"Like it?" asked Philip, with a mischievous grin, proceeding to mop his face with a handkerchief which had once been white, but which was now a beautiful desert colour. "There they go again; heavy metal, eh?"
"Four-inch, I should say," Geoff answered; "bigger perhaps. You'd better make sure of it, Philip. Why not catch one of the shells and let me know the measurements when you've finished—that is to say, if there's anything of you left after the skirmish? But there go our guns, and it sounds as though the advance-guard had already got into action. Ta-ta, old boy! I must get off, for I was returning to Head-quarters after delivering a message."
As he swung himself across the back of the restive Sultan, and galloped towards Head-quarters, he heard the guns aboard the sloops which were accompanying the force up the Shatt-el-Arab open on the enemy. Bang! Bang! Bang! Quite sharp, sailor-like reports; while, in the far distance, through his glasses, he observed splotches of sand and dust springing up between himself and the flat horizon.
"Take this 'chit' along to your old Commanding Officer," he was ordered the moment he reached Head-quarters. "Be good enough to ask him to act on the order immediately. You know the position of the regiment, and therefore need not delay to ask questions."
Geoff saluted briskly, and tucked the note between his belt and his body; then, swinging Sultan round, he set him off at a pace which sent sand and gravel flying out behind them, and sent him across a wide open space—already passed by the troops—to that point where he knew the Mahrattas were marching. By now, the division had stretched itself out on the left bank of the river, its right flank protected by the water, and supported by the guns and rifles aboard the British sloops already mentioned. To the left it had deployed till the ranks were opened out considerably, while behind those ranks, now stationary, were the hundred-and-one followers always attached to an Indian army—bearers of ammunition for guns and rifles, water-carriers, stretcher-bearers, and other useful, if not ornamental, individuals. Here and there tall brown figures lay inertly on the smooth expanse of desert, while already stretcher-bearers were crossing the open space, bearing human bundles enclosed in stained khaki clothing towards the dressing-station opened for the reception and treatment of the wounded.
It was a battle-scene in fact, the view one obtains behind the fighting front of an army—a view, up to this day, foreign to Geoff's eyes, save for what he had seen in the course of peace manœuvres. But this was the real thing. For from the British front, and on beyond it, there came the rattle of rifles, punctuated every now and again by the sharp rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat of machine-guns, and drowned every few seconds by the deeper, hoarser, more venomous bellow of cannon. A shell plumped into the ground almost under Sultan, though the leap that animal gave carried him clear before the resulting explosion. As it was, he and his master were stung by the gravel flung out by the explosive, while a splinter of shell, singing past Geoff's leg, crossed the open space and found a billet in the body of a stretcher-bearer carrying one of the wounded. Crash! Down the man went, and with him his burden, and for a moment or so Geoff watched as a comrade bent over him and examined the wound he had suffered. He saw the tall native lay his brother soldier out straight and stark on the desert, and then, helped by another, seize the stretcher and march on towards the rear of the army. It was just an incident. Those men carrying their stretcher, and assisting their damaged brothers, were doing their duty just as well as, just as unflinchingly as, and in circumstances of equal danger with those armed with rifles in the forefront of the battle.
And what a sight it was when Geoff reached the Mahrattas, and came upon the officer he sought, occupying a shallow trench scooped in the sand behind his battalion.
"A message, sir," he said, pulling the note out from his belt and presenting it, and then watching the officer as he opened it and read the contents.
Then he swung his eyes over the backs of the men of the Mahrattas, who were now lying flat on the ground, digging their way into the soft gravel, seeking shelter from the Turkish enemy. Across the plain stretching before him, perhaps six hundred yards distant, were deeply dug trenches, parapeted, and manned by soldiers of the Sultan, and no doubt commanded in many cases by German officers. Farther back, and almost out of view, and dug in just as deeply and as securely as were the infantry, were guns—invisible almost, yet showing their positions every now and again by the dull-red flash which shot up above them. Geoff watched an instant, and listened to the rattle of musketry from the men stretching along the British line who were not engaged in digging but in holding down the fire of the enemy—watched those sharper red flashes in the distance, listened to the roar of British batteries, and saw a sudden blinding flash above one of those dug-in Turkish guns, and heard the splitting, thunderous report of a British shell as it got home on an enemy cannon; and then, though he watched for some few minutes, no sharp red point of light appeared above the spot, no answering report came from the gun dug into its hollow, for no doubt the British shell had put gun and crew out of action. As for bullets, they swept through the air like bees, humming and droning, splashing the sand and gravel here and there, throwing dust and stones over the soldiers lying full length and eagerly digging for shelter. They screamed and hissed past Sultan and past our hero, and between him and the officer to whom he had brought a message. They fascinated Geoff, and certainly did not frighten him in the slightest. So interested was he, in fact, with his view of the Turks—an excellent view considering he was mounted—and so taken up was he with watching those Turkish batteries and looking for the result of British shells amongst them, that he did not heed the voice of the officer he had accosted.
Then a shout attracted his attention.