ing morning. He asked me when my tanks would require to start. The idea of an attack within twenty-four hours was a little startling-there were so many preparations to be made; but I replied my tanks should move at once, and I sug. gested air protection. General Gough_immediately rang up the R.F.C., but their General was out, and, after some disoussion, it was decided that my tanks would have sufficient time to reach the necessary position if they moved off after dusk. We drove at breakneck speed to the chateau near, which was occupied by the Australian Corps, and were left by General Gough to work out the details with the Brigadier-General of the General Staff.

The colonel allowed me to explain the scheme myself. All my suggestions were accepted; but the concentration of men and guns that I had imagined in my dreams was made impossible by the fact that General Gough had ordered the attack for the

morrow.

sented myself at the headquarters of the Australian Division, Division, with with which my tanks were operating. It was a pitch - black night. The rain was turning to sleet.

Divisional Headquarters were in "Armstrong" or small canvas huts, draughty and cold. I discussed the coming battle with the staff of the Division and Osborne, the G.S.O. II. of the Corps. We turned in for a snatch of sleep, and I woke with a start-dreaming that my tanks had fallen over a cliff into the sea. At midnight I went to the door of the hut and looked out. A gale was blowing, and sleet was mingled with snow. After midnight I waited anxiously for news of my tanks. It was a long trek for one night, and, as we had drawn them so recently, I could not guarantee, from experience, their mechanical condition. There was no margin of time for any except running repairs.

At one o'clock still no news had come. The tanks had orders to telephone to me immediately they came to Noreuil, and from Noreuil to the starting point was least a ninety-minutes' rnn.

at

After dark I walked down the Bapaume read and pre

to

My position was not pleasant. The attack was set for dawn The infantry had

already gone foward to the railway embankment, from which they would "jump off." In daylight they could neither remain at the embankment nor retire over exposed ground without heavy shelling. It was half-past two. I was penned in a hut with a couple of staff officers, who, naturally enough, were irritated and gloomy. I could do nothing.

The attack was postponed for an hour. Still no news of the tanks. The faintest glimmerings of dawn appeared when the telephone-bell rang. The Australian handed me the receiver with a smile of relief. "It's one of your men," he said.

I heard Wyatt's tired voice. "We are two miles short of Noreuil in the valley. We have been wandering on the downs in a heavy snowstorm. We never quite lost our way, but it was almost impossible to keep the tanks together. I will send in a report. The men are dead-tired."

"How long will it take to get to the starting-point?" I asked.

and explained the situation briefly.

"What will happen to your tanks if I put back zero another hour and we attack in daylight?" he asked.

"My tanks will be useless,” I replied. "They will be hit before they reach the German trenches-particularly against a background of snow."

He looked at his watoh and glanced through the window at the growing light.

"It can't be helped. We must postpone the show. I think there is just time to get the boys back. Send B. to me."

I called up Wyatt and told him that the men were to be given a little sleep. The officers, after a short rest, were to reconnoitre forward. I heard orders given for the Australians to come back from the railway embankmentlater I learned that this was done with practically no easualties-then I stumbled down the road to tell the colonel. I found him shaving.

"The tanks lost their way in a snowstorm and arrived late

"Stand by for orders." It was 11 hours before zero. The men were dead-tired. The tanks had been running all night. But the Australians were out on the railway embankment and dawn was breaking.

postponed." He looked grave grave for moment, but continued his shaving.

"Go and have some breakfast," he said cheerily, "You must be hungry. We'll talk it over later."

So I went and had some

...

THE vicissitudes of war had taken and myself from a more north-westerly region to Tashkurghan in Sarikol. A party of seven N.C.O.'s and men had been waiting here for us for about a fortnight, and when we arrived at about midday the senior N.C.O., a Punjabi named Ahmad Shah, informed me that he had reliable news that a party of a hundred armed men, including Germans and Turks, had crossed Sarikol from the Russian side, and had been seen at Shindi and Baldir in the gorge of the Tashkurghan river. We paraded in the evening, with four days' rations, accompanied by Captain V of the 3rd Turkestan Rifle Regiment, six sabres 6th Orenburg Cossacks, and two Sarikoli interpreters. A pack-horse carried some spare rations and blankets.

Moving after dark to avoid comment, we worked our way down the open valley to Duldul Hekar Mazar, and orossed the ford there.

morning that we reached a wretched hut, which is all there is of Shindi.

There was no clue here, and the gorge lower down is impassable for man or beast unless the river be frozen, so, having eaten, and slept five or six hours, we moved on to Baldir and thence up the Wacha river. This valley, though only visited by one European traveller in thirty years, is pleasant and fertile. There are a few soattered fields of barley, trees, and houses. Torbush attains to the dignity of a hamlet, and a goat track runs from here over the hills to Tashkurghan.

A few miles up is a flat round stone, called a Kurtash, in the centre of the path. It is said that no bad horse can be brought to pass this.

