BESIEGED IN KUT-AND AFTER. BY C. B. TEN months of monotonous overwork at the Base, finishing up with an appalling hot weather amongst the floods, had made us all soul-weary and "fed up" with life in general, so that the prospect of moving nearer to the Front and the glorious uncertainty of the future higher up the old, old river were doubly welcome. Mobilising our men and material, packing up all the extras we could get hold of, and handing over our responsibilities to others, were a wonderful tonic to our stale and tired brains; whilst over all lay the sense of coming events, of the imminence of another battle, the anticipation of which sent the blood coursing more swiftly and sentiently through our veins, bringing with it a feeling of elation and of the joy of life. Guns and horses, mules and men, carts and stores, were being pushed up in boat after boat, barge upon barge; whilst we at the hospital, watching them go by, went with them in our hearts, and with our lips grumbled at our own inactivity and chafed at our delay. But at least some of us were soon to press hard on their heels, with the chance of sharing in whatever was going forward. I. A game or two of strenuous football on the dusty paradeground of the old Turkish barracks was a welcome relaxation in those last days of waiting. Little did we guess that in a few short weeks half that gallant regiment would be lying with loosened knees on the field of Ctesiphon. When all our stuff was packed and piled ready for loading, we waited with such patience as we could muster for the word to move and the transport to take us. Soon the former came, but the latter hung fire. All available transport was being used for troops and guns. The turn of the medicals would come when a few odd square yards of deckspace fell vacant. But at last a "whole steamer" of microscopic size, big enough for about one-third of our requirements, was provided. This we boarded with some of our personnel and less of our equipment, and started away merrily on the new jaunt. Could we have foreseen what was to come, and all the horrors of Kut that lay before us, we should have commenced our journey with very different feelings. How different was to be the return of a small fraction of our party nearly a year later, and with what an experience behind us! As it was, our departure was invested with all the glamour of a launch into the unknown; a fresh chapter of our part in the great adventure was opening. At ten o'clock on a bright morning we cast off from the little wooden jetty with a nod and a hand-shake with old associates, and started away up the splendid reach of the river which stretches between Busra and Kurna. Lined on both sides by deep groves of graceful palms down to the water's edge, the broad majestic river presented a fine sight. The palms formed a beautiful monochrome study, from the light bright green of the upper fronds, reflecting the brilliant sunlight, to the dark and sombre hues of the shaded aisles beneath. This underworld of the palmgroves, especially when the floods are high enough to eover entirely the ground beneath, forms a beautiful pioture. It is a vast and beautiful cathedral, with its thousands of columns of sepia brown boles supporting a gothic roof of luscious green. The trunks are arranged in parallel rows, which thus form innumerable cloisters and aisles stretching away in all directions until they are lost in the distant background of velvety green. Here and there rays of sunlight pierce the rich canopy, and show up in a thousand reflections the warm brown smoothness of the liquid floor that is spread like polished marble beneath. A oathedral! Nay, rather a gorgeous hall of audience beloved of the Eastern realities, we wonder at and try to calculate the wealth represented by these millions of generous date-bearing trees, which for over a hundred miles line both sides of the Shatt-elArab to a depth of a thousand yards. If each tree produce ten shillings' worth of dates per annum for seventy years, and there are so many millions of trees, what revenue will be derived from the Busra Vilayet? We have become fond of the palm. She is Mesopotamia, so far as we have seen it, we have watched her and her mate quiescent during the winter, blossoming forth with flowers and new foliage in the spring, have noted the process of fertilisation guided and controlled by her human owners; watched the formation of the fruit whilst her huge and graceful leaves spread themselves in their richness and pride; and finally, have awaited with everincreasing ouriosity the ripening of the generous fruit hanging in great golden bunches from her neck. Borne down with the weight and wealth of the fruit, exhausted by their wonderful effort, these god-sent trees lose their gloss and colour; their lower leaves wither and brown; they look worn and bedraggled, they retire to rest for another winter, and care But joy cometh in the morning, and soon after the sun was up we were ashore with the object of climbing the look-out tower and so getting a bird'seye view of the country round and of the confluence of the two ancient rivers. The tower, built by the R.E., was 180 feet high, and the climbing of it by ladders served as a good appetite-raiser for breakfast. not how their human task- those who have made the acmasters dispose of their pro- quaintance of the little beast. geny. They have done their work; they have earned their rest. Their fruit does not, however, represent their only usefulness. The lighter parts of the old frond are used for making matting, which forms the floors and the walls of many a poor dwelling, whilst the stem of the leaf, tough and strong, serves the hundred purposes to which stout sticks are put-the base of the old leaf is the staple firewood, and the trunks of the old trees are seen in many a rustic bridge over irrigation channels, and form the props or beams of many a house. No part of the palm is lost, nothing is wasted. We reached Kurna after dark. Passing by the mouth of the mighty Euphrates, we anchored off the middle of the little town. We could see nothing but a subdued light here and there below the dim outline of the house roofs. A hail and an answer, a few short orders, and we take up our final position for the night. Are we near the Garden of Eden? What will it look like by the light of day? We passed a miserable night, for the sand-fly is in his myriads and neglecteth not his opportunity of taking his fill of the blood of the soldier-men who sprawl on the upper deck. I can quite imagine that the sand-fly was one of the first of the exterior pests to attack our first parents when they were driven forth, and that Adam at least made a remark that can easily be understood by VOL CCI.