oasis of calm in the midst of a
hell of fire--and looked on. At certain intervals we walked or trotted, and
once we galloped madly for half a mile, expecting at the end of it to hear
the order: "Halt--action front!" It was a false alarm. We halted for two
hours--till about five o'clock, when, judging from the firing, Gaza was
hemmed in on all sides.

We were then in a kind of shallow nullah situated about half-way down a
gently sloping hill. Suddenly, over the top of the hill came a "Signals"
waggon at the gallop laying a line at tremendous speed. The battery was
galvanized into action by a sharp order, and in a few seconds the guns were
unlimbered in a position facing due east, whence the rattle of musketry
came in increased volume. Another battery tore down the hill, across the
valley, and swung into action behind the crest opposite. Soon they were
firing salvoes as fast as they could load, while our guns were yet idle.
Something seemed to have gone wrong. Anxious eyes were turned to the west,
for the sun had by now nearly reached the horizon and in half an hour at
most it would be too dark to fire.

How precious those three fog-spoilt hours of the early morning would have
been, could we have had them now! The minutes dragged on and still no
orders came. Gradually, as the sun sank, the hideous din of firing around
us died down and then ceased abruptly, as if some unseen hand had descended
and shut off all the guns simultaneously. We limbered up and withdrew a
little way up the hill, and unhooked again for the night. I cannot hope to
describe the bitter disappointment of that moment. That we had been
spectators all day was bad enough, that the horses had been waterless for
thirty hours and that we ourselves were hungry, thirsty, and very weary,
was worse, but that the pernicious fog should have prevented us from
loosing off at any rate one round was the last straw.

We found a small grain of comfort in the shape of a well at the bottom of
the hill, to which, without removing their harness, we took the horses.
After the usual wearisome process of dragging up the water in canvas
buckets we found it to be muddy, yellow stuff, and the horses, thirsty
though they were, would have none of it. Perhaps they were wiser than we
knew....

From the western end of the valley, travelling at a tremendous pace, came a
small cloud of dust making straight for us.

It was a dispatch-rider, bringing word that the Turks were on the oth