DIFFERENT TYPES IN MESOPOTAMIA.
The day is not wasted on which one has seen the sun rise—perhaps some of us changed the old saying, and felt the day would be well spent for him who saw the sun set,—for in war, however sure the victory, so also is the toll of killed and wounded, and the attack of an enemy entrenched in this country, as bare and open as the African veld, is done readily, gladly, but not without losses; and the time one thinks of these is not in the charge, not in the advance, but in the empty period of waiting beforehand. The needle pricks before, not during, the race. "Remember only the happy hours," and if the most glorious hour in life is the hour of victory in battle, so are the hours preceding battle among the most depressing. I confess, as we sat there idle in the chill dawn, my mind was filled not only with the hope of victory and captured trenches, but with memories of past scenes in France and Mesopotamia, and of a strip of ground the evening after Magersfontein, each battlefield dotted with little groups of men lying rigid, each marked with lines of motionless forms.
Action quickly dispels such thoughts, and we all welcomed the definite news that was at last brought of the enemy, and our orders for a farther advance. One brigade was immediately sent forward on the east side of the railway in order to press back the advanced parties of the enemy on their main position, some six miles north of our present halting place. A brave sight it is to see a brigade deploying for action. Even though the scarlet doublet has given place to the khaki jacket, though no pipes sound and no colours are unfurled, the spirit still remains; the spirit that in old days led the British line to victory still fills these little columns scattered at wide intervals over the plain, these little columns of Englishmen, Highlanders, Indians, and Gurkhas. The brigade pushed forward for a mile or two without opposition, then little puffs of white smoke bursting in the air showed that the Turk had opened the battle with salvoes of shrapnel; the little columns quickly spread out into thin lines, and our batteries trotted forward and were soon themselves engaged in action. So far the scene had been clear in every detail, but now as the day advanced, the dust from advancing batteries, the smoke and mirage, formed a fog of war that telephones and signallers could only in part dispel.
The mirage in Mesopotamia does not so much hide as distort the truth. The enemy are seldom altogether hidden from view, the trouble is rather to tell whether one is observing a cavalry patrol or an infantry regiment, or if the object moving forward is not in reality a sandhill or a bunch of reeds. The mirage here has certainly a strange power of apparently raising objects above the ground-level. I remember well from a camp near Falahiyah the Sinn Banks, which are perhaps thirty feet above the plain, were quite invisible in the clear morning air, but about noon they were easy to distinguish as a cloudy wall swaying to and fro in the distant haze. Nor shall I forget the instance of an officer who once assured me he had observed five Arab horsemen within a mile of our column: we rode forward, and soon the five shadowy horsemen gave place to five black crows hopping about by the edge of the Suwaicha marsh. But the most curious illusion I have seen in this way was looking towards the Pusht-i-Kuh hills across the marsh from San-i-yat. The foothills, some thirty miles distant, had sometimes the appearance of ending in abrupt white cliffs such as one sees at Dover. The cause of this was a great number of dead fish which had been stranded as the marsh receded, and their white bellies, a mile away, gave the appearance of white cliffs to the base of the Persian hills, which in reality slope very gradually down to the level of the Tigris valley.