down. It soon started to rain, so we felt that the best we could do was
select as likely a spot as came to hand and wait for morning. I made up my
mind that the front seat of a van, uncomfortable and cramped as it was,
would prove the best bed for the night. My estimate was correct, for at
midnight the light drizzle, that was scarcely more than a Scotch mist,
turned into a wild, torrential downpour that all but washed away my
companions. The waterproof flap that I had rigged withstood the onslaughts
of wind and rain in a fashion that was as gratifying as it was unexpected.
The vivid flashes of lightning showed the little dry ravine beside us
converted into a roaring, swirling torrent. The water was rushing past
beneath the cars, half-way up to their hubs. A large field hospital had
been set up close to the banks of the stream at Taza. We afterward heard
that the river had risen so rapidly that many of the tents and a few
ambulances were washed away.

By morning it had settled down into a steady, businesslike downpour. We
found that we were inextricably caught in among some low hills. There was
not the slightest chance of moving the fighting cars; they were bogged
down to the axle. There was no alternative other than to wait until the
rain stopped and the mud dried. Fortunately our emergency rations were
still untouched.

Our infantry went over at dawn, and won through into the town. If it had
not been for the rain we would have made some important captures. As it
was, the Turks destroyed the bridge across the Hasa Su and retreated to
Altun Kupri by the road on the farther bank. From a hill near by we
watched everything, powerless to help in any way.

At noon the sky unexpectedly cleared and the sun came out. We unloaded a
Ford van, and with much pushing and no little spade work managed to get it