On the Road to Bagdad: A Story of Townshend's Gallant Advance on the TigrisBrereton, F. S. (Frederick Sadleir)
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On the Road to Bagdad: A Story of Townshend's Gallant Advance on the Tigris
Brereton, F. S. (Frederick Sadleir)
World War, 1914-1918 -- Juvenile fiction
"Queer, ain't it?" remarked Philip, on the point of embarking with his
chum Geoff on board the steam-launch which they had captured from the
enemy in the midst of the same marshes whither they were now bound. "Did
you ever see such a collection of boats and fellows? and the navy look
as though they meant to make a race of the business."
There was a string of bellums--the shallow light craft common to that
part of Mesopotamia, and used by the natives for progress through the
marshes--towing at the tail end of the steam-launch--bellums crammed
with British soldiers and with Indians. There were motor-boats near at
hand, pushing their busy way across the Shatt-el-Arab; there were
shallow-draft steamers brought from India, cranky, dilapidated, rusty
vessels, which looked as though they had done long service, and had
arrived at a time when they were fit for the scrap-heap only, or to be
relegated to long and continuous rest. As a matter of fact, many of
these curious craft--long since abandoned as useless by their
owners--had been brought across from India, surviving in a most
extraordinary manner a voyage which might have been expected to smash
them to pieces, and to shake their already quivering sides so severely
that if they had been swamped, if the ocean had poured through many a
crevice, it would have been a wonder to no one. And there they were, at
anchor in the river, their decks packed with men of the navy--men in
duck white or in khaki, grinning fellows, who shouted to their comrades
of the army.
"Cheer oh, navy'll be in first!" they bellowed. "We're in for the
Turkish stakes, and back ourselves to beat the army."
What a scene it was when the expedition set off at length! The lighter
craft finding their way through the marshes, and steering an irregular
course amongst the muddy islets, whilst the vessels drawing deeper water
ploughed their way along the uncertain course of the Euphrates, and
stemmed the gentle flood down which Phil and Geoff had steamed with
their Turkish prisoner. Little tails of open boats trailed at the stern
of every steamer, while not a few, manned by natives, with soldiers
aboard them, were paddled into the marshes farther afield on the
outskirts of this huge inundation. There were other troops wading
knee-deep, all with the one objective--Nasiriyeh and the Turkish camp.
Perhaps never before had such an amazingly curious, amphibious
expedition been undertaken, and it is quite certain that never before
had British and Indian sailors and soldiers enjoyed a thing more hugely.
"A regular sort of mud lark," Phil called out as the launch ran on a
submerged bank of mud, and came to an abrupt halt, causing the bellum
towing nearest to her to collide violently with her stern and capsize
promptly. There were roars of laughter as the men fell into the water
and got to their feet again, dripping, and standing there with the water
hardly higher than their knees, grimacing and shaking themselves like
dogs.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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