THE PASSING OF WINTER
Winter passed and spring followed, bearing in its arms fierce suns and
weary scorching winds. The desert camp remained until we learned to hate
the country that once had amused us. By day, and more rarely by night, we
manœuvred in the desert, making ready for the task which was so tardy in
arriving. The life was hard; but I did not find it barren of pleasure.
Many a long gallop had I over the shining sands, when the sun was scarce
awake. I have spent mornings perched on some observing station while the
batteries came in and out of action, and the heliographs flashed and the
flags wagged. The Colonel proved a good master, though impatient and
abrupt of speech. He spurred from point to point with half a dozen of the
Staff on his heels, or sat in some trench on a hilltop, looking over the
country with keen eyes. Also I learned the ways of the adjutant, a quiet
man with little to say. On horseback he, too, moved swiftly about his
business, covering many miles in a morning’s journeying.
Sands—Sands the marvellous—became a telephone expert, and was to be
found anywhere haranguing the cable-cart men, or kneeling on the ground,
ear glued to the receiver of a field telephone. His conversations were
worth the listening. One he held at midnight in the desert. We had word
of an attack by infantry, and Sands hurried to the telephone to call up
Eaves at the next station. “Eaves! Hullo there! Eaves, I say! Oh, damn
and blast the thing, it won’t work! Message for you! Eaves, are you
there? Can’t you hear me, man? Are you deaf? Message for you. Infantry
advancing——! I say, are you there, Eaves? Eaves, I say! Oh, blast! Oh,
damn! Oh, how beastly! Eaves, answer me at once! Mr. Sands speaking.
Eaves, do you want to go under arrest?” Eaves (walking up and down
somewhere in the Libyan desert to keep warm): “This game’s no good to
a man keepin’ a bloke ’anging round ’ere all night doin’ nothin’. If a
relief don’t come soon, I’m goin’ ’ome.”
Truly Sands was a man in a thousand: none like him for cool effrontery;
none like him for ignoring rebuffs; none like him for going back on
statements without turning a hair. He pulled me up in stables one fine
evening.
“Lake, your horse is very poor. Is it getting the extra feed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, what’s it doing now? Why isn’t it eating?”
“I was waiting for the order, ‘Feed,’ sir.”
“Oh, man, you’re a fool. I told you to feed that horse all day long. Feed
it at once!”
“I thought the other horses would get restive, sir.”
“Don’t answer me back! Feed it at once!”
Next day he swooped on me as I carried “The Director” his food.
“Lake,” he screamed, “what are you doing there? Are you mad?”
“I’m going to feed my horse, sir, as you told me.”
“Man, you must be mad! You’d have the whole line torn up! I thought you
knew something about horses. Put down the bag this minute!”
With the coming of the hot winds the shrunken army of tourists, who had
this season braved the seas, departed for more kindly climates; and as
our own wealth had long since been squandered, the city showed a more
sober countenance. On the contrary, the camp had much improved: now it
boasted picture shows, eating houses, hair dressers, bookshops, and
tailors. But it failed to parch the seeds of discontent. The army spoiled
for war. There came news of the Turkish dash for the Canal, and our Field
Artillery was held in readiness. Hope revived for a brief space. But the
attack came to nothing, and we continued in our uneventful ways. The suns
grew hotter, the winds fell on us more fiercely, the flies multiplied.
Men went about their work with bitter hearts.
* * * * *
Between “Turn out” and “Cookhouse” Sands bore down on me as I loitered
in the lines. Unsuspicious of his intention, I let him approach.
“Lake,” he said, “the Colonel is wanted at once at Divisional Artillery
Headquarters. I want a man to find him now. You will do. He went over to
the palm grove with Major Felix. Saddle up immediately. Tell the corporal
to keep your tea. I am sorry, but I can’t help it.” Sands was polite on
occasion.
