The remarks of Sergeant Palmer at this juncture are particularly impressive:—
“Our captain,” he explains, “was no great orator, but he had a straightforward, manly manner of speech, which somehow stirred the blood. As far as I can remember, this was what was said:—‘Men, you are marching to-night to attack a strongly-entrenched position called Tel-el-Kebir, mounting some 60 guns, and sweeping our line of approach. On the march from Nine Gun Hill there must be no smoking. The strictest silence must be kept, and, unless ordered to the contrary, you are to continue the march steadily, no matter if bullets and shells come hailstone-fashion into the ranks. No bayonets are to be fixed till the order is given, and no man is to charge until the last note of the bugle is finished. The bayonet alone is to do the work, and not a shot is to be fired until the trenches are carried. You are to fight on so long as a man stands up. Remember the country and regiment to which you belong, and fight now as fought the Highlanders of old!’”
It is further recorded that as the troops were marching to Nine Gun Hill chums were giving each other messages for home in case of being killed, for all knew there was hard fighting before them.
Reaching Nine Gun Hill, where lay their camp, the brigade in dense darkness deployed into line of half battalions of double companies at deploying intervals. During the halt at this hill, two lots of rum per man were served out—the first allowance of strong drink since quitting board ship. The regimental teetotaller called it “Dutch courage,” but nobody needed an incentive to fight. The rum proved very comforting to the men in the chill night air, and when they had bolted it—for it had to be swallowed on the spot—most of them went to sleep; this to many their last sleep prior to the final long sleep of all. About 1.30 a.m. the march was resumed, the 79th being appointed the directing regiment, while Lieutenant Rawson, R.N., had the duty of guiding it by the stars.
Occasionally clouds would obscure the sky as the men plodded on, but the North Star and part of the Little Bear remained visible. Sergeant Palmer and another non-commissioned officer were told off to march on the directing flank, close to Lieutenant Rawson. They were ordered to take off their helmets and keep their eyes fixed on a certain star, and if it should disappear they were instructed to inform Rawson in a whisper. Within the space of one hour several stars disappeared, and as they did so the Lieutenant indicated others for the men to watch. At this point the strictest discipline was maintained, and silence was vigorously enforced, save that occasionally a horse would neigh and another answer back in the cavalry ranks; not a sound was to be heard but the low trampling of many feet on the sand, described as resembling the fluttering of a flock of birds.
Once a man on whom either the rum had taken effect, or the weird silence had had an ungovernable influence, broke out into wild yells. Sir Garnet Wolseley immediately rode up, and ordered the offender to be bayoneted, but the regimental surgeon interposed, and begged leave to chloroform him instead. This was granted, and the man was drugged into insensibility and left lying on the sand.
After the troops had marched at a funeral pace for about two hours, a halt of twenty minutes was commanded. As the orders were slowly passed from company to company in a low tone of voice, they failed to reach the flanks of the brigade, which continued in motion, retaining the touch until the extremities all but met in front of the centre. Thus the brigade in effect formed a great hollow circle. The line had to be laboriously straightened out and re-formed in the inky darkness, and in all but silence. It was a fine proof of discipline that this was accomplished in the short space of twenty-five minutes, and about 4.30 a.m. the advance was resumed. Those present have described how the monotonous slow-step marching induced in them an almost overpowering sleepiness, somewhat incompatible, but not unusual, with a prospect of shortly facing the enemy.
The Colonel of the 79th, Sir Archibald Alison, at this period was becoming anxious, and was beginning to fear that something was wrong, as the minutes slipped by and nothing was discovered of the enemy’s position. Turning to Lieutenant Rawson, he exclaimed in a low tone, “Are we on the right track?”
“Yes, sir,” was the reply; “we have the north star on our right, and another in front, and soon we ought to be there.”
Suddenly out of the darkness ahead appeared shadowy forms, an appearance followed up instantly by the crack of a rifle and the roar of artillery. Never for a moment did the serried British ranks betray the confidence which had been placed in them, and though to spring forward was the impulse of every man, yet none stirred. Slowly and irresistibly the force moved forward. Here and there a man fell backward with a bullet through his head. The others made no sign.