Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it...    -- Omar Khayyam, The Rubaiyat ......................... The Conclusion of New Year's Action at ..Point Wytouki

The fort gunners frantically ram powder and shot into the ancient muzzleloader. The Highlanders surge forward, only to bog down in the wet earth along the river's edge.

The Lancers have more solid ground, and they spur their horses toward the tower. The hail of spears from the natives at the wall causes no casualties, but the horses are unnerved and shy away, refusing to leap the barricade. The Lancers fall back in disorder.

The dhow turns out of her tack, and the sails fill with the evening breeze. She picks up speed, grinding past the empty steamer, and smashing the landing boats of the Sikhs. The front broadside gun roars out, but only a few of the dispersed troopers are in its field of fire.

Then she goes hard aground just offshore, dismounting guns and tossing crewmen to the deck. The Sikhs, lucky to get off so lightly, move toward the tower, firing into the helpless vessel as they go. A few muskets return fire but the dhow is out of the action.

The Lancers dismount and fire at the tower top, but the carbines are nearly useless in the fading light. As day inches into night, Sgt. McAmecassie shouts, "We kinna wait fer t'stragglers. The gloamin's on us. Take the wall, lads! The wall!" The pipes blare with new vigor, and the outnumbered highlanders hurl themselves at the wall, scrambling up the rough sides, pushing the hastily stacked rocks backward on the defenders.

As the Lancers, a few tattered Dipshires and and the Sikhs converge on the peninsula in the early moonlight, the few riflemen left in the tower decide that moving finger has writ and moved on. They lower their flag and file silently down the steps to the door.

Still shaken from the cavalry charge, the natives waver, then fall back in panic as this handful of kilted madmen scrabble over the disorderly pile of rubble that was their fortification. The gunners drop their ramrods and bolt for the tower only moments ahead of the bayonets. Perhaps it was the pipes. Only a few Scots have yet made it over the wall. Riflemen in the tower try to pick them off, while Qarmann Marandhi attempts to rally the disordered mob huddling in the shadow of the tower, but it is no use. As soon as the troopers reach them, the natives throw down their arms in surrender. A few leap into the water to swim for the far shore. The British stragglers are soon over the wall to secure the occupation.

By torchlight, Maj. Mudd directs the rebuilding of the defenses. Soon all is ready to withstand any likely assault, double sentries are posted, and the men are cooking up the stores of mutton and lentils found in the fortress. Toward midnight, Sgt. McAmecassie suggests to the Major that the lads might have earned the right to a wee Noo Year's celebration. The Major is amenable to the suggestion, but all the provisions have been left aboard the abandoned steamer, which is for the moment beyond reach.

A search of the tower discloses that Qarmann and his followers are strict adherents to Koranic law. The New Year's toast is drunk with cups of water from the Blue Ouazu, and as the Major's pocket watch chimes 12:00, the new decade is ushered in with one of the Dipshires loudly giving the traditional British workingman's cry of dismay:

"Wot? No beer!?"

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