With heavy heart I walked away to saddle up “The Director.” It was
goodbye to my chances of tea. Any hope of success in the errand was
small. A hundred roadways ran through the palms. “The Director” looked
mournfully at his lost nosebag and followed me cheerlessly to the end of
the lines. There I mounted, and we travelled the gunpark. I picked up no
news from the sentry, and turned to the palms; I touched “The Director”
with the spurs, and he went away over the sands at a long, easy canter.
It neared the hour of sunset, and the desert sparkled and grew rosy in
the lights of the dying sun. I dropped the reins on “The Director’s”
neck, and let care slip away. My ill-humour was departing. The desert
was cool, wide, empty, and silent; and the good beast beneath me moved
with faintest footbeats on the sands. Farther down leaned the sun and the
desert grew more rosy. The camp was behind and its last sounds fainting.
Now the palm grove was near at hand.
The sun fell over the forest of treetops, polishing them as a jeweller
polishes emeralds; but there was not a breath of wind to move a leaf.
I passed into the trees near the smaller village. The peasants had left
their work, and the herds were gathered home; but a few children played
among the trees, and I called out, “Saida!” They ran up screaming. One
or two I knew—Hanifa, Fatma, and Habibi, the belle of all. They could
tell me nothing of the Colonel, and I scanned vainly for hoofmarks on
the sand. Presently I chose a middle road leading into the heart of the
palms, where I could see some distance to either side. The chance of
success was small; but what better course was there?
Within the grove was cultivated ground, so that the paths which ran in
many directions were often of no width at all. All these bright patches
of green had grown up since our coming. Soon I lost sight of the desert
altogether—unless it was to catch a quick glimpse now and again through
endless trees. The place was still, and filled fast with shadows. In time
I checked “The Director” to a walk: speed was of no account; luck only
could bring success. Never had I known the place so empty: no labourer
bent over his cultivation; no driver led home his string of camels; no
marketer belaboured his laden donkey. Nor was there a sign of the men I
sought.
But the journey was not in vain. I had passed a couple of miles through
the trees, when I caught sight of them all of a sudden. They crossed the
border of the desert land, moving towards home. They rode side by side,
and distance changed them to pigmies. I could only guess at them. I
turned at a right angle to cut them off. No path led that way; but I made
one of my own; and now and then the vegetable patches suffered. Progress
was slow, and they had passed beyond me when I struck the sand. I spurred
“The Director” and cantered up behind.
The Major turned first, and next moment the Colonel looked back. I
saluted, and he returned the salute.
“You are wanted at once, sir, at Divisional Artillery Headquarters.”
He answered something quickly; something not complimentary to Divisional
Artillery. We rode on without hurrying the pace much, the Colonel and
Major together, I a few lengths in the rear. At the edge of the camp the
Major saluted and crossed to his own lines; and we turned our horses for
Artillery Headquarters. We passed some distance in silence at a fast
walk. Then said the Colonel:
“I think we’re away at last, Lake.”
“Thank God, sir!” said I.
“Thank God!” said he.
Then he spoke again.
“Lake, now is the hour to say—how does it run?—‘Behold, O Allah, I make a
sacrifice unto thee.’”
We approached Divisional Artillery. Said the Colonel: “Here I make my
sprint to show my willingness.”
And we spurred over the last stretch of sand.
* * * * *
The afternoon had grown old when we formed up in the desert for the
last time—when we mounted and passed in column of route through the
camp towards the Pyramids Road. News of our going passed like a fiery
cross through the new contingents we left behind, and they ran up and
crowded either side of the way, giving us good speed and their cheers.
“The Director” threw about his ears, and started on his fourstep; but a
reminder from the spurs set him thinking of other things. We clattered
along the hardened way, nodding and waving freely to friends, and
settling our seat on saddle or limber. Everywhere gay voices called out
above the rattle of movement. “So long, Bill—so long, old man—give it ’em
in good old Australian style!” “We’ll be with you soon, Joe!” “What’s
that, Jack! Right-o—give the Kaiser one from me!” “Look out there with
that blasted ’orse: what’s a bloke’s toes for? To be danced on?” “So
long, chaps! So long!”
