STAFF OF OFFICERS' MESS AT SAN-I-YAT.
LOADING UP THE KITS.
The left half battalion, reduced to less than half of its original numbers, was in need of help. This help it now gained from the action of the companies on the right. Undismayed by the enemy shell and rifle fire, these two companies, gallantly assisted by the Indian battalion on the east side of the railway, pressed forward, and at five o'clock charged the enemy, and drove him out of his advanced trenches at the point of the bayonet. The very quickness of the manœuvre had ensured its success, though it was only achieved with considerable loss to ourselves as well as to the Turk. But the gain was great. Small parties of Highlanders now crept forward among the sand-dunes, two Lewis guns were taken to the east side of the railway embankment, and a hot enfilade fire was brought to bear on the enemy main position. So effective was this that the Turks were forced to evacuate the ridge for some 400 yards nearest the railway, and even from Sugar Loaf Hill his fire weakened, and the relief to our left half battalion and to the Gurkhas was correspondingly great. Streams of wounded Turks were also seen passing from the ridge to the rear: it was not only the British who suffered losses on the 14th of March.
The situation was now greatly in our favour, and it only wanted a final charge to complete the success. But this assault could not be made without either artillery support or the arrival of fresh troops to fill up our depleted and extended ranks. Our Colonel, therefore, ordered all companies to wait in the positions they had gained, but to be ready to charge immediately after the batteries had bombarded the enemy trenches. Consequently, during the next hour both sides remained on the defensive.
Little ironies pursue us through life; in battle Death sometimes comes with a touch so swift and so ironical that we are made to fear God truly.
Englishmen have learned now the meaning of the saying, dear to the French soldier, "de ne pas s'en faire," and in the lull of battle before the bombardment, Sergeant Strachan and Cleek Smith talked of old times. There had been nine Strachans in the regiment when we landed in France two and a half years ago, one of whom was then my orderly. "Any news this morning?" I would sometimes ask.—"Nothing much, sir, only another of the Strachans was killed last night." My orderly had become a sergeant, but the other eight were no longer with the battalion. They had all left, "on command." "Yes," said Cleek Smith, "I wonder why it is so many poor chaps get it the minute they join the regiment, while fellows like you and me go through one show after another and never get a scratch." Scarce a bullet was fired during that half-hour, yet as a full stop to his question came one that found a way to that gallant heart, which had never failed him in the most critical fight, nor on the most dangerous duty when out scouting. Cleek Smith, you know the answer now to an even greater Riddle than the one you put to the last of the Strachans. No man liveth unto himself, and whoever dies in battle, dies for his regiment, his country, and the cause.