Yet it was beginning to be dawn then, and we had to be up and off again.

Our dead were buried; our wounded were bound up; the Kurds would be likely to begin on us again at any minute; there was nothing to wait there for.

We left little fires burning above the long grave (for our men had brought all our dead along with them, although our Kurdish friends left theirs behind them) and I took one of the captured horses, and Ranjoor Singh led on.

I slept on the march.

Nay, I had no eyes for scenery just then! After that the unexpected, amazing, happened as it so often does in war.