I am living Egypt, living.... Your pyramids and your mosques and your old Nile can talk to me of things long past and gone, and I shall listen with interest to what they have to say, but I would rather be a living dog of an Egyptian than the dead lion of an Egyptian king—I would rather be a moving, talking native dressed in garish clothes than a Prince of the House of Rameses, sans eyes, sans ears, sans tongue, in the shrivelled brown form of a mummy.

For there is something about these living ones that brings the dead to life. Sometimes when I look into their eyes I seem to see a strange, mysterious light in them—a light that never was on sea or land. It is then that I think of the things these people have seen in the forty centuries of which Napoleon spoke. I don't believe in magic, but I have seen strange things—things that make me remember that the magicians of Pharaoh were able to turn their rods into serpents!

There came one day a very wise Egyptian—one whom I know as a Freemason—and he gave a valuable scarab, mounted in a gold ring, to Major Lynch. There was no doubt that the wise man valued it, and there is no doubt that he left an impression on Major Lynch. It is a talisman and a protection to the owner, but it has deadly powers. Nothing can harm the owner so long as he has it in his possession, and the owner can shrivel up an enemy by merely pointing at him and muttering incantations—just as the Northern Territory natives in Australia can will an enemy to die by pointing a bone at him. Major Lynch lost no time in putting the scarab to the test. There was a very troublesome native who used to bother him several times a day about things that don't matter, and the day after the wise Egyptian had made his presentation the major pointed at the native and muttered a powerful Australian incantation. Since then the native has not been seen.

A dragoman wanted to sell me some scarabs.

"You like fine scarab?"

"No scab here," said I, "all good Unionists."

"Not scab. Scarab—good scarab."

"Oh!"

"Beautiful scarab. Very precious."

"Ah!"

"I buy them for English officer; beautiful scarab. Now he go to Suez Canal. I sell cheap."

"Very cheap?"

"Yes, very cheap. Sell now, lose plenty money, sir."

"How much?"

"Five pounds."

"Ah! Is it really worth five piastres?"

"Piastres! Ach! No, no, no! Five pounds!"

"Five pounds a dozen!"

"No, no, no! Five pounds for one beautiful scarab."

"Ha ha!"

"Not ha! ha! It is three thousand years old! Time of Rameses II."

"Too old. Got any nice new ones?"

"No, no. Not new. Old—very valuable—three thousand years!"

"Too old. Show me a new one."

"You no understand. Very old, very valuable, out of tombs in pyramid."

"Any more there?"

"No more—all gone."

"Oh, well I oughtn't to take them from you."

"Yes, you take. I sell you for five pounds."

"Not me."

"Yes, you. Four pounds!"

"Try again."

"Three pounds ten."

"Once more."

"Two pounds ten. Finish."

"No business; Imshi."

Then the old man went away, muttering angrily in his beard because I would not pay three golden sovereigns for a little stone that looked like a petrified beetle. Even if it had been genuine—even if it was three thousand years old—I would have thought it a shame for him to take the money. But the reputation these "gyppies" have for faking antiquities and curios made me sceptical. In the Cairo Museum are genuine thousand-year-old relics from the tombs and pyramids, and the natives copy them and sell the replicas as the genuine article.

When I was leaving the Museum one afternoon a dragoman shuffled up to me in a mysterious kind of way and thrust an antiquated statuette into my hand. "Five shillings," he whispered hoarsely. He wanted me to think it genuine, and, I suppose, stolen. (Even honest people don't mind being "receivers" when they can get a genuine relic of antiquity cheap.) I examined it with the concentrated gaze of a connoisseur in Egyptology, scratched it with my knife, and then exclaimed, "Bah, rubbish! One piastre." And the old sinner cried, "Yes, yes," and put his hand out eagerly for the money.

And all this time we were "training for the front." We did not know when we were likely to leave for the front, nor what front it would be, but already some of the Australians and New Zealanders had been in a fight. That was before we came. Egypt had been "invaded"; there had been a fight at El Kantara, some prisoners had been taken, and then the invaders turned their heads north and eastward, folding their tents, like the Arabs they are, and silently stealing away. The Great Invasion of which Kaiser Wilhelm had dreamed for months had simply petered out.

I am no historian—I write only of the little things I care about—but I would be no Australian if I failed to mention this invasion which some of the Australians helped to stamp out. It was almost inconceivable that the "thorough-going, methodical" Germans could have started an army of 75,000 men across the desert, sent only 25,000 of them into action, and then decamped. But that is what happened.

