The Guns of El Kebir (Simon Fonthill Series)

by John Wilcox

  Simon sent a message to this effect back to Wolseley at Maskhuta via Ahmed and remained with Jenkins observing the enemy’s positions until the General and his staff rode up. The little group spent ten minutes examining the Egyptian lines.

  Eventually Wolseley put down his binoculars and turned to his advisers. ‘Do you think they’ll stand, gentlemen?’

  There was a general murmur of affirmation.

  ‘Yes, so do I.’ Wolseley lifted the glasses to his eyes once more and murmured, half to himself, ‘But I don’t like the look of those guns . . .’ He stayed silently re-examining the entrenchments for a while, and then, his mind made up, he lowered the glasses and turned.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I don’t think we’re strong enough, Drury, to attack these lines with those guns with the force we have at the moment, so I will wait until Graham and his extra men from Ismailia come up before I advance on their positions. However, I would like them to attack me. So have Hickman and his two guns come forward. But don’t have him open fire on their lines until we’ve seen if we can induce them to come out across this open ground and be subject to good rifle fire, probably for the first time in their lives.’ He turned and grinned. ‘Eh, what?’

  The decision made, there was an immediate flurry of activity as the senior officers pulled their horses round and galloped away, back towards the British line, which could now clearly be seen, slowly advancing. Simon had a momentary glimpse of Covington’s curled lip as he galloped past. Then he and his two companions were left, sitting on their camels.

  ‘Well, that’s nice, isn’t it now?’ said Jenkins, his Welshness seeming to increase with the level of his indignation. ‘We’re left out ’ere like flies on a mule’s arse, with nothing between us and the enemy but bloody sand. It seems we’re expensiveable . . . expand . . . expendable, now, look you.’

  Simon pulled his camel’s head round. ‘No, I don’t think so. They’ll find another miserable job for us to do soon enough. Come on. Back to the lines before we’re chased again.’

  It took time, of course, before the British line could be established, but at least Major General Graham and his force had arrived by the time Simon and his companions returned. They watched as Wolseley deployed his men. The infantry of the Yorks and Lancasters were established astride the railway with its left on the canal and the marines on its right, with Lieutenant Hickman’s two guns of the Royal Horse Artillery in between, and the line was extended out into the desert by Drury Lowe’s cavalry with the mounted infantry on the extreme right. To Simon, the line looked thin but well armed – with the exception of the artillery. Would two guns be enough to take on the dozen Krupps studded into the Egyptian’s own line – and would the enemy take the bait and attack?

  It did so by mid-morning. A screen of white-clad infantry began to advance along the British left, by the railway and canal, but the attack was hesitant and was soon driven back by the excellent rifle fire of the northern regiments. Then the Egyptians began to probe on the right flank of the British line, but again the marksmanship of the troopers – in this case the mounted infantry – drove them back. To Simon, in the mid-section of the line with his two companions, these tentative attacks seemed only to be a prelude to the main battle. Where were the guns?

  The question was soon answered as a cloud of white smoke lined the distant Egyptian trenches and the boom of the Krupp cannon opened up, covering the retreat of the infantry.

  ‘’Ere it comes,’ murmured Jenkins. ‘Get your ’ead down, Amen.’

  The Egyptian guns were well and accurately served by their gunners, who fired with speed and precision, so fulfilling their reputations. Their effectiveness was muted, however, as their shells, fitted with percussion fuses, only exploded after burying themselves deeply in the sand. Nevertheless, the barrage was frightening in its intensity and clouds of sand and rock splinters showered the sheltering British.

  ‘Why don’t we open up and give ’em a bit of their own medicine?’ muttered Jenkins, shaking sand and debris from his esharp.

  ‘I think Wolseley wants to lure them to attack him again,’ replied Simon, trying to see through the smoke with his field glasses. ‘He’s hoping they’ll think that we’ve got no artillery and that we can be swept aside by a determined attack.’ He looked down. ‘Are you all right, Ahmed?’

