e a shoulder to lift the force along. Their supporting
battery had located the enemy's gun-positions, and kept down his fire.
One gun-team bolted, and the crew were seen getting the gun away by
hand and losing in the effort. The Sikhs rushed a low hill, which had
long checked them, and its garrison of one officer and twenty-five men
surrendered. This attack was led by the well-known 'Boomer' Barrett,
colonel of the 51st. He slapped the nearest prisoner on the back and
bellowed '_Shabash_.'[2] The enemy's resistance crumbled rapidly. A
breach had been made in his defence, and the Sikhs poured through. They
made two thousand yards, and did a swift left-turn. The enemy on their
right slipped off, but the Turks in the trenches covering the station
had left things too late. The 51st drove the foe before them to the
north of the station, and the 53rd rushed the station itself, capturing
eight officers and a hundred and thirty-five men, with two
machine-guns. This was about 3 p.m.

Wilson now left his aid-post, and we came up the line. All the way the
Turk was shelling the railway, but, by that fortunate defect of
observation conspicuous throughout, shelling our right exclusively, for
not a shell came on the left. We passed the enemy's trenches and
rifle-pits, which scarred some six or seven hundred yards of space
before the station; there were rifles leaning against the walls, with
bayonets fixed.

The station had excellent water, a great attraction after the filthy
wells of Sumaikchah. No one heeded that the Turk was dropping shells
two thousand yards our side of the station. 'He always does that. It's
a sort of rearguard business. It's the ammunition he can't get away.
He'll be moving his guns quickly enough when we get ours on to them.'
But, as the official report afterwards observed, with just annoyance at
the enemy's refusal to recognize that the action was finished: 'During
the whole of the afternoon and till dusk the enemy continued to shell
the captured position with surprising intensity, considering what had
been heard of his shortage in gun-ammunition.' What happened, in fuller
detail, was this.

Beled Station was like the gate of Heaven. With the exception of the
Leicestershires, still in the field, all the great and good were
gathered there. The first I saw was that genial philosopher, Captain
Newitt, of the 53rd Sikhs, sitting imperturbable on a fallen wall and
smoking the pipe without which he has never been