged, and the
occupants, many of whom were desperately ill with dysentery, while helping
their weaker comrades out of the débris were bespattered with bullets from
the low-flying machines above. Little imagination is needed to picture what
would have happened to the hospital _in toto_ had a bomb hit the fringe of
the dump.
Apart from this it was uncanny how the Turks spotted the places where our
heavy guns were concealed ready for the coming show. In broad daylight they
came over and dropped bombs with amazing precision. Under cover of darkness
the guns would be moved and profane gunners laboured half the night to make
them invisible--and in one case their work was so well done that twenty
yards away it was impossible to see any signs of a battery. Yet the Turks
found them the very next morning and made the position very hot indeed.
Obviously this was not the result of direct spotting; somewhere there was a
leakage; and presently it was found--and stopped.
At Belah there was a native village of sorts, a mere hotch-potch of
mud-huts, whose inhabitants scratched a precarious living by tending sheep
belonging to other people. Ancient and withered Bedouins--or Turks
disguised as such--used to come into the camps and supply dumps and pester
the troops for empty kerosene or biscuit tins, to be used ostensibly for
carrying water. As these are the native receptacles all over the East they
were readily handed over without question.
One morning, however, a gunner, casually looking round, observed the
remarkable phenomenon of a kerosene tin perched on the top of one of
several trees near which his battery was placed, and glinting in the bright
sunlight. Continuing the movement he noticed another tree similarly
crowned, and yet another. Some queer accident might have accounted for the
presence of one tin, but three...! He reported the phenomenon to his
commanding officer, who, pausing not to reason why, immediately moved his
battery from what he thought was likely to be an extremely unhealthy spot.
He was right; he had barely got the guns under cover elsewhere when the
Turks, flying low, came over and heavily bombed the place he had just left!
Of course the kerosene tins had been almost as useful as a heliograph, and
who would dream of looking for such a thing at the top of tree?
Another accident led to the discovery of a much more elaborate means of
sending information.
One night a trooper of the Light Horse was returning to his bivouac from a
visit to a friend in another squadron. Standing by a little mound was a
figure which he took to be the sentry, which gentleman he was rather
anxious to avoid, the hour being somewhat late. To his astonishment the
figure suddenly disappeared into thin air; the trooper rubbed his eyes and
advanced cautiously towards the spot: not a trace. He was just beginning
sorrowfully to think of the quantity of liquor he had consumed that
evening, and to ask himself: "Do I sleep, do I dream, or is wisions about?"
when he was challenged lustily from behind by the real sentry.
When he had sufficiently recovered from the shock the trooper described
what he had seen to the sentry, who urged him to go to bed and he would
probably be better in the morning. However, the trooper persisted in his
tale, and finally the sentry promised to keep a sharp look-out on the place
and to warn his relief to do the same. The next day the trooper, his
conviction still unshaken, collected a few friends and together they dug
round the mysterious spot. They found an underground chamber with telephone
apparatus complete, which was found to be connected with the Turkish
defences at Gaza! The trap-door leading down to it was hidden under sods of
earth indistinguishable from the surrounding soil and the place was
ingeniously ventilated by a pipe through the stump of a tree close by. The
two occupants had rations enough for a siege; only they knew how long they
had been installed and how much information they had gathered. The sublime
effrontery of the thing! It might have gone on for ever had not one of the
prisoners crawled out for a breather at the precise moment when the
convivial trooper was returning to home and friends.
After this episode there was a long and rigorous hunt for spies and several
more were captured, most of them carrying on very innocent-looking
pursuits. What made the risk of detection less for these people was the
British policy, in the main a sound one, of non-interference up to a
certain point with the natives of the country in which we were fighting;
any old Bedouin, therefore, was a potential spy.
By the middle of April the preparations for a second attempt on Gaza were
complete. This time there was no intention of confining the issue to a
one- or even two-day battle. There might be another fog.... On the 16th we
packed six days' rations and forage on to the limbers and moved to the
outskirts of Belah, there to cover the infantry and wait till they had
carried out their part of the programme, which was to capture the outer
defences of Gaza. The Lowlanders and East Anglians did this in great style
the next morning, and spent the rest of that and the following day
consolidating the gains and preparing for the big "show" on the 19th. At
dark on the 18th we moved forward and crossed the wadi once again: the
journey this time was made comparatively easy by the fine work of the
engineers during the past fortnight.