I looked to right and looked to left, glad I was seeing all for the last
time. On the right stood a thriving town of tents; but on our near side
the desert was bare as far as the palm groves. It was the desert of
our arrival eighteen weeks before. A turn in the way, and we had left
behind the tented area, were winding between the picture shows and native
bazaars and eating-houses. The crowd thinned. At Mena House the guard
fell in to present arms; and next, before one could count ten, we were
turning to the left hand, and streaming on to the road to Cairo. The
desert was left behind.
At the corner was the usual ravening throng of guides, camels, donkeys,
money changers, fruit sellers, carriage drivers, and touts. There was the
usual native policeman to salute and smile. There was the usual rush of
a dozen men with their wares, and the usual sideplay of nervous horses.
Then we were beyond the tumult and into the quiet, sweeping along endless
road, where two lines of trees held out their arms.
I pulled my gear into shape—I was half choked with baggage. Over a
shoulder I stared at the Pyramids. The sun had climbed down into the sky,
and now tossed immense shadows over the country. His beams were soft
and bright. I rose in my stirrups to gaze a long while at the wonderful
masses of stone. They stood as they had stood at our coming; and still
they possessed the same power to awe me. From them I turned abruptly, and
set my face down the road. The Colonel was looking backwards towards the
camp. He, too, turned just then. “I never want to see that place again!”
he burst out.
We had started in good time, and there was no hurry. The end of the
column was not yet in sight. Ahead, the road was nearly deserted—a
country lane in traffic though a thoroughfare in width. The months had
brought great change. We kept to the right, unless a passing tram sent
some of the horses across the way. Once a dozen Army Service waggons
rattled by with forage aboard; and sometimes there were evil-eyed camels
to pass, and strings of native cattle and flocks of shorn sheep, herded
by glad-faced children. Sometimes a motor car tore out of the distance.
But these meetings were far between on the long road.
“March easy” was blown, and caused at once a pulling out of pipes and
cigarettes, and a quickening in the eye of cadgers as they singled out
new victims. Hawkins rode beside me. Back down the lines trotted the
trumpeter in time for a cigarette. He stuck it in the corner of his
mouth, and winked at me. “Hail, most noble one, thou erstwhile bum
Piccadilly-promenader! Sallyest thou forth to the field of battle?”
He broke off to snatch the match from Hawkins’s hands and light his
cigarette. Drawing a deep glow, he threw his chest out and struck himself
with a noble gesture. “I shall away to mine post in the van. Farewell,
most valiant sirs!”
Peasants were at their work on both sides. They stayed their reaping
and their watering to watch our passage; they fell to chattering among
themselves, and to laughing. They were as light-hearted as we. The
column continued at a walk, so that men would shoot a glance towards the
officers, and all being clear, would break rank and trot up or drop back
to some particular friend. All over the place one heard the same appeals.
“Give us a cigarette, old man. Not ’ad a smoke all day.” “I say, old
chap, have you a match?” Or, “Where the ’ell do yer think you’re going
with that ’orse? Let ’is mouth go! Of course, ’e won’t stand with you
jerking ’is teeth out!”
The clatter of thousands of hoofs and the murmur of many hundred tongues
set me pondering how soon this imposing train would be mouldering in the
earth. A month hence, how many empty saddles would there be? How many
riders mourning their steeds?
* * * * *
“Gunner Lake, Gunner Lake, peace to your unquiet thoughts. Verily you are
no soldier. The good soldier performs what lies ahead: the good soldier
does not think.”
Shadows deepened; evening drew in; the sun set; the miles were eaten up.
We had not halted. Of a sudden the country ended, and we were clattering
through the suburbs.
The clamour of our going sounded bravely along the harder roads, and
echoed into the gardens of private houses and into the upper apartments.
Pale faces, olive faces, brown faces peered from windows, and over
balcony rails: heads with hair piled high in French fashion, heads
supporting pigtails bound with broad bows; heads crowned with red fezes.
