Soon the enemy showed signs of wavering, for the fire of our English lads was fierce and withering. A young officer rallied a number of men on the rear; and these delivered a most telling fire into the enemy's ranks; the strained tension of the situation had been most severe, when at last the Arabs, two or three at first, then twenties and fifties, trotted off the field and in a very few minutes there was not an enemy to be seen. With cheer upon cheer, shouting until we were hoarse, we celebrated this dearly won victory. "Thus ended one of several terrible conflicts the men of the Expedition had to go through on their way to the beleaguered city." These lines of poetry, were written shortly after the news of this fierce engagement reached England:-- "They were gathered on the desert, Like pebbles on the shore, And they rushed upon the Christian With a shout like cannon's roar; Like the dashing of the torrent, Like the sweeping of the storm, Like the raging of the tempest, Came down the dusky swarm. From the scant and struggling brush-wood, From the waste of burning sand, Sped the warriors of the desert, Like the locusts of the land: They would crush the bold invader, Who had dared to cross their path; They were fighting for their prophet, In the might of Islam's wrath, They were savage in their fury, They were lordly in their pride; There was glory for the victor, And heaven for him who died. They were mustered close together, That small devoted band; They knew the strife that day would rage In combat hand to hand. And wild and weird the battle-cry Was sounding through the air, As the foe sprang from his ambush, Like the tiger from his lair. They knew the distant flashing Of the bright Arabian spear, As, spurring madly onward, They saw the host appear In numbers overwhelming, In numbers ten to one; They knew the conflict must be waged Beneath the scorching sun; They knew the British soldiers grave Might lie beneath their feet; But they never knew dishonour, And they would not know defeat. And swifter, ever swifter Swept on the savage horde, And from the serried British ranks A murderous fire was poured; And like the leaves in autumn Fell Arab warriors slain, And like the leaves in spring-time They seemed to live again. Midst the rattle of the bullets, Midst the flashing of the steel, They pressed to the encounter With fierce fanatic zeal. One moment swayed the phalanx, One moment and no more; Then British valour stemmed the tide, As oft in days of yore. At length the foe was vanquished, And at length the field was won, For the longest day had ended, And the fiercest course was run. Ye smiling plains of Albion! Ye mountains of the north! Now up and greet your heroes with The honours they are worth. Then pause and let a nation's tears