By cutting deep into the steep sides of the wadi they had made several
really admirable roads sloping gradually down to the bed and up the other
side. The way led through fields of barley now standing almost waist-high.
It seemed a monstrous pity that the harvest would never be garnered, that
soon it would be crushed by gun-wheels and trodden underfoot by thousands
of horses. As we drew nearer the Turkish lines we proceeded with extreme
caution lest we ran into their patrols, and shortly after midnight halted,
noiselessly unlimbered the guns and dug them in. We had to tie the horses'
heads up to prevent them from grazing on the barley around us, and muffled
their bits and other steel work on the harness with bits of rag, for the
least sound carries a long way in this clear atmosphere. Then, the drivers
in each team taking turns to watch their horses, we lay down in the barley
and slept. "Zero" was at 0530, when it was just light enough to fire, and
by dawn we were up and about, tightening girths and preparing for a quick
move, if necessary--in one direction or the other.
The Turkish batteries discovered us at the precise moment when we opened
fire, possibly a few seconds before, for their first shells arrived and
exploded in a smother of barley-stalks and dust ere we had fairly begun.
They must have had some previous suspicion of our presence, for they had
the range to a yard right from the opening chorus and peppered our position
with extraordinary precision. Fortunately for us their guns, like our own,
were light field-pieces, or casualties would have been heavy. As it was the
Turkish shells destroyed most of the barley in the vicinity without doing
any material damage to our guns or horses.
After about an hour's steady firing, on the same lines as the strophe and
anti-strophe of a Greek chorus--noise and damage about equal, that is--the
excitement began in real earnest. The guns were limbered up and we advanced
out of the barley fields and galloped under heavy fire across a sandy
stretch to a position right in the open. We had a lively half-minute
unlimbering the guns. One team advancing into line struck a patch of heavy
soil which caused the pace sensibly to decrease. They were lucky, for a
shell had previously burst in the exact spot where the gun was unlimbered a
second or two later, which would certainly have obliterated the entire team
had it not been for that providential patch of heavy ground. Another shell
passed underneath an ammunition-waggon, ploughed a deep furrow in the earth
and--failed to explode! There were very few "duds," however. The red
flashes from the Turkish guns were distinctly visible, and every few
seconds their shells exploded in a long line about ten yards in front of
our position.
Our responses must have been very much to the point, for the shelling from
one quarter diminished appreciably after one particularly heavy burst of
firing from our guns, and soon ceased altogether. By way of retaliation the
batteries immediately in front of us redoubled their fire and spouts of
earth shot into the air all round the guns. So hot did it become that once
the horses were called up to bring the battery out of action; it was
impossible to approach within a hundred yards, however--indeed, as soon as
the teams appeared out of the nullah in which the waggon-line had been
placed the Turks instantly turned their guns on to them and shelled them
out of sight again.
But now another battery came up on our right, and the two, by accurate and
steady shooting, gradually wore down the opposition; one by one the red
flashes disappeared and the spouts of earth diminished in number. Finally
there was a lull; the Turks had had enough for the time being.
This of course was only on a very small portion of the front, and only
affected the movements of our particular brigade, who were heavily engaged
on their own account. On our left the advance was making little progress.
The Turks had fortified every ridge to the last degree and refused to be
dislodged from even the smallest positions, fighting on till every man was
killed. The Welsh Division were making towards Samson's Ridge, and being
nearest the sea were compelled to move in a restricted area in which there
was no cover whatever. Standing a few miles off-shore were some British
monitors and a French battleship, the last-named aptly called the _Requin_,
and these did some fine shooting throughout the day.
It was discovered that the Turks were using the big mosque in Gaza as an
O.P. from which to direct their artillery fire. The navy promptly dropped
a 9.2 in. shell on it--a fine shot considering the range.
