THE DESPATCH-RIDERS
But though Army Corps Headquarters is in touch with the flanks by both
telephone and telegraph, that is not enough. Either or both may fail.
But apart from that, there are some communications which no officer
will trust to a wire. And until that is premised one wonders vaguely
what is the use for despatch-riders. Almost it would seem that in
these days, when so much of the romance of war has departed, telephone
and telegraph would do all; indeed, the despatch-rider and his steed
would seem among the first of the old usages to vanish before the
march of science in the field. But here they are, these lithe, brown
fellows with their furrowed bushmen's features--lined, not with years
(they average twenty-five) nor with care (they're of a flinging, happy
frame), but with the sparse, clear lines of the athlete about the
mouth, and about the eyes of the man who has peered into long distances
over the interminable plains of Western Queensland. They're horsemen
down to the tendons of their heels. You may see them tending their
horses at sundown, any day, in mule gully, slinging their saddles
across the bar outside their dug-out; and, after, boiling the billy.
They're modest, too, like many another good horseman, and will relate
the experience of their rides from Suvla only if you press for it.
But there is no need for a relation; you may see them ride and sniped
most days of the week, if you'll be at the pains to climb the ridge
overlooking the level country of the left flank. Before the saps were
made their work was no game at horsemanship. But there are intervals
where the sap avails them nothing; and here they gallop at the stretch;
you may trace their route by the cloud of dust in the wake; and you
see them slow suddenly as they get into protected territory. The
sniping (they will tell you) is, curiously enough, worst at night; the
Turk creeps forth into advanced sniping-positions, and even brings up
his machine-gun within striking distance, and directs his aim by the
horse's clatter. Despatch-riding, day or night, is known as "the dinkum
thing."