Heads of raven hair I saw, heads of brown hair, heads of silver. Many a
smile the girls sent us; but the old men looked on without giving sign.
Thus forward we went, and the traffic in our path had to bunch itself
on the side of the way. The road ran on between the rows of houses: the
houses seemed to have no end; and it grew darker and darker, until there
were only seen dim forms on either hand and lights through countless
windows.
An order came down from the head of the column. “Halt!” At once there
was tightening of reins, and the drivers lifted their short whips in
the air. You could see the signal passing down the line. “Prepare to
dismount!” “Dismount!” “Look round your horses!” I pushed my fingers
under “The Director’s” belly. He was hot and steamy, but quite well. I
gave him a smack and left him.
Those who could, found seats on the curbstones, and started to munch
chocolate or biscuits or whatever they had. But the rest was not for
long. “Prepare to mount!” “Mount!” and in five minutes we were off again.
We came to a noble bridge bearing great lamps overhead. Beneath us flowed
the ancient Nile. Countless native boats lay along the shores, and the
lights from the city followed the moving waters as far as the eye could
go. This was the river which had rocked Moses; the barge of Cleopatra had
floated here; and now across it streamed a swollen foolish company, big
with relief it was to write a word in the book of history. Which first
shall be forgotten—Anzac, or the ancient, ageless Nile?
It was long dark when we came into the town proper, and neared the
railway station. This way and that way we flowed through the twisted
lighted streets, bringing the girls to the windows again, and the
shopkeepers to their doors. The better quarters we did not see; for we
followed back streets haunted by strange cries and stranger smells. Half
the shops were eating-houses, where natives smoked together, drinking
coffee, playing dominoes and backgammon. They would look from their
square of light, and peer at us threading the outside dark. I do not
think the blessings of Allah followed us every time.
We swept out of these places later on, into European parts. There
came in sight a business quarter, hedged by brick walls with narrow
lanes abutting. Here we joined other bodies of troops moving for like
destination. Above the jangle and clatter sounded the whistles of engines
and the bumping of trains. All at once we passed under a gateway, and
came beneath the shadow of the station.
We—or the head of the column, that is—clattered into the courtyard and
offsaddled. In no time the place was crowded with men and horses and
vehicles. The square was in deep gloom, so that chaos took charge. I
made out a long water-trough against a wall; I felt cobbles under my
feet; there were tall buildings closing us in; and in a wall a lit-up
window which might have been a ticket office, for I saw a man and a woman
looking in there with luggage about them, and an hotel porter lolling
by. There seemed two entrances to the square, one dim, leading from the
streets, and one lit by an overhead lamp, where a ramp ran up from the
yard on to the station platform. I received a hazy idea of all this ere
the whirlpool caught me.
Men hurried this way and that; men shouted to one another, and cried out
orders and swore; horses stamped and bumped and sidestepped. In truth
it was no spot for a dreamer. Now, and again now, went up the cries,
“Gangway there, gangway!” or “Clear the way!” and rattling and jangling
a fearful warning to careless toes, a gun or limber manhandled rolled by
towards the platform and the trucks. The Staff woke up to find itself
pushed along the edges of the courtyard, some men holding three or four
horses, and going through a pretence of hand-rubbing. Others discovered
themselves unstrapping nosebags to push over tossing heads, or packing
saddles in grain bags brought for that purpose.
The night became very close—and the steam from the horses, the odours
of manure, and the personal discomfort occasioned by pushing about
in the jumble of animals under weight of full marching order did not
case matters. Every few seconds some cross-grained four-legged brute
would swing round or crush up; and it was _sauve qui peut_ with a
vengeance. All over the place showed Sands like the demon in a pantomime,
ordering, expostulating, and reviling; and doing his best to survive
sword, revolver, haversack, and the other impedimenta which trapped his
movements.
“What are you doing standing there, Oxbridge? You’re as useless as you
are long! Lake, you’re the slowest man in Egypt! Hurry, man, hurry! I
told you not to pack those saddles that way, Eaves! You are the stupidest
man I know. Oh, how damnable! How perfectly damnable!” And then he would
disappear in a riot of horses, and someone would mutter, “I hope he’s
done in this time!”