Wacha is quite a large, though scattered, village, in an open valley.

A path goes to Sherbus, lower down on the Tashkurghan river, but it is said to be so fearful that at one place even the Pamir Tajiks have to be blindfolded and led across by the local men.

small patrols were pushed out towards Mariong Robat and one or two other places.

At nightfall we all rendezvoused at Wacha, spent the night there, and next morning crossed an aghri art or "thieves' pass." The track is passable for laden pack animals, and leads down to Taghlik Gumbak in Taghdumbash. We returned to Tashkurghan for our kits, leaving the Cossacks watching the Mariong pamir, and next day reached Dafdar.

At this village the Beg, with much show of secrecy, came up after dark with fresh information.

Fifteen mounted armed men had come over the Pisling Pass some days before, and gone through his village in the dark. Their tracks had been seen in the snow of Ili Su. Allowing the baggage to go on to Kanjut, I sent for an officer and six rifles of the Gilgit Scouts from our post up in the valley, just over the Indian border.

My party concentrated at Ili Su to the extent of six rifles of a regular regiment, one jemadar and six rifles of the Hunza Company of the "Scouts," and a Kanjuti merchant as interpreter.

Our kit consisted of the men's marching order and two blankets and a "poshtin" each. We also had 120 pounds of flour and some tea and sugar.

An early start on the 9th November took us up a rough trackless valley to the Ili Su Pass.

A fierce gusty wind brought down a good deal of snow, and since the final pull up is very steep and covered with sheets of ice, we were glad to see the top. I fancy the ponies were still more pleased.

The north side carried still more snow, which showed us the trail in much detail, though it was eight days old. Soon enough we came to a few patches of grass and brushwood. The valley gets rougher and narrower lower down, the hillsides are steep, rough, and bare. Our night's bivouac found us at Mal Jeran, or Itak Uzdi, under some boulders. It snowed during the night, and two villagers of Dafdar contrived to desert with five animals. The next day a very early start soon brought us into thick jungle: there was only the vestige of a track, and, fortunately, this had not been used for years, so the trail stood out clearly. The sorub was thick enough to make it a hard struggle to get through: one of the ponies lost an eye, torn out by a branch. At Issik Bulak (hot spring) is a hut and a patch of plough, sometimes used in the summer by one or two Tajiks from Sarikol, Here we found some tame yaks, which made up for our lost ponies; and just above was half a broken cup, made in Japan: this told us a lot, since it was clearly dropped by the pursued. The fracture was new, and the cup was too good to belong to a mere wandering shepherd.

Two hours more fighting

through close-knit jungle in the darkness saw us in a glade called Baital Jilga (Mare valley), where we bivouacked, close to roaring fires. The descent, though not very steep, had been vilely rough, with loose shale and sharp boulders scattered everywhere. Next morning, from high up on a steep loose slide, we soon came in sight of the immense clear slope of the north side of the mighty Raskam valley. The Ili Su stream, which we had been following, meets the big river in a flat valley floor of stones and sand nearly a mile wide. The fording of the river at this point was only just practicable; the yaks and smaller ponies were frankly swimming, and carried a good way down, whilst we ferried the rifles and accoutrements across on the larger beasts.

I felt relieved when every thing was safe and on the right bank, though it had taken nearly two hours to oross. The spoor had vanished, and it took several casts to find it again in the sand beyond the stony riverbank.

Following it still, a long but easy ascent took us slanting up the huge smooth hillside for more than 4000 feet to the Kum Dawan, or Tupa Dawan, an easy pass, without snow.

A splendid view unfolded itself: to the south the mighty snow-peaks of Muztagh, Oprang, and Hunza; to the east lay the desolate Karakoram; to the north ridge upon ridge unrecognisable from the map; whilst to the west we looked

down into the untrodden gorge of the mysterious Raskam.

The swift stream flows between almost sheer and cleanout cliffs. They tower straight up to some seven thousand feet from the water.

Even the foot of the slopes is quite impassable-there are a few flat patches of boulders on the inside of some of the curves; but it is only once in many years that the river is frozen so that any human can reach the upper valley from the villages of the embouchure.

Whilst the men and beasts were getting their wind I took a few bearings with our one and only "compass, prismatic, Mark VI." The way down from here was a steep slide of nearly 45°; at the bottom is a little glade where our prey had spent the night, and we munched our frugal midday meal of flap-jacks cooked on flat stones heated on yak-dung (argol) fires. This was the Quotohkor Ravine, its hillsides coming steeply down into a sharp V filled with close thickets through which we carried on our toilsome way. Some two hours on we came, to our great surprise, to oouple of huts where was s loquacious Kirghiz woman, Fatima by name, with a little old silent husband. She told us that our pursued were only five days ahead, and even gave us a very little flour: as we did not know where we were going, or how far the nearest oultivation was, or how many days' rations the enemy were in possession of, this small contribution was most welcome.