  The Egyptian was lying flat, his cheek pressed into the sand. ‘Ah yes, Simon, thank you. I am top hole. Is it long-range killing now?’

  ‘Yes, but not much of that so far, by the look of it. Hello, they’re coming again.’

  The white-clad figures could be seen emerging from the smoke cloud again, marching slowly across the sand with their long rifles extended, the front rank occasionally dropping to the ground and firing, as the second rank stepped through them to continue the advance. It was all very disciplined, but none of the attacks were pressed home and the attackers faded away long before they reached the British lines. Eventually Wolseley lost his patience and gave orders to the young lieutenant to open fire with his two guns. It could be seen immediately that, although outnumbered, the British shells were being more effective than the Egyptian fire, for Simon could detect through his glasses shell bursts of high explosives and shrapnel erupting all along the enemy trenches.

  The Egyptian infantry now gave up their tentative frontal attacks and the encounter between the two forces relapsed into an artillery duel, which continued through the day until dusk fell, marked by the arrival of the reinforcements from Ismailia. In came, first, three hundred and fifty sabres of the 4th and 7th Dragoon Guards, a battery of Royal Artillery and two more battalions of the 3rd KRRC and Royal Marine Light Infantry. At last, after dark, the Guards arrived. They had marched virtually nonstop all day through the hot sun and in temperatures in the mid-nineties, and Simon could only feel pity for them as they slumped into the sand and were issued with full water bottles to replace their longsince-emptied ones. He shook his head in amazement as he noted that they had marched in their home service scarlet and blue serge, carrying their rifles, haversacks containing one hundred rounds of ammunition and water bottles through the blinding heat of the day.

  ‘Och,’ confided one young Scots Guardsman, his face bright red under his white cork helmet, as he stretched out beside Simon, ‘I don’t know ’ow you Arabs do it in this bloody country. Me feet hae slipped back twice fer every forward pace in this bleedin’ sand. An’ me water bottle was empty after one hour. I don’t want to go through that again. Bloody ’ell.’ And he immediately fell asleep.

  Jenkins grinned across at Simon. ‘Serves ’im right for bein’ a Scotsman, an’ a Guardsman too. Are we goin’ to attack now, bach sir, d’yer think?’

  Simon shook his head. ‘Wouldn’t think so. These chaps are all in, and a night attack anyway would be very dangerous. I should think the General would have a go first thing in the morning, though. And some poor devils are going to be put to digging out the dam, so keep your head down.’

  ‘Ooh, I’m a scout. I don’t do diggin’, see.’

  Simon strolled through the lines of the arrivals, wondering if the press contingent had been allowed to come up with the reinforcements. He would keep his promise to Covington, he assured himself, and pull away if he caught a glimpse of Alice. He would not approach or talk to her. A glimpse would be enough – just to assure himself that she was all right, of course. But there was no trace of the journalists. Wolseley obviously did not want to be encumbered, and anyway, he was probably saving their presence to witness his great attack later at Tel el Kebir.

  Wolseley moved his troops forward at daybreak, but to everyone’s disappointment, it was soon clear that the Egyptians had abandoned their positions during the night and fallen back. To Simon, advancing in the desert for the first time with a large force, the difficulties of keeping the column together to attack as a cohesive unit became quickly apparent. He, Jenkins and Ahmed on their camels were riding in the van with the mounted infantry, who were carried on small, locally br
ed horses that could move reasonably well over the loose sand. They easily outdistanced the big Household Cavalry troopers on their large English mounts. These beasts, still out of condition after having only recently been landed from their transports, floundered in the sand and were soon left behind. The main guns, too, found difficulty in maintaining any pace at all as the mules struggled to pull their loads across the shifting surface, and the advance was soon spread out over the desert for a mile or more.

  Simon nudged his beast alongside that of the General. ‘Permission to range ahead, sir, to see how near we are to them?’

  Wolseley nodded. ‘Get some idea of the strength of the rearguard,’ he growled.

