The Manchesters rested after their toilsome march as best they could, with little food and water, until 3.30 a.m., when they stood to, awaiting the order to advance. It was, perhaps, fortunate that this was delayed in transmission as, while they waited, a string of camels laden with fanatis was sighted. There was no food, but the omission passed unheeded in the delight of obtaining water, though the supply was only enough to allow three-quarters of a bottle to each man. This small ration had to be husbanded carefully, for it might have to last them the whole or the greater part of the day.
March to Katia, August 5-6, 1916
By 7 a.m. on the 5th the 127th Brigade was on the move. During the night the enemy had retired to Hod-el-Enna, where he was holding a line northward toward Katib Gannit. The 42nd Division was ordered to advance and envelop the Turkish left flank in conjunction with the mounted troops, the Anzac Mounted Division operating on their left, and the 5th Mounted Brigade on the right, linking up with the 3rd Australian Light Horse. The 125th Brigade, which had arrived at Pelusium on the previous evening, had made an early start in the small hours of the morning, and was now on the left, the 127th Brigade being on the right, and the 126th Brigade in Corps Reserve at Pelusium. The heat, especially in the valleys, was stifling, and many men were sunstruck or completely prostrated by the heat. Souvenirs picked up earlier in the day—Turkish bayonets, swords, belts—were quickly discarded. The heavy, yielding sand greatly hindered the horse-drawn guns of the 212th Brigade, R.F.A., and for the same reason the cable wagons could not keep up, the teams being utterly exhausted. The Divisional Squadron reached Mount Royston at noon, after patrolling the railway line throughout the previous night, and they too had to halt for a time, the horses being badly in need of rest, food and water. In the evening the squadron arrived at Hod-es-Seifania, together with a hundred troopers of the Bikanir Camel Corps. The infantry gained their objectives, and on the ridge of higher ground saw the cavalry pursuing the Turks and our guns flinging shrapnel among them. Out at sea, a monitor, looking like a toy boat, could be seen bombarding the enemy positions—first a flash, then after a long interval the roar of the great gun, then an ear-splitting explosion among the fleeing Turks. The Division now held the line Hod-el-Enna to Mount Meredith, and cavalry patrols reported that the enemy rearguard was holding the line Bir-el-Rabah—Katia—Bir-el-Mamluk. The 125th Brigade on the left and the 127th on the right rested for the night on Mount Meredith and Mount Royston, and the number of Turkish dead lying on these hills showed how heavy had been the casualties. The evening was cool—in fact, the night was even chilly after the extreme heat of the day. There was little to eat or drink. The news came that Katia was to be taken next day, that the enemy was holding the oasis basin strongly, and that the march to Katia would be more exacting even than those of the past two days. The prospect was not alluring, for there was no sign of water to replenish the empty bottles, many of the native transport drivers having been stampeded by enemy shell fire. The prospect of an advance across the desert without food or water was far more alarming than the Turk, however strong might be his position and his numbers. Thirsty, hungry, and exhausted the men of the two brigades scooped hollows in the sand and snatched a few hours sleep.
Sufferings of the Manchesters, Aug. 6, 1916
At 3 a.m. on August 6 the infantry with the 1st and 3rd Field Companies, R.E., were preparing to move, each man wondering if he would be able to hold out, when a beatific vision of distant fantasse-laden camels was hailed with rapture. The pestiferous oont is an ungainly beast, with disgusting manners and a vile temper, but there are moments when one could almost wish that he would allow himself to be caressed, and this was one of such occasions. Though the allowance of water was disappointingly small, there being barely a pint per head, still it made all the difference to the spirit of the troops. The start was made at 4 a.m., the 42nd Division on the right, the 52nd on the left, with cavalry on both flanks. Viewed from a ridge, the advance on Katia was picturesque. The plain was covered with long lines of infantry, mounted troops on the flanks, batteries of field-guns with traction-engine wheels hauled through the sand by huge teams of horses. Far away to the rear came endless strings of grunting, bubbling camels, and miles in front, a tantalizing sight, lay the green oases that brought to mind the desert pictures of childhood. The prediction that the march would be more exhausting than any yet attempted proved only too true, and officers who had been through the worst of the Gallipoli campaign, and at a later date had eighteen months’ experience of trench and open warfare in Flanders and France, declare that they have known nothing to surpass in horror the sufferings of the 127th Brigade on the 6th of August, 1916. The 125th Brigade, moving by a more direct route, reached the shade of the Katia oases in the forenoon, and found that the Turk had not awaited their coming. But while the Fusiliers rested there, the Manchesters were still trudging wearily through the soft sand, every step seeming to sink deeper and deeper, until it needed not only physical strength but also will-power to drag one’s legs along. In the depressions between the ridges there was not a breath of air. The sun grew more and more malignant, and the men became more and more dejected and taciturn. Hundreds collapsed from sunstroke, or because every ounce of energy they had possessed had been expended. The instructions to husband the meagre allowance of water had been explicit, and every one knew that the bottles could not be replenished until Katia should be reached. It was forbidden to drink without first obtaining the permission of the platoon or unit commander, and the best results were obtained where the officers insisted firmly on exact obedience to this order. The men behaved splendidly, and even when their powers of endurance seemed to have reached the limit, they forced themselves heavily and listlessly onward, stedfastly resisting the ever-increasing temptation to drink. A regimental Medical Officer described their appearance as “that of men being gradually suffocated, their faces turning a dusky blue; they were panting for breath and falling unconscious on the track. All that could be done was to try to collect them in groups and place their heads under any low scrub that could be found.” At one spot the torture was most cruelly augmented by an unfulfilled hope of relief. The sight of great quantities of attractive fruit, outwardly resembling oranges, was hailed with hoarse cries of delight. The “oranges” were seized upon ravenously, and in a few cases bitten into—and thrown away with curses. It was that most bitter of fruits, calumba—bitter as the disappointment it had caused, for the prospect of allaying the agonizing thirst intensified the anguish. Then it was that the officers, who were in no better case than their men but were upheld by their sense of responsibility, silently blessed him whom they had so often found occasion to curse, the “funny man” of the platoon or company. Luckily these men are to be found in every British unit, and when things are at their worst they extract humour from hardship until even the most despondent begin to feel less depressed.
KATIA.
KATIA. BIVOUACS.