Reluctantly we pulled ourselves together for another day of effort, called up the army, and moved in a huge straggle through Mezerib station. Our fires had burned out, and the place stood dishevelled. Young and myself leisurely laid tulips, while the troops melted into broken ground towards Remthe, to be out of sight of both Deraa and Shehab. Turkish aeroplanes were humming overhead, looking for us, so we sent our peasants back through Mezerib for their villages. Consequently, the airmen reported that we were very numerous, possibly eight or nine thousand strong, and that our centrifugal movements seemed to be directed towards every direction at once.
To increase their wonderment, the French gunners’ long-fused charge blew up the water tower at Mezerib loudly, hours after we had passed. The Germans were marching out of Shehab, for Deraa, at the moment, and the inexplicable shock sent these humourless ones back there on guard till late afternoon.