CHAPTER IX
EL ARISH AND FIRST BATTLE OF GAZA.
El Arish, the ancient Rhinocolura, lies near the mouth of the Wadi el Arish, which runs away southward into the heart of Sinai and is believed to have been the River of Egypt, the southern boundary of Biblical Palestine. The wadi hardly deserved the name of river to-day, but during the winter months it is sometimes covered with water to the depth of a few inches, flowing slowly down to the sea. Along its banks the inhabitants plant their crops among the palm trees, watering them assiduously from wells, with the assistance of tiny donkeys, about the size of goats, each carrying two enormous water jars. The town is the capital of the Mudirieh of Sinai, and boasted a British resident and a force of Beduin police, but was abandoned with the rest of the province when Turkey declared war. The country round the town is almost completely bare of scrub, a mass of tumbled hills of sand, rounded slopes and razor-like crests, alternating with deep valley between almost sheer cliffs. Here and there are palm or other evergreen trees, and in the low ground round the wadi are numerous fig trees.
The town itself was a disappointment to the men, who could not but expect some of the amenities of civilisation in a place of whose military importance they had heard so much. At the western end was an ancient fort, now in ruins from a bombardment by our monitors, one or two more pretentious houses with plaster fronts, and the mosque whose white minaret, though not of any great height, we had seen through a gap in the sand hills from many miles to westward. But most of the buildings were single-roomed, flat-roofed huts, with tiny slits for windows. The troops were not allowed into the town but a glimpse could be obtained from without of the few streets, paved only with the desert sand. From a little distance, however, el Arish was surprisingly beautiful. It matched exactly with the grey yellow of the sand, which swept up to it and rose behind it unrelieved by the distraction of scrub, while the white dome of a little tomb, the faded plaster of the mosque and the occasional dark green of a low tree among the buildings, gave just the right contrast in colour. Seen in the clear light of dawn, or in the evening glow, it had a haunting beauty which all who knew it will remember.
The inhabitants were a picturesque set of villains; dressed in their flowing robes surmounted by ancient goat skins, and with a dark fillet round their head-dresses, they brought back to one memories of old Bible pictures—and there was hardly one of the men whose bearded features would not have made a splendid model for a picture of Judas Iscariot. The women were usually veiled, and those of them at any rate who were allowed outside the walls presented no very startling attractions. But the old crones who came down to draw water at the wells would burst into scandalised but very human cackles of merriment, when the gallant Lowlander on well-guard filled their water jars with a cheerful "Saida bint"—"Good day, maiden." A knowledge of Arabic by the way was an acquisition on which every man prided himself; and the writer lost much ground in the estimation of his batman for his refusal to arrest a wandering member of the Egyptian Labour Corps, whom that zealous youth asserted to be a German spy, "because he could not understand Egyptian." The el Arish children were as friendly and talkative as children all the world over, though one regretted their inveterate habit of demanding backsheesh. The fair hair of some of them led our historians to daring theories about French great-grandfathers who had tarried and wooed while on Napoleon's lightning expedition. For the information of future travellers it is only fair to state that there will be no Scotch ancestors. It was a real pleasure to see human beings living their ordinary lives, catching fish and watering crops in unmilitary and restful unconcern. We lay in the el Arish area for a couple of months, with changes of camp every week or so, and we learnt afterwards that this was a period of special training to fit us for the fighting which was expected in Palestine. It must be admitted that we had not recognised it as such at the time, outposts, guards and fatigues of every kind did not seem to leave us overmuch time for training. Still we did manage to fit in a good deal of work with the smaller formations, and one or two days of Brigade and Divisional training to boot. Two night operations—yes, we will say it now—a most detestable form of exercise, linger specially in the memory. Night work in this sort of country is always difficult because there are so few landmarks. A Brigade can be moved on a compass bearing with every chance of success if the mover has the necessary elementary knowledge. But the commander of a smaller unit, say a platoon, going to or returning from a certain place in the dark, rarely has any knowledge of the right bearing to work on, and if the night is cloudy, he is surrounded by a Stygian darkness in which he soon feels a little doubtful of his uncharted way. He begins to zigzag a bit, peering through the gloom for some familiar landmark. The men, who for the most part would be completely lost in three minutes on their own, are critical and unsympathetic, and rightly, for this is what an officer is paid extra for. They whisper caustic comments in the rear. All sense of direction seems suddenly to fail the unhappy man, and he sinks into the depths of a misery which few others can equal. At last a light shines out ahead. Making towards it with a wild hope he sees the darker marks of bivouacs against the sand, and suddenly recognises his own company lines. With a heart full of thankfulness he halts and dismisses his men, and retires to his own hole fondly believing that no one but himself knows what had happened.
MOUTH OF WADI EL ARISH.
But in Brigade night operations platoon commanders and even company commanders and greater men still abandon themselves with the rest to an appalling nightmare of moving in sudden jerks through a gloom full of whispered oaths and the creaking of rifles and of ill-fitting equipment. There are long chilly halts, when the men rub their bare knees to keep them warm or drop into an uneasy doze—then sudden orders passed along in a hoarse undertone, and a frenzied effort to change formation and keep touch with the swaying line. And so it goes on hour after hour till at long last there is a spurt or two of fire and the crackling of blank, a lumbering charge, and then much gathering together of platoons and companies, and we have learnt our lesson and may go to bed.