... It came with the suddenness of a thunderclap on a fine day, at a moment when practically everything but the miseries of marching through loose sand in the hottest part of one of the hottest days of the year had faded from the minds of the straining, labouring men.
A sudden shout, followed by the firing of half a dozen shots, brought the column automatically to a halt and drew all eyes to the right.
From a wide shallow wadi, or a fold in the ground, among the sand-hills a few hundred yards away, an avalanche of haik and djellab-clad men on swift horses suddenly materialised and swept down like a whirlwind on the little force. Behind them, followed a far bigger mass of camel-riders howling "Ul-Ul-Ullah-Akbar!" as they came. Almost before the column had halted, a couple of barks from Lieutenant Roberte turned the Company to the right in two ranks, the front rank kneeling, the rear rank standing close up behind it, with bayonets fixed and magazines charged... Having fired their warning shots, the flankers were running for their lives to join the main body. The Company watched and waited in grave silence. It was Lieutenant Roberte's intention that, when the Arabs broke and fled before the Company's withering blast of lead, they should leave the maximum number of "souvenirs" behind them. His was the courage and nerve that is tempered and enhanced by imperturbable coolness. He would let the charging foe gallop to the very margin of safety for his Legionaries. To turn them back at fifty yards would be much more profitable than to do it at five hundred.
Trembling with excitement and the thrilling desire for violent action, Rupert knelt between John Bull and the Bucking Bronco, scarcely able to await the orders to fire and charge. Before any order came he saw a sight that for a moment sickened and shook him, a sight which remained before his eyes for many days. Corporal Auguste Gilles, who was commanding the flankers, either too weary or too ill to continue his sprint for comparative safety, turned and faced the thundering rush of the oncoming Arab harka, close behind him. Kneeling by a prickly pear or cactus bush he threw up his rifle and emptied his magazine into the swiftly rushing ranks that were almost upon him. As he fired his last shot, an Arab, riding ahead of the rest, lowered his lance and, with a cry of "Kelb ibn kelb,"[#] bent over towards him. Springing to his feet the Corporal gamely charged with his bayonet. There can be only one end to such a combat when the horseman knows his weapon. The Corporal was sent flying into the cactus, impaled upon the Arab's lance, and, as it was withdrawn as the horseman swept by, the horrified Rupert saw his comrade stagger to his feet and totter forward--tethered to the cactus by his own entrails. Happily, a second later, the sweep of an Arab flissa almost severed his head from his shoulders....
[#] Dog--and son of a dog.
The Company stood firm and silent as a rock, the shining bayonets still and level. Just as it seemed to Rupert that it must be swept away and every man share the fate of that mangled lump of clay in front (for there is no more nerve-shaking spectacle than cavalry charging down upon you like a living avalanche or flood) one word rang out from Lieutenant Roberte.
When the crashing rattle (like mingled, tearing thunder and the wild hammer of hail upon a corrugated iron roof), ceased as magazines were emptied almost simultaneously, the Arabs were in flight at top speed, leaving two-thirds of their number on the plain; and upon the fleeing harka the Company made very pretty shooting--for the Legion shoots as well as it marches.
When the "Cease Fire" whistle had blown, Rupert remarked to John Bull--
"No chance for a bayonet charge, then?" to which the old soldier replied--
"No, my son, that is a pleasure to which the Arab does not treat us, unless we surprise his sleeping douar at dawn...."