“I remember him telling me at Makina that personally he didn’t think a man could have a finer death than in jumping a large fence out hunting, but his was infinitely finer leading his squadron (I was directly behind him) straight at a small nullah full of Turks. He was probably shot by a Turk not more than two or three yards off. I did not see his body afterwards, as I was hit myself very shortly afterwards; but Mr Payne did, I believe, and no doubt he will have written to you.

“It is most awfully sad, and I shall feel it all the more when I get back to the squadron and he isn’t there. I never saw a braver or more fearless person than he was: he almost made it impossible for any one under him to be afraid.”

Lieut. A. M. Le Patourel. Capt. H. C. D. FitzGibbon, M.C.
(Wounded near Deli Abbas, 8th April 1917)		 Capt. A. Veanto, M.C., R.A.M.C.
Capt. H. G. T. Newton
(Accidentally drowned in Tigris, 25th April 1917)
Lieut. J. H. Hirsch Pte. J. L. Roberts, D.C.M. (Died, 20th April 1917, of wounds
received near Deli Abbas)

Lieutenant Fitzgibbon—March 21.—“I have seen by the way what no other Regiment has seen or done in this war—that is to say, the Regiment formed line and charged! It was a damned fine effort, but rather a mad one. We had been given wrong information by aeroplanes, and ran our heads against the most beautiful trenches full of Turks I have ever seen. The old Turk just sat back and waited for us, and, by God! he let us have it. The noise was something impossible to describe: how the devil we any of us ever got out of it I still do not know. The dust did us in, but also saved us. Well, we eventually got out of it, rallied, dismounted, and attacked on our flat feet, and had the satisfaction of seeing the Turk evacuate his position at nightfall. We rather got a dusting though.

“My squadron (‘A’) went into action very weak from previous casualties, and we went in sixty-six strong and came out thirty-three. Fourteen officers of the Regiment were knocked out and five killed. Newton and I scraped out of it safely.

“We had a good many shows besides this one, but none so good. It is something to be the only Regiment to have charged as a Regiment, and it did jolly well. We were the first Cavalry Regiment to enter Baghdad. We have lost our Colonel and also the second in command, Twist; the senior squadron leader was killed—such a nice fellow, Eve, shot through his head. I was the first to find his body, and took his things off him. It was very sad.”[36]

Colour-Sergeant F. Spanton, “B” Squadron.—“After a few minutes we were galloping towards the enemy with drawn swords, at a fair pace. We were well received by the Turks, who blazed away at us as hard as they could, and when we got close some of their shots took effect, and one or two spare horses were galloping about. After we had crossed the first trench my horse was apparently hit and pitched over, causing me to be thrown. I landed between the lines of Turks, and remained quiet, waiting to see what would happen next. The Turks now had turned about, and were firing over me into the rear of the squadrons. The Regiment changed direction to the right, and passed out of my view; the Turks got out of the trenches and continued to send a hail of bullets after the disappearing squadrons. I watched this as I lay on the ground, weighing my chances of rejoining the Regiment. The Turks in front of me were now retiring, and moving to the left of the trench, and I thought if I remained quiet they would all probably pass me by unnoticed, and then I could get back to my squadron again. But no such luck: as the tail-end of the Turks passed by, one fellow stopped when he saw me, and raising his rifle to his shoulder he fired point-blank—but missed—the bullet not coming so near as the one that had cut the belt of my haversack in half a few minutes before. This man, evidently disgusted with his bad shooting, walked hurriedly away, so once again I thought my chances of getting back were good; but a group of three men coming along a little later came to see who I was, and lugged me off to a dug-out. I had hurt my knee rather badly when I was thrown, and couldn’t get along over fast; this annoyed the Turks, as we were still under a heavy fire from the British machine-guns, so they jabbed me in the back with the butt of a rifle as a signal to hurry.... Sergeant Gilbert was brought up to where I was, and duly deprived of his possessions. After a few minutes Lieutenant Pennington[37] was brought in. He was holding his wrist: he had been badly hit in the forearm, the bone being broken. I tied him up with my field-dressing, and made a plug for him until we could find a dressing station. In the meantime, Private Morrison had been brought in, and he also was shot through the arm and was bleeding freely. We were now hurried off, and came to a dressing station, where the wounds of Lieutenant Pennington and Private Morrison were dressed. We were now handed over to an escort, who had instructions to take us to the Headquarters, 18th Turkish Division, for interrogation. The escort made a wide chukker to get to the Headquarters. After a while they called a halt, and motioned us to sit down. Now they thought was the best time to change clothes. They commenced with Lieutenant Pennington, taking his puttees and spurs, and tried very hard to get a gold ring off a finger on his broken arm, which must have caused him considerable pain; but being unsuccessful they let him alone, and turned their attention to Private Morrison, whom they robbed of almost everything; next they came to me and took what the others had left.... Now they turned to Sergeant Gilbert and served him in a like manner. After they had got all they could out of us they continued to walk to G.H.Q., where eventually we arrived. Here we were interviewed by an interpreter, who spoke excellent English, and who was wonderfully informed, but I am afraid the satisfaction he got from us was little. I spoke to him about my clothes and possessions being stolen by the soldiers, but he said nothing could be done, as they were allowed to do it. Two Turkish soldiers fighting for possession of my revolver were interrupted by an officer, who thrashed them both and took it himself. The Turks were still retiring and we were sent to travel with a Field Ambulance Section.”