Even with the aid of the battleships the Welshmen could make little
progress, so heavy was the fire, and they suffered terrible losses. Not
until the afternoon, when most of the Turks were killed or wounded, did
they capture the ridge. On the right the "Jocks" managed at heavy cost to
seize a hill, known afterwards as Outpost Hill, and were at once enfiladed
from every ridge in the vicinity and compelled to withdraw. They came again
and held on in spite of their casualties, for it was hoped to reach from
here their ultimate objectives.
It was a forlorn hope. All the troops, either attacking or in support, were
compelled to lie in the open. They were swept by bullets from every side
and plastered with shells from guns of all calibres. The Turkish action in
fortifying Atawina Ridge, east of Gaza, had narrowed the front by many
miles, and so well were the defences elsewhere arranged that unless Ali
Muntar itself, which dominated them all, were taken it was impossible to
hold on to any one ridge even if it were captured.
Farther over towards the right the East Anglian division, the "Cameliers,"
and a brigade of Light Horse--to the last-named of which we ourselves were
attached--began just before noon to advance, after the "pipe-opener" of the
early morning. The infantry had a few tanks operating with them, but these
met with little success, for everything was against them. One stopped a
direct hit when immediately in front of a Turkish redoubt and was soon
reduced to impotence by the concentrated fire poured into it. As a matter
of fact the poor remains of the tank permanently occupied this position,
and until it was taken months later Tank Redoubt was ever a thorn in the
side of our infantry.
By eleven o'clock in the morning we had advanced some four or five miles,
after which the infantry were temporarily held up. The Camel Corps and the
Light Horse made a magnificent attempt to break through between Atawina and
Ali Muntar. This was the hottest period of the day; the Turks turned on
every gun they could bring into action. As all their "heavies" were mounted
on rails they could be swung from one end of the front to the other with
the utmost ease. I cannot speak with knowledge of what happened to the
Camel Corps, but the Light Horse had a terrible time. Both units had been
successful in capturing a line of trenches, which were at once shelled out
of existence by the Turkish fire. The casualties here were very heavy. In
support of our brigade we galloped about a mile over very broken and
dangerous country and eventually came into action astride a road, with a
small crest in front and a larger one in rear of our positions.
Turkish aircraft spotted us at once and dropped smoke-bombs. Again we were
lucky, for the heavy shells which came over a few seconds later burst
behind us on the large hill. Unfortunately another battery coming up to
assist caught most of these shells and had a very bad time. One gun was
dismantled by a direct hit and all its crew wounded, but the remainder
fought their guns with magnificent coolness. Word came that our brigade and
the Camel Corps were being beaten back by the Turks, now advancing steadily
and in great force, and a third battery dashed up on our right to help
repel them. For five hours the three batteries were firing as fast as the
guns could be loaded. The crash of the Turkish shells bursting over our
positions, the roar of the explosions as our guns were fired, and the
rattle of machine-guns on our left combined to make an appalling din.
For a long time the ranges continued to decrease as the Turks pressed
slowly forward, and casualties from the brigade streamed past in increasing
numbers, some on stretchers, some walking, and one carried pick-a-back by a
huge Australian, towards the field-ambulance away to the rear. Three enemy
aeroplanes came over to make things unpleasant, but their aim was bad. One
bomb dropped dangerously near the horses, who were standing the racket
exceedingly well, and that did little damage. These machines did, however,
harass a line of ammunition waggons, which were proceeding to a dump about
a mile away, coming down low and turning on their machine-guns in the hope
of killing the horses. There are few things more unpleasant than being
fired at from an aeroplane: you feel so utterly impotent; and what
aggravates the grievance is the fact that you cannot hit back--unless you
happen to belong to a battery of "Archies." When you are a mere
gravel-crusher or a driver in the artillery you have to grin and abide; and
the grin is apt to deteriorate into a grimace. You can become accustomed,
if not reconciled, to shell-fire; but I personally never heard the drone of
an enemy plane overhead without a prickly sensation down the spine and an
urgent desire for a large dug-out forty feet below ground; and there were
very few of these in Palestine. At one stage in the journey to the dump a
wounded Australian made a spirited, if inadequate attempt to bring down a
plane by rapid rifle-fire, aiming at each of the three in turn! But this
was the only effort at retaliation and is mentioned for that reason.
