Part 2 (2/2)
And here I should like to ask why it is that the moment the sailorman is ash.o.r.e 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 inst.i.tution; 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 sc.r.a.ped 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. Spa.r.s.e 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 Ca.n.a.l 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 polis.h.i.+ng of guns and a burnis.h.i.+ng 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 burnis.h.i.+ng, 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 Pa.s.s, 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 Ca.n.a.l 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 n.i.g.g.e.rs 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 a.s.sistance of the Cherif of Mecca, who was having a little war on his own account.
We knew what that meant. The a.s.sisting force would be sent to some evil-smelling native town with an unp.r.o.nounceable 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 hors.e.m.e.n 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 Ca.n.a.l and prepared to await developments.
It was not unpleasant waiting, for there was the daily bathe in the Ca.n.a.l, and the big s.h.i.+ps and liners pa.s.sing up and down seemed to bring us once more in touch with civilisation. It used to be the kindly practice of the pa.s.sengers to throw tins of cigarettes and tobacco overboard whenever the boat pa.s.sed one of the numerous outposts guarding the Ca.n.a.l. 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 a.s.semble 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 d.y.k.es wide enough to give one something to think about. Moreover, the jackals were astonis.h.i.+ngly 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.
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