On the Road to Bagdad: A Story of Townshend's Gallant Advance on the TigrisBrereton, F. S. (Frederick Sadleir)
General
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
It was perhaps half an hour later that the two troops, separated till
then by quite a wide stretch of desert, and hidden entirely from one
another and from the enemy by that long, low eminence, converged upon
one another and rode out into the open. A careful advance near the bank
of the river, where the palms hid them, and the fact that the attention
of the Arab horsemen was fixed for the most part on the signallers and
their officer left on the eminence, had allowed one troop to get within
striking distance of the enemy. Then they suddenly debouched from the
trees, and, trotting out into the desert, formed up for a charge; almost
at the same moment a cloud of dust far away in the open showed them the
position of the second troop, which, riding faster, had got almost
beyond the position held by the Arabs. In fact, a rapid movement might
enclose the enemy between the two troops, and in any case this menace
from two points at once threw them into confusion; shouts were heard
from the Arabs, while at once loud reports burst from their ranks, all
manner of weapons being discharged at the Indian horsemen. To these was
added the sharp, clear-cut snap of modern rifles, with which the Turkish
infantry were armed. Then a trumpet blared in the distance, and that
cloud of dust suddenly grew bigger, grew bigger and wider, and stretched
out till it covered quite a large area. The troop close down by the
river, which had just emerged from the trees, cantered out now till six
feet of space separated the horsemen.
Then the pennons at the tips of the lances waved, a sharp order snapped
down the ranks, and in a trice the lances were lowered. That trumpet
blaring in the distance had set every horse in this other troop
curveting and prancing, and now, as a note came from their own
trumpeter, the horses were off, the men leaning low down in their
saddles, their eyes glued on the enemy, their knees gripping their
horses, and their lances pointed well out before them.
What a shout those Indian sowars gave! Their comrades coming from the
opposite direction answered with a shrill yell of triumph, and then,
like a flash, the two troops were launched against the enemy.
Converging as they came, till there were perhaps only some four or five
hundred yards between the flanks of each of the troops, the horsemen
plunged into the midst of the Arabs. Here and there they had left a
horse rolling on the sand behind them, and there was more than one
animal without a rider as they got close to the enemy; but nothing
stopped the Indians, neither the shouts nor the bullets of the Arabs.
With a crash they were in at them, thrusting right and left, riding them
down, riding over them, and then it was over. What was left of those
Arab horsemen scattered and fled in every direction, leaving the Indian
Horse conquerors.
[Illustration: "WHAT WAS LEFT OF THOSE ARAB HORSEMEN SCATTERED AND
FLED"]
As for Geoff, his fingers trembled as he pulled Sultan in and dropped
from his saddle.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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