For the
moment they let this minor point slip into the background, and combined
for the destruction of the man who was the enemy of both.
About midnight, December 23, Russian Headquarters gave me the alarm.
Shots were being fired in all directions, and a spent bullet struck my
carriage while I was getting into my clothes. Horsemen in little groups
were surrounding the Staffka without much sign of order. Having
inspected my battalion at their emergency quarters, I called for a
personal guard to escort me to Headquarters. I regret there was no
impressionist artist with us to record the weird procession my guard
made. When sheepskin coats were provided for my men for use in a cold,
snowbound country, it is a real English touch that they should have been
black in colour, making my men a perfect target both night and day.
Their fur caps were a dark brown of the well-known Nansen type, the
half-moon peak making the head of the wearer a good mark at midnight up
to 300 yards. The cap is pointed, and has much the appearance at night
of a small mitre. What with huge fur boots, black pointed caps, and long
black coats, there was nothing to indicate the British Tommy in the line
of black monks that moved silently forward over the frozen snow. The
temperature was such that as the slight wind brought the water to one's
eyes the drops froze to hard white spots of ice at the corners.
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