Another time a sniper’s bullet ricochetted around the rocky wall of the “sangar.”
“What’s that?” demanded one of my men.
“A ricochet,” I replied.
“Don’t we use them, too?” asked this guileless rookie.
Fortunately for us the Turks on the ridge above were not possessed of bombs. They tried to make up for this deficiency by hurling at us huge chunks of rock that had been smashed by our battle-ship attack from the face of their sandstone cliffs.
We made them a better retort. We took our bully beef tins and jam tins and tobacco tins, loaded them with broken stones and cordite taken from our rifle cartridges, and messengers were dispatched to return with other forms of explosives and fuses to aid us in the completion of these amateur weapons of war. We lighted them from our cigarette ends and hurled them in whatever direction a Turk had betrayed his presence. Sometimes they would explode prematurely and not a few of the bombers of that night had their faces blown away.
Dawn found us still in possession of the first ridge. While we remained there inactive and before any order had been given to indicate that we were to assault the upper ridge, there came an order which aroused my wonder and opposition. It was to “Fix bayonets!”
Obedience to this order all along our position brought about a startling betrayal of the whereabouts of the entire force, for the sunshine glittered brilliantly on the steel blades and fairly telegraphed the location of all our quotas to the enemy above.
I knew there must be some mistake and cried to my men, “Unfix bayonets! Who the hell gave that order?”
I never found out, but I have very definite suspicion. I am certain it was a false order circulated by spies, which we were subsequently to discover were among us.