It will be seen that there was some measure of mercy shown by the fighting Turks towards the men who fell into their hands, but Sergeant Spanton’s diary goes on to describe the lives and sufferings of the British and Indian prisoners during their captivity, and the story is painful reading.

2nd Lieutenant Pinnington, who was wounded and taken prisoner at Lajj, had joined the Regiment only a fortnight earlier with 2nd Lieutenant Rolfe, after a long voyage from England by way of the Cape and India. More fortunate than his companion, he lived to be exchanged to England within a year. His account of the fight at Lajj is as follows:—

“The 7th Brigade, to which the Thirteenth belonged, led the way, one of the Indian Regiments—Watson’s Horse—furnishing the advanced and flank guards. The Division had been on the march several hours when the news filtered through that a Turkish convoy, escorted by a company of Infantry, had been sighted a mile or two ahead. The job of rounding up this convoy was assigned to the Thirteenth, and the Regiment drew ahead in the formation known as echelon of squadrons. We had not gone far when the whizz of bullets greeted our ears, and the order came to dismount for action—presumably owing to the impossibility, on account of the dust, of seeing what actually did lie in front of us. A lull in the dust-storm served to assure our leader that whatever opposition there was could be ridden down, and accordingly, after advancing a short distance dismounted, and snapping away with Hotchkiss gun and rifle, we were summarily recalled, ordered to mount, draw swords, and finally charge. Shells by this time were bursting overhead, and the storm of bullets through which we rode gave the lie to the report that, with the exception of the convoy and its escort, all was clear ahead. We were quickly on top of a line of Turks who had abandoned their trench and were scurrying back to join their comrades in the rear lines. The horrible screeching told its own weird tale of the fate they met. In the onrush I got ‘winged’ and was left, as I ultimately learned to my cost, a few yards from the Turkish main-line trench. As I stood there dazed amid the dust, I saw another squadron come galloping up. It was a sight I shall not readily forget. The leader to the fore with sword aloft, the line of panting horses, the grim eager faces of the men, the flashing swords—I thought of Lady Butler’s painting ‘Floreat Etona,’ and marvelled at seeing the living parallel. Captain Eve was the leader, and as he approached ‘with a swiftness not to be conceived,’ I shook my right arm, which was hanging limply by my side, and shouted, ‘This thing’s shattered.’ ‘Hard lines, old boy. Never mind,’ he called back, and was gone. The line had passed and disappeared in the dust.