Although the Australians and New Zealanders saw but little of the actual fighting, they played no unimportant part in the scheme of things. The seeds of disloyalty and discord had been assiduously sown by German spies and agents all over Egypt. The so-called Nationalist party was intriguing to oust the British and facilitate the entry of the Turks. It was confidently anticipated by the German wire-pullers that the moment the invaders appeared on the Canal the Egyptians and Arabs would rise en masse and drive the British into the sea. Drastic measures were taken months ahead for dealing with the English residents in Cairo and elsewhere. Everything seemed to be going nicely for the plotters. Obvious signs of disaffection were noticed all over Lower Egypt. The British were so few; the German-Arab-Turkish combination was so strong. It only wanted a favourable opportunity to fire the train.

Then the Australians arrived.

There may be a tendency on our part to exaggerate the influence of the Australian and New Zealand troops on the Egyptian situation; but there is not the slightest doubt that the presence of 50,000 Colonial troops had a wonderfully steadying effect on the disaffected natives. They suddenly became loyal again. All talk of sedition ceased. The best-laid schemes of the German plotters went "agley."

One could not help contrasting this large force from Australia and New Zealand—a force that was to be doubled and trebled ere long—with the little force of 500 men which William Bede Dalley, Australian Orator and Patriot, sent from New South Wales to the Sudan just thirty years before. It spoke not only of the wonderful growth in population of Britain's Dominions of the South, but it was a living proof that the years had only served to cement the bonds of love and loyalty that bind the grand old Mother land to her Oversea Dominions. The rising in India, the intention of the Australians to proclaim their independence the moment when Britain found herself in peril—where were they? Where now was the "disintegration" of the British Empire which the German Emperor and his War Lords had so confidently predicted?

With Cairo and the Nile safe, General Wilson was able to deal effectively with the invaders. Towards the latter end of January, Northern Sinai was overrun with them. From a couple of captured Shawishes of the 75th Turkish Regiment I learned that the staff arrangements by the German officers were excellent. Everything had been foreseen and provided for—or nearly everything. Water was available at each stage of the journey across the desert. Many boats and pontoons were dragged by oxen and camels along the caravan route from Kosseima, El Arish, and Nekl. A few six-inch guns were also transported to the Canal. To supplement the Turkish force on its south-westerly march all the pilgrims and Bedouins met with were pressed into service and rifles were given to them.

It was on the morning of January 28 that the initial conflict took place at Kantara. A reconnoitring party from Bir El Dueidar attacked the British outposts but was repulsed, our losses being only one officer and one soldier killed and five Gurkhas wounded. Further south, near Suez, a nocturnal demonstration by the Turks merely served to prove the alertness of the defenders, though unfortunately two of our air scouts met with disaster. Their aeroplane came down outside our lines, and on returning on foot they were both shot dead by our own Indian patrols. The pity of it.

The main attack developed on the night of February 2-3, and a determined effort was made to cross the Canal at several points. A number of boats, each carried by forty men, were silently hurried to the front. A small force attacked Kantara, but after losing twenty-one killed, twenty-five wounded and thirty-six prisoners, they decamped. Later on they renewed the attack from the south, with no more success, for they lost eight men killed, whilst a number were wounded. Our losses were four killed and twenty-four wounded.

Meantime a more vigorous assault was made at Toussoum to pierce the line just before daybreak. An infantry attack was followed by artillery fire, and under cover of the maxims a more determined effort was made to cross the Canal by means of boats, rafts, and pontoons. A shrapnel shell smashed the first boat and killed several Turks. Other boats followed and met with a similar fate—most of their occupants were killed or drowned. Not a single boat crossed. About twenty-five men swam across, however. Four penetrated the lines and escaped to Cairo, where they subsequently surrendered. The rest were captured.

Serapeum was attacked about the same time, and at dawn the battle raged along the Canal for about two and a half miles. H.M.S. Hardinge moved up and down the Canal, responding to the enemy's artillery. Two Turkish shells landed on our warships, and ten men were wounded. For a couple of hours the battle raged, and although the Turks outnumbered the defenders at Toussoum by ten to one, they were repulsed all along the line.

Further north, at Ismailia Ferry, the enemy entrenched 800 yards away, and a battalion of Turkish infantry (entrenched overnight) opened fire. But they did little damage. They blazed away all day, and our casualties were only six men wounded. Then we drove them off.

So the great Germano-Turkish attack resolved itself into simultaneous onslaughts at Kantara, Ismailia, Toussoum and Serapeum; and when all attacks had failed the guns of the British and French cruisers and the shore artillery harried the enemy in their retreat and added considerably to their losses. Our casualties were only about twenty killed and 100 wounded. The invaders lost more than 420 men killed and over 700 prisoners. Their total casualties—killed, wounded, and prisoners—were computed at 3,000.

Yet it was a small thing, after all—a small thing when I look back and think of all that has happened since. But it was the first fight in the Great War that Australians and New Zealanders had a hand in.

We of the Light Horse were not in it. We saw the Turks away on the rim of the desert horizon; but the enemy attacked where we were not. We never fired a shot.