MAC LEAVES FOR ACTIVE SERVICE
Egypt blistered in the early summer heat; flies increased in myriads;
clouds of locusts darkened the sky; and hot winds blew, scorching and
parching everything. The infantry had vanished to the north, to
perilous adventures in the unknown; and the mounted men were grieved to
the very depths of their souls to be left thus behind to stagnate on
this sun-baked Sahara. The days passed monotonously, with perpetual
grooming and exercising, and the noonday hours spent beneath the palms,
alleged to be shady.
Cairo was a past delight. Its romance had gone; the weird mystery of
the Oriental city had lost its fascination; and no incense-laden,
music-haunted, brightly-coloured corner remained unexplored. Cairo was
wonderful; but Cairo was filthy. The troopers had tasted of its
delights, and were satiated.
Grousing was rife in the camp and the troopers were nervy. The
proprietors of the camp picture theatre had offended the fellows, who
showed their displeasure by partially burning the building. One
evening, to break the monotony, some of the men surreptitiously
extracted a couple of casks of unwatered beer from the brigade canteen.
They rolled the barrels some distance across the sand, and proceeded to
enjoy themselves. The excited Greek barmen, early discovering the
loss, turned out the guard. Following the tracks in the sand, they
soon found the merrymakers, routed them, and recovered a little beer.
The guard took their toll, and returned the balance to the outraged
Greeks. A small Armenian general goods shop chose to over-charge, with
the result that the vainly-expostulating merchant found his lean-to
razed to the ground before his eyes.
Mac himself suffered from a severe overdose of C.B. So did his cobber
Smoky. They had had the awful misfortune to be detected at an early
hour one morning making their way to their lines. It had been sheer
bad luck that had done it. If Smoky had not insisted on appropriating
from the supply depot some "tinned cow" and a few small jars of beef
extract, all would have gone well. Creaking boards had started the
trouble, and a conscientious sentry had put the tin hat on it. Ten
days was the sentence--not that it mattered so much, for C.B. meant
little beyond having to go out without passes by back ways--rather a
nuisance if one were in a hurry for the train. But it was the
conscientious sentry which annoyed them. Why should the fool be so
bally unreasonable as to report? They, the trooper and Smoky, were not
so beastly particular when they did guard. In fact, such occasions
offered unique opportunities for replenishing the private larders of
their respective tents. New Zealand social theory held that one man
was as good as another, so why should not they, as well as the
officers, live upon the fat of the land, or such of it as could be got
at Zeitoun Camp. Those were the days before army discipline was fully
appreciated.
Other troubles were also theirs. C.B. was indeed a very minor ailment
compared with their piastreless condition. The trip to Alexandria had
absorbed all their available capital, earned and borrowed. Some coon,
also, had stolen the trooper's washing from the line between the tents,
and his wrathful mutterings against the miserable perpetrator of this
horrible crime was awful to hear; but, privately, the trooper was
keeping an eye open for some one else's washing. Both had aches in
their left arms from the M.O.'s latest injection, and altogether they
considered themselves much-abused, long-suffering soldiers.
Vague rumours floated round, some doubtless originating from that
indispensable apparatus of every camp, the backyard wireless station.
No great reliance could be placed upon such information, but
occasionally statements based on much more stable foundations
circulated. That a troop-train was standing in the siding at Palais de
Koubbeh, and that there were several transports moored in Alexandria,
was absolutely positive proof that the N.Z.M.R. were about to land in
Asia Minor or to be at Constantinople in a week or two. Other proofs
were not lacking--a super-abundance of staff officers in the vicinity,
or confidences from the orderly room clerk. Then came the definite
fact, and the wireless was temporarily idle.
It was a Wednesday night. The brigadier himself asked the brigade
whether they would volunteer to go to Gallipoli as infantry.
Well, it was not too good leaving the horses; they would have preferred
going into action with the "prads" but they didn't mind doing anything
to get out of this God-forsaken country and into the real thing. So
all was business; grouses were forgotten and a new day dawned. Each in
his own way set about squaring up his kit, his saddlery and his affairs
generally.
Mac overhauled his with much care and thoughtful consideration. Into
his base kit went those things which would come in handy in
Constantinople. He had heard it was a cold place in winter-time, so
therein went six complete suits of warm underclothing, and many
superfluous comforts from his thoughtful mother. He knew she had put
much work into many of these small knick-knacks, and valued them
accordingly, though they were of little material benefit in this
flaming spot. In another neat pile he had those articles which were
absolutely essential for Gallipoli; but he was soon faced with the
horrible reality that there was at least three times too much for his
equipment.
He culled several times, the final combing causing much mental strain
and strong will. Into a barley sack went his saddlery, with a reserve
of many straps, buckles and horse-brushes, all collected at odd
moments. Rifle, revolver, field-glasses, everything underwent a
thorough overhaul. Ammunition was clipped and forced into the leather
pouches of bandoliers, which equipment appeared neither to be meant for
nor accustomed to such practical use.
Forty-eight hours after the first warning, the last night came. A
subdued murmur arose from the camp. Some busied themselves with final
preparations; some glided silently away from the zone of flickering
candle-light, towards the horse-lines to give a parting pat to their
faithful horses, a sad farewell for many; some joined the cheery crowd
who were making the most of their last moments at the canteen; and
others, less careless and more sober-minded, sought a few moments of
sleep.
At eleven o'clock they fell in on their last parade in Egypt, though
few regretted that. Nevertheless, when it came to the pinch, it was a
little sad to leave the old camp, where, happily enough, they had
passed six months of sun and sandstorm. A rough crowd they looked,
these amateur infantrymen, overloaded with awkward, extemporized gear.
They stood silent, for thoughts ran deep now that they were at last on
the brink of the real thing, a moment towards which they had looked so
long. The roll was called. Mac mentioned that he had left something,
and slipped away to give the old mare a farewell stroke. Words of
command echoed through the stillness, and soon the whole brigade was
marching, as best it could, down the road towards the station. There
were lusty cheers as they passed the guard tent from those whose turn
had not yet come. The column turned to the left, and gradually the
reverberating tread of heavily-laden men grew fainter in the distance.
So went the mounted brigade; and as they went to the north, following
their infantry into the unknown, Mac and Smoky forgot their C.B.,
forgot their stiff arms and their piastreless condition--they thought
only of the future.