“To Commodore Napier.”
I had sent to Admiral Bandeira to request he would send up his rocketeers; but this the Commander-in-Chief would not permit.
I had no idea the Emir could possibly be up, or Omar Bey be able to form a junction with him, before sunset, and I calculated to attack at dawn of day on the 11th; but we had hardly finished a scanty repast, which the kindness of Captain Henderson, of the Gorgon, furnished us with, when a firing was heard in the direction we expected the Emir to advance; and shortly after, my trusty interpreter Misk rushed into the room with the welcome news that the Emir had arrived. This intelligence set all orders that had arrived, or that might arrive, at nought. The drums beat merrily to arms, the troops were put in motion, we mounted our steeds, and in a few minutes were at the advanced posts. The battalion that had been sent across the ravine to turn the enemy’s left, notwithstanding the delay, had made considerable progress as yet unopposed; and the two battalions that were ordered up from the lines, much against the wish of Izzet Pacha, were advancing rapidly on Ornagacuan.
The enemy’s position was very strong, and perhaps might have been considered unassailable. I knew little of the troops I commanded; many of them were Albanians; and both parties had been endeavouring to persuade each other to come over. Our friends advised them to bring over Ibrahim, (who the day before I had seen sitting under a green flag in the second position, and saluted him); and the enemy, on the other hand, recommended that the old Commodore should be brought over to them. All this was distinctly heard at the out-posts.
I was strongly posted on a narrow range of hills, both flanks well protected; in front of my position there was a considerable descent, at the bottom of which a narrow road led round the foot of another hill to the summit, which the enemy occupied in force; their first position was commanded by a second, still higher, and that again by a third.
It was rather a new occurrence for a British Commodore to be on the top of Mount Lebanon commanding a Turkish army, and preparing to fight a battle that would decide the fate of Syria; but the very novelty was exciting to a degree. I was in my glory; standing on an eminence, surrounded by the general officers and my own staff, I fancied myself a great “Commander,” and surveying the enemy, who had not quite so brilliant an appearance as the Scottish host, although I could not exclaim with Marmion,
Oh, well, Lord Lyon, hast thou said,
Thy King from warfare to dissuade
Were but a vain essay.
For, by St. George, were that host mine,