We had no "Archies"; and the only British aeroplane I saw on this part of
the front, at any rate, was brought down in flames as we were returning
from the dump. Good men gone in a hopelessly inferior machine. God forgive
us, we cheered, thinking it to be a Taube.
Shortly after our return to the battery the Turkish advance began to waver.
They had been sprayed by an incessant hail of shrapnel and high explosive
for over three hours, and even their fatalistic courage could not stand the
strain. The Light Horse were now holding their own, and soon a monotonous
voice from the O.P. chanting over the wire, told that the Turks were
retreating. Slowly the range increased--2400--2600--2800--until the enemy
had passed out of reach of the guns; then for the first time since early
morning we ceased fire.
But elsewhere on the front the situation was almost _in statu quo_. Though
the Welshmen had, as stated, carried Samson's Ridge and had even advanced
some miles along the coast, Ali Muntar still remained untaken. All day the
Lowland Division had made the most desperate attempts to storm the
position, going forward again and again with sublime disregard of their
losses. But to no purpose. They were hemmed in by an inferno of fire which
came from all directions: an attacking wave was swept away almost before it
began its forward move.
It was horrible, useless slaughter. When it was found that no headway could
be made in the centre the Lowlanders were ordered to cease their heroic
attempts, which they did most unwillingly. As the order to withdraw reached
a brigade which had been hammered unmercifully all day with little chance
of retaliation, one of the men shook his fist at Ali Muntar and, almost
choking with rage, cried out: "Damn ye! We'll hae ye yet!"
In the late afternoon the order to withdraw came to the mounted divisions
and, pivoting on the centre, we swung back some five miles in order to come
into line with the infantry, who themselves retired a very short distance.
It was no question of a sudden, urgent retreat to avoid capture, for the
Turks had had far too severe a gruelling to attempt pursuit. It was the
reluctant withdrawal of stubborn, angry, and above all, superlatively brave
men from positions too strong and well-organised to be taken by the means
that had been adopted.
As it afterwards transpired, we had the meagre consolation of knowing that,
though Gaza was still intact, we had achieved some small measure of success
east and west of the town. The gains on the east were unfortunately
neutralised by the deadlock in the centre; those on the west were
consolidated and held.
CHAPTER XI
TEL EL JEMMI AND THE CAMELS
In reporting our second attempt on Gaza the newspapers, no doubt officially
inspired, gave us half a dozen lines all to ourselves. One of them
described it, I think, as a "minor engagement"; from another we learnt to
our surprise that we had been "in touch" with the Turks. As our casualties
for the day were officially estimated to be between seven thousand and
eight thousand, by far the bulk of which were from the Lowland and Welsh
Divisions--who went into action possibly twenty thousand bayonets
strong--one may perhaps be excused for thinking that the above descriptions
err on the modest side. Secrecy is a very necessary thing in war--we learnt
the bitter lesson in South Africa--but it ought not to drive bereaved
mothers and sisters and sweethearts to riot and to demand the truth, as
they did in Glasgow when, months later, the fateful telegrams announcing
that their men had been killed or wounded in this "minor engagement" began
to arrive in hundreds.
[Illustration: CAMOUFLAGING A TENT WITH DESERT SCRUB (see p. 29).]
[Illustration: A CAMEL CONVOY. [_To face p. 144._]
We used to wonder sometimes whether the people at home knew there was an
army at all in Egypt and Palestine; an army, moreover, longing wistfully
for the merest crumb from the table of appreciation, just to show that our
"bit" was known and recognised. Even the rugged Scotsmen and the
independent men from Australia and New Zealand liked a mead of praise, or
at least encouragement, once in a while; and when men have spent two years
on end--as most of us had--in a desert land, with no one to speak to save
their own comrades, nothing to look forward to beyond their daily, deadly
monotonous work, they need a little encouragement, if only to save them
from melancholia.
The only means of getting to civilisation, of knowing again the decencies
of life, was to "go sick" as it is termed, and be sent down the line for a
spell in hospital; and no one but a
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