The slender patience of the Staff failed under trial. Out of the darkness
rose a voice.
“A bloke ought ter get six months for coming on a fool’s game like this!
Do they think a man’s a dirty nigger all his life? Yer don’t catch me
’ere again. Blast the Empire, I say.”
“Fer Gawd’s sake, shut yer row!”
“I won’t shut it.”
Then there went up a third voice. “You great, clumsy, awkward son of the
devil; can’t you let a cove’s toes alone?”
This watering, feeding, and manœuvring of horses took a long while;
but once all the nosebags were properly fastened, the storm grew calm.
But it was hard work still bending in the steamy night to force two or
three saddles into a bag too small for them. I was glad enough to escape
in time to the platform on some business or other. Hurry and confusion
might be found there; but the place was lit up, which helped much, and
there were no horses, which helped more. The train was drawn up to the
platform—coaches for the troops in front, horse-boxes next, trucks for
guns and waggons in the rear. The platform was in military hands, except
in an out-of-the-way corner where two girls said goodbye to a sergeant.
Already the trucks were loading: on one I found our telephone waggon, and
farther down men hauled the cook’s waggon aboard.
The place was as busy as an anthill on a sunny morning and as noisy as a
rookery at even. Gangs of men swept to and fro, bearing baggage on their
shoulders. Gangs of men hauled vehicles aboard the trucks, with cheery
and weary cries and yo-hos. Still other gangs, roaring warning, pulled
and pushed more vehicles up the ramp and rattled them at dangerous speed
along the platform. Officers stood at fixed points to wave hands and
direct; and sergeants and anxious corporals gave rest to none. Many a
grumbler threatened below his breath; many a knowing hand vanished to the
refreshment bar without leaving an address.
There were shrieks of engines, and much jolting and jarring, and endless
snorting of steam. An engine was in process of coupling with our train.
Before long a chain of our fellows came in view with the bagged saddles
on their shoulders; and behind followed a line of horses for the trucks.
Too late I saw them. I was seized to lend a hand. Nor was the office a
sinecure; and I played the acrobat more than once keeping clear of all
the heels.
We had arrived at the station in good time; but when I looked at the
clock, the hour had grown late. Much remained to be done. Nearly all the
horses were aboard, and all the heavy waggons; but quantities of lesser
luggage arrived each minute on the backs of blaspheming men; nor did the
stream show sign of running shallow.
But I had not long to look about: there were a thousand errands given me.
Once I passed outside again, and found the courtyard blocked yet with
traffic of waiting men and horses. I came back by the station buffet,
where knowing ones drank coffee and ate such stale pastry as soldiers
only buy. On the platform I ran into the Staff trucking the last horses,
and must help again at the business. Luck smiled not this night.
Trucking and baggage loading finished together—our part of it, anyhow—and
straightway we of the Staff were fallen in for a roll call. Three times
was the roll run over before all were present.
It looked as though we should have breathing space at last, and I found
I was hungry and borrowed a couple of shillings. But there was no chance
of feasting. The hour of departure approached. There were signs of it
everywhere. The platform did not empty of people; but men stood about in
groups and drew arms across foreheads and flipped the perspiration on to
the ground. No further space of freedom was given us. “Right turn! Left
wheel! Quick march!” and away we went towards our carriage in the train.
“Aboard there, aboard,” came the order.
We scrambled and pushed through the narrow doorway like schoolboys. The
carriage proved a second-class undivided place, not overclean. The odour
of natives clung to it yet. There was a scramble for seats. I was left
one near the centre of the carriage, under a dingy light, but close to
a window looking out on things. The men began to rid themselves of the
marching gear which weighed as the nether millstone. There were seats
for all, and there was little room for any. Thus started anew perennial
argument. By the time gear was stacked we were no better than sardines.