-NO. MCCXVIII. From its top, which was once hit by a shell, a splendid panorama of the surrounding country is spread before one. To the south-east the stately Shatt-el-Arab, with its palmcovered banks, stretches away into the haze to Busra; to the west the Euphrates, the very name of which makes one pause and dream for a moment amongst the fascinations of Biblical history, winds away towards Nasiryeh and the shallow lake. At one's feet lies the mud village of Kurna, and the Tigris with its boat bridge and the site of the Turkish boom, which we broke with our ships a few short months ago; across the river another clump of palms; all else, desert, which begins abruptly at the fringe of the palm groves. To the north the Tigris wanders along like a silver streak, through illimitable barrenness of sand and marsh, to the distant horizon, or is lost in a flickering mirage. Take away these little ribbons of life-giving water, and nothing is leftnothing, nothing. Easily can one understand the Oriental's 2 F love of a garden, a retreat, green and well watered, filled with delicious fruit, perfumed with the sweet odours of a thousand flowers, where trickling water, clear as crystal, lulls one's senses to languorous repose; a shady refuge walled around, and protected both from the cruelty of the blistering sun and from the irritation of the blinding dust. Small wonder that his ideal of a happy dwelling should be the very antithesis of his sun-baked desert country. Descending to earth, I went in search of Lancelot, and then for breakfast to the sylvan quarters of some friends who were stationed here. Eaten up by sand-flies and plagued by mosquitoes in their reed huts amongst the palms and village houses, they had dragged on a weary existence through the long months of a wicked hot weather, and were heartily sick of it. Busra is bad in the hot weather, but Kurna is probably the worst spot on the river—always moist, save when the "Shamal" blows well, the heat may be anything up to 123° for weeks. Combine this with insect pests and a monotonous existence, and you have a terrestrial hell wherein life has no charms. The huts and hospital wards and barracks were constructed of walls of dried reeds from the marshes, in crossed layers or in bundles, roofed over with the same material, which afforded good protection from the sun. A large number of sick had been accommodated in these at one time, but they they were now nearly empty. Breakfast over, we boarded our little stern - wheeler, and watched another "mahela " being made fast to our remaining free side. This carried a surveying party under Major L of the R.E., who had put a roof on it and turned the waist of it into a tolerably comfortable residence, and we were glad to get on board now and again to talk and smoke. Thus squeezed between two heavy mahelas, our gallant little craft struggled gamely on, and made about three knots against the stream. The time passed pleasantly enough. It Was good to sit well forward on the little bridge and enjoy our idleness and the desert air. Palm trees were soon left behind, and the landscape for miles offered nothing better than a few scraggy orops on the river banks. Away from the banks the ground sloped gently downwards, and fell into widespread areas of reeds and marsh. An occasional flight of duck was met with, and sometimes a few teal would settle on the water ahead of us, only to get up again on our approach and carefully keep out of range. Humans were scarce, but from time to time we came upon a watchtower built four-square of muddried bricks, whilst beside it nestled a few reed huts or rude cloth tents of a family or two of miserable nomads, or of the watchman's people, with their brats and their ponies, their dogs and chickens. Here and there, as you go up the river, you see the tomb of some holy man whose monument it is-some village Jacob or local prophet. Their invariable and only form is that of a dome surmounting a square platform or plinth, the whole built upon a low mound, and made of the same material and of the same tint as the surrounding dustcoloured silt. By its side is sometimes a lean-to or mud hut, with its tiny doorway, wherein may live the caretaker of the shrine. Though a little hot at midday, the weather in this midOctober was delightfully clear and bright, and the breeze we made was enough to keep away the fly and other biting beasts. Sketching and dozing were the order of the day, and we felt we could do with a large dose of such an existence. The course of the river is extraordinarily tortuous, winding to right and to left-now going northward, and now bending back in an almost complete loop to the south, mile after mile, and the scene does not change. Dotted about on the plainsome going in one direction, some in another-the graceful sails of large native cargo-boats are noiselessly moving hither and thither in all directions, like wherries on the Norfolk Broads; but for all one can see of the river beyond the nearest bend, or of the boats themselves, they might very well be a squadron of land yachts engaged in a peaceful regatta race. Far away on the horizon can just be made 8 out the smoke of a distant steamer curling up into the misty blue. Soon we shall meet it, and perhaps get news of the recent battle. Just at sunset we approached Ezra's famous tomb. Standing on the right bank, amidst clump of palms, its turquoise dome reflecting the glory of the setting sun, it formed as charming a picture as could wish to see. Coming down the river a year later, I observed a huge rough noticeboard that had been put up quite near the base of the venerable pile, bearing some necessary directions relating to navigation. It seemed to desecrate the ancient sanotity of the place. one An hour above the prophet's tomb, we anchored for the night close to the steamer whose smoke we had espied earlier in the day. She had on board a couple of hundred or so wounded from the battle of Kut a week ago, and was towing a couple of barges containing 400 Turkish prisoners. From her officer son board we got tales of the fight, and, alas! the names of fallen comrades. With the medico in charge, an old friend, we strolled round his Hospital Ship and consulted over one or two bad cases that he was anxious about. His patients were tucked in for the night, and seemed cheery and comfortable; but the lights were shaded, and many were already asleep. The padre gave me sad news of a special chum who had been dangerously wounded, |