Sometime after midnight, Jack heard the crunch of iron-shod wheels over hard sand and the slow plod of horses. Over to the east, shadowy against the skyline, he saw a long column of artillery moving along the canal embankment. Gun after gun, pulled by the patient horses, moving to war.
It will be our turn soon.
It will be our turn soon.“Brightley and Watson!” Jack called. “A tot of rum to each man.” The men lined up by company, each man eager for his rum.
At one in the morning, Wolseley passed the order to fall in. The men moved quickly under the stern eyes of the NCOs. Jack had never seen fourteen thousand men move into formation so quickly. After travelling from Malta, Cyprus, or Great Britain, and after months in the heat, plagued by fleas and flies, the men were eager to meet Arabi’