This business of settling took time; and events must have moved rapidly
on the platform, for without warning Sands himself appeared on a final
tour of inspection, to tell us the train started in a few minutes, and to
threaten anyone leaving the apartment with immediate arrest. Then he went
away to his own carriage.
A man with ancient pastry put his head in at the door, and loud
bargaining and a good deal of pushing was the order of the moment. The
clamour still went on as a whistle sounded: on the first whistle came a
second; and then arose the noise of lifted breaks, of turning wheels; and
there followed a jerk and other jerks—behold, we were moving into the
dark, and the station was falling behind. Far abroad went a cheer, while
a hundred arms waved from the windows: and then we had drawn out of the
station and were jolting through the night.
There followed immediately on all this tumult some strange moments of
pause, as though the knowledge had fallen on us that we were starting a
journey which would be the last for many good fellows. But those moments
were no more than moments, and men began to find their seats, to overlook
their gear again and even to get supper out. At the end of five minutes a
noisy order reigned. We were bumping through the town, and I looked from
the window to see lights come and go; and to catch odd scenes, such as a
house set in a garden of palms, a level crossing where waited a native
and his camel in lazy patience; a glimpse of water flecked with the
images of stars.
From the town we passed to the suburbs, always gaining speed; we left the
suburbs behind and drew into flat open country. Here were no lights for
guidance, and the night was dark. I could make out little of what passed;
but here and there shadows pointed to the sky, and vague huts and hamlets
sped into the square of light and out again.
But I tired soon enough and instead got ready supper. We had our iron
rations, that was all—tins of bully beef and biscuits—only I had
remembered a last tin of sardines, and I fared well. We loitered over
supper, and afterwards many started to gamble, and as many went off to
sleep. Apart from the arguments of the card-players, there was little
talking done: nobody talked for talking’s sake. The train rumbled on
through the night, until it might have travelled all Africa. I found
myself yawning. I was cramped, especially about the legs; but it is an
uneasy seat that stops the old dog sleeping. I began to yawn and lay
back, and soon I was drowsy, and next I nodded. Farther and farther
through the night jerked and clanged the train; and I would start to life
and see the rowdy gamblers, and the other men who dozed like myself. Next
anew in drowsiness I sank. At last I must have fallen asleep.
As the stars paled before a cheerless dawn and circulation and spirit
were at lowest ebb, the train drew up and emptied us on to the platform
of Alexandria. Such is a soldier’s fortune.
There were last night’s doings to repeat. We stumbled on to the platform,
bag and baggage, to be fallen in without ado. The roll was called. On
all horizons the sky was cold and grey, and last stars faded in it. Yet
while we stood there, looking sleepily up, faint colour crept into the
East, and grew with the minutes, painting a picture of a forest of masts
and a score of great sails of native boats. But this was not an hour of
admiration. “’Shun! Right turn! Quick march!” was our portion, and away
the gallant band marched to untruck horses, to gather up saddles and
other gear, to perform endless fatigues. Daylight was abroad long before
we finished. Then there remained watering and feeding—but no talk of
breakfast for us.
The harbour was filled with transports, and many ships stood out to sea.
All signs were here of a mighty expedition. From train to wharf where lay
our boat was short distance, and all things were collected there at last.
The transport was a-hum with business. Cranes screamed and rattled, and
men swarmed the decks, or ran up and down the gangways. She was the S.S.
_Hindoo_, a good-looking vessel. Already she was three parts loaded,
and she would sail that night. The wharf where she lay was blocked past
belief with horses, guns, and limbers and all the baggage of war. Left of
us, a French mule corps had collected; and past it was a French airship
transport corps.
But why recall that day? We were loaded by evening, and about our ears
fell the rattling of the dripping anchors. I stood on deck above the
emptying wharf. And the Colonel passing by said, “We are off, Lake.”
Foot by foot we drew out from land: fathom by fathom widened the band of
water. In middle harbour we turned about, and steamed to the open sea.
The lights of land went out: Africa was no more. The screw thumped and
churned, and we moved into the ocean towards an unknown anchorage.