It was once remarked by an American officer, who had served throughout the Civil War, that he knew that every soldier in the army was always longing to be in the next battle. He knew this because it was so said by every general and so written by every newspaper editor. And yet, although he had served in several regiments during the war, he had always found that that particular itch was more lively in neighbouring units than in his own.
So when orders arrived on the 13th of March for our Division to advance that night, our friends from other divisions congratulated us with what seemed almost undue heartiness on our good fortune in being selected, and the estimate of the numbers of the opposing Turks rose rapidly from five thousand to fifteen thousand. However, the estimated number finally settled down to about half that, with thirty guns, and these figures were subsequently substantiated by captured prisoners.
These orders put an end to the peaceful enjoyment of the palm grove, and preparations were hurried forward. Blankets and waterproof sheets were all stacked, men and officers all carried their own great coats and rations for the next day, water-bottles were filled that afternoon, and enough water was carried on mules to refill them once the next day, and no more given to man or animal till the morning of the 15th. This should be borne in mind when judging of the difficulties overcome by the troops in this action, for the shade temperature on the 14th was about 80°, and there was no shade.
The Turk certainly had judged it impossible for us to advance so far from the river, for we learned later that he had laid out the trace of most of his trenches between the river and the railway; but our main attack was delivered west of the railway, a success there forcing the withdrawal of the whole of his line.
Save for several severe dust-storms the whole pursuit had been blessed with fine weather, and it was on a beautiful starlit night that our Division formed up along the railway for the march towards Mushaidie, a station some twenty miles north of Baghdad on the direct road to Berlin.
Night marches, the text-book says, may be made for several reasons, but it does not suggest that one of these ever could be for pleasure. Constant and unexpected checks break the swing that counts so much for comfort on a long march; hurrying on to make up for lost ground, stumbling in rough places, belated units pushing past to the front, whispered but heated arguments with staff officers, all threaten the calm of a peaceful evening and also that of a well-balanced mind. Many a soldier sadly misses his pipe, which, of course, may not be lit on a night march; but to me a greater loss is the silence of those other pipes, for the sound of the bagpipes will stir up a thousand memories in a Highland regiment, and nothing helps a column of weary foot-soldiers so well as pipe-music, backed by the beat of drum. This march was neither better nor worse than its fellows, and we had covered some fourteen miles before we halted at dawn. Then we lay down, gnawed a biscuit, tasted the precious water in our bottles, and waited for what news airmen would bring of the enemy.
THE COURSE OF THE BAGHDAD RAILWAY.