  The three scouts, glad to be free of the sand dust stirred up by the horses, gently tapped their camels and set them into a loping pace that soon took them away from the column.

  ‘You know,’ Simon turned his head and called to the others as they pulled away, ‘I think I’m getting better at this riding business. I’m even beginning to grow fond of my camel.’

  ‘Huh,’ grunted Jenkins. ‘With respect, bach sir, it’s all right for you. You’ve got a pretty one. I don’t fancy mine at all.’

  Ahmed, delighted as always to be part of this exclusive camaraderie, joined in: ‘Oh yes. Camel is good for the desert. Big feet means he spreads weight and load on sand, and so on, et cetera, et cetera.’

  Simon and Jenkins exchanged grins.

  They found what appeared to be the Egyptian rearguard establishing a defensive position at another little railway hamlet gathered around a station at Mahsama. There seemed to be no enemy cavalry to worry the trio this time, and Simon rode to the top of a sand dune, about three hundred yards from the station, and studied the position carefully.

  A large train with, he counted, seventy-five wagons was standing at the station. It seemed to be a supply or ammunition train, for there were no troops aboard. Numbers of the familiar white-clad Egyptian infantry – too many to count, but perhaps two hundred – were milling about and seven gleaming Krupp cannon were being manhandled into some sort of position to defend the station. No trenches or defensive ditches, however, were being dug.

  Simon whirled round. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Wolseley can take this lot with his cavalry if he comes up smartly and doesn’t let them entrench properly.’

  It took them less than half an hour, riding as fast as they could, to come up with the column’s vanguard. Simon explained the situation to Wolseley, who took the point immediately. He turned to Major General Drury Lowe: ‘Get on, Drury, with your mounted infantry and those two light guns. We can’t wait for the regular artillery but I’ll come on up behind you with the Household Cavalry as fast as their blasted big drays can move. I don’t care too much about capturing these coolies in their nightshirts, but I would like to take their guns and supplies, because I’m thinly stretched for both. Off you go, fast as you can before they settle in. Go with ’em, Fonthill.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  Somehow, the light horses of the Royal Horse Artillery pulling the two guns and those carrying the mounted infantry were able to summon a trot of sorts, and well within the hour they had reached the large dune from which Simon had made his observation. The scene had hardly changed and the Egyptian infantry were still not entrenched. More to the point, the train was still there, although thin white vapour was rising from its funnel to show that the driver had maintained steam pressure, ready for a quick withdrawal should that prove necessary.

  ‘We’ve got ’em,’ shouted Drury Lowe. ‘Throw your shells in behind the locomotive to stop it leaving, Hickman. Then go for the infantry.’

  Showing the alacrity for which the RHA were famous, Lieutenant Hickman unlimbered his cannon, laid them on target and opened fire. The infantry dismounted, lay down in extended order and began directing steady rifle fire on the station and the enemy infantry, who were now taking what cover they could or dispersing into the desert on either side. The Egyptians began returning fire from their Remingtons, but it was poorly directed and did little to deter the British fire. Surprisingly, the enemy ordnance was not brought into play, and Simon speculated that the gunners were averse to using their cannon in such unprotected positions.

  A trembling of the ground announced the arrival of the Household Cavalry on their big hunters. Both men and horses were perspiring from the intense heat and the pace of their advance, but they paused only long enough to regain breath before drawing their heavy sabres and thundering into the enemy camp, to the cheers of the riflemen, who stood and waved their helmets in exhilaration at the sight.

  It was too much for the fellaheen who comprised the main element of the Egyptian rearguard. They threw down their rifles and ran, streaming out into the desert like white rabbits fleeing for their lives from foxes. To Simon, watching with his hand to his mouth, it was a relief to see that Wolseley’s orders were followed and that there was no pursuit of the fleeing infantrymen. He carried too many unpleasant memories of the Lancers breaking out of the square at Ulundi in Zululand and spearing the running Zulus, even those who begged for mercy. Now, thank God, the cavalry were surrounding the guns to prevent their withdrawal. They were too late, however, to prevent the locomotive from steaming out of the station, towing a few waggons with scores of Egyptian troops clinging to them.

