taking a hand with their puny rifles and machine
guns? Not so. Amidst falling ruins; under smoke clouds of yellow, black,
green and white; the beach, the cliffs and the ramparts of the Castle
began, in the oncoming dusk, to sparkle all over with hundreds of tiny
flecks of rifle fire.

Just before the shadows of night hid everything from sight, we could see
that many of our men, who had been crouching all day under the sandy
bank in the centre of the arena, were taking advantage of the pillars of
smoke raised between them and their enemy to edge away to their right
and scale the rampart leading to the Fort of Sedd-el-Bahr. Other small
clusters lay still--they have made their last attack.

Now try to sleep. What of those men fighting for their lives in the
darkness. I put them there. Might they not, all of them, be sailing
back to safe England, but for me? And I sleep! To sleep whilst thousands
are killing one another close by! Well, why not; I _must_ sleep whilst I
may. The legend whereby a Commander-in-Chief works wonders during a
battle dies hard. He may still lose the battle in a moment by losing
heart. He may still help to win the battle by putting a brave face upon
the game when it seems to be up. By his character, he may still stop the
rot and inspire his men to advance once more to the assault. The old
Bible idea of the Commander:--when his hands grew heavy Amalek
advanced; when he raised them and willed victory Israel prevailed
over the heathen! As regards directions, modifications, orders,
counter-orders,--in precise proportion as his preparations and operation
orders have been thoroughly conceived and carried out, so will the
actual conflict find him leaving the actual handling of the troops to
Hunter-Weston as I am bound to do. Old Oyama cooled his brain during the
battle of the Shaho by shooting pigeons sitting on Chinese chimneys.
King Richard before Bosworth saw ghosts. My own dark hours pass more
easily as I make my cryptic jottings in pedlar's French. The detachment
of the writer comes over me; calms down the tumult of the mind and paves
a path towards the refuge of sleep. No order is to be issued until I get
reports and requests. I can't think now of anything left undone that I
ought to have done; I have no more troops to lay my hands
on--Hunter-Weston has more than he can land to-night; I won't mend
matters much by prowling up and down the gangways. Braithwaite calls me
if he must. No word yet about t