Their sense of humour showed itself in some rather quaint ways. Once, when a bomb was thrown over a barricade by a French soldier, hitting a Turk on the head without exploding, the latter shouted back "Assassin, Assassin!" On another occasion, on the completion of one of the heaviest bombardments to which we had subjected their trenches—a perfect storm of shells from field guns, siege guns, howitzers and battleships—as soon as the firing ceased and the dust cleared away, a huge placard was slowly raised from the front trench, on which was printed in large letters "No Casualties."
CHAPTER XXI
WORK OF THE ZION MULE CORPS
During all these battles in May, June and July, the Zion men and mules were kept steadily at work, and wherever they went it was gratifying to know that they performed their duties satisfactorily. Sometimes little parties of them would be attached to different battalions, and when their tour of a week or ten days' duty was over they would invariably bring back a letter from the Transport Officer to say how well the men had worked, and how well they had behaved when under fire. I have dozens of such letters, which testify to their good work and how well they got on with their British comrades, with whom they were great favourites; the party commanded by Corporal Nehemiah Yahuda was always in great request, as this bright, cheery young N. C. O. had a happy knack of inspiring his men with his own zeal for work and devotion to duty, regardless of all danger.
Sometimes while away from Headquarters on these detached duties a man would get killed. His comrades always brought the body back to camp, and then the whole Corps attended the funeral, which was a very solemn ceremony. Over the grave of each hero whom we buried in Gallipoli was erected a little memorial, the Shield of David, with his name and the date of his death engraved underneath. Nothing brought the old days of the Bible back more vividly to my mind than to see, when one of my Zion men was wounded, how his friends would literally fall on his neck, weep, and embrace him most tenderly. The outward expression of such emotion as I have witnessed is of course impossible for us Westerners, but I doubt if our feelings are not harrowed all the more by the rigid restraint which we perforce place on them.
The gallant Captain Trumpledor differed from his compatriots in this respect, and I never once saw him give way to any of these emotions. On the contrary, he would remark to me over the body of a badly wounded Zionist: "Ken, ken! (Hebrew for "Yes, yes!") A la guerre comme à la guerre!" And I must say that he himself bore a bullet wound through his shoulder with the greatest fortitude, carrying out his duties as if nothing had happened and absolutely refusing to go into hospital. I am glad to say he made a speedy and good recovery.
A couple of my Zionists were not quite so brave as the Captain, for I observed them one day, when we were being somewhat heavily shelled, making tracks for the beach for all they were worth.
Their flight reminded me of a story which I had heard, of an Irish soldier at the Battle of the Boyne, who, relating to a friend how his Captain, before leading them to the charge, said: "Now, boys, strike for your King, your country, and your home." "Some of the fools," said the Irishman, "struck for their King and country, but I struck for home!"