  The engagement was over within less than half an hour, and Wolseley stood in his stirrups and looked around with satisfaction. It was clear that the prompt attack by the cavalry had been made well before the Egyptians had had time to establish their line or even unload the waggons. The latter proved to form an ammunition train, and a large number of rifles and a pile of supplies were to be seen stacked against the side of the station building. Just as welcome were the seven Krupp cannon that had not fired a shot against the attackers.

  ‘Damned good morning’s work, eh, Ralph?’ said Wolseley to Covington. ‘I intend to send Graham on to Kassassin to take the lock there. I certainly didn’t expect to get that far, and he will have to stop there, because I’m stretching myself damned thin as it is. But I think we should keep the impetus going while we can, and having the railway line and the canal clear up to Kassassin will be a gift in terms of movin’ everything up for the main battle. Now, clear that dam behind us, there’s a good feller, and I’ll move Graham on up once he arrives. Where the hell are my A-rabs?’ He turned and shouted: ‘Fonthill.’

  Simon doubled up.

  ‘Good work, Cousin. Now. Get on your bloody camels and scout ahead to Kassassin. I intend to send Major General Graham on there to take the lock while we have the initiative. But make sure that the Egyptians are not leaving their lines to come to us or that that lot who have just fled are not digging in anywhere. Off you go. I’ll send a cavalry troop out to back you up as soon as I can.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  Simon, Jenkins and Ahmed wearily mounted their camels again and headed due west once more, following the railway line.

  ‘Blimey,’ said Jenkins, easing his sore buttocks on the wooden saddle. ‘If we come this way again, see, I think we’ll just about know the road. We’re goin’ up an’ down this bleedin’ canal like three yo-yos.’

  ‘What are yo-yos, 352?’ enquired Ahmed.

  ‘Well, they’re round things on the end of a piece of string that kids play with and that go up an’ down, up an’ down. Like us, except that we’re goin’ up an’ back, up an’ back, in a straight line, like.’

  ‘Ah.’ But Ahmed didn’t look particularly enlightened.

  As they rode, they passed scores of Egyptian infantry straggling in small groups back from Mahsama towards the perceived safety of Kassassin. They posed no threat. Most of them had abandoned their rifles and they hardly lifted their heads as the three Bedawi rode between them. It wasn’t long before the trio had left them well behind.

  Long before the black blob that was Kassassin emerged on the horizon, Simon consulted his compass and turned his camel’s head to the north to pass well clear
of the end of the entrenchments they had observed earlier. Having gained his ground, he turned back again to the west and, mounting a dune, unslung his field glasses. He stared through them for a moment and then handed them to Jenkins.

  ‘Tell me what you see.’

  The Welshman adjusted the focusing mechanism and put the glasses to his eyes. Then he lowered them, rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, lifted them again and scanned the lines. Eventually he handed them back to Simon. ‘As a matter of fact, bach sir, I don’t see a bloody thing. It looks to me as if they’ve all buggered off. Amazin’.’

  Simon looked through the glasses again. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘There’s absolutely no one to be seen. Come on, let’s take a closer look.’

  They goaded their camels into a gentle trot and made their way down the unmanned entrenchments. These had never been as sophisticated as those at Tel el Kebir, and they were largely unfinished, petering out into the desert at the northern tip. But there was no sign of troops, only scraps of paper spiralling up on the occasional eddy of the late afternoon breeze, embers of cooking fires and other detritus to show that the lines had once been occupied. Even the lock was unmanned, although the lock gates had been closed to lower the level downstream. The whole position was like some land-bound Mary Celeste.

  Simon eased his back. ‘There must have been an element of cavalry back in Mahsama who galloped back here to raise the alarm once our heavy boys went in on the charge.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Jenkins pulled at his moustache. ‘These Gyppos don’t much like fightin’, then, do they? Oh,’ he turned to Ahmed, ‘no offence now, Amen.’