They did not win, but they came across three thousand miles of sea, a little army without reserves and short of munitions, a band of brothers, not half of them half trained and nearly all of them new to war.
They came to what we said was an impregnable fort, on which our veterans of war and massacre had laboured for two months, and by sheer naked manhood they beat us, and drove us out of it.
Then rallying, but without reserves, they beat us again and drove us farther.
Then rallying once more, but still without reserves, they beat us again, this time to our knees.
Then, had they had reserves, they would have conquered, but by the pity of Allah they had none.
Then after a lapse of time when we were men again, they had reserves, and they hit us a staggering blow, which needed but a push to send us, but Allah again had pity.
After that Allah was indeed gracious, for England made no further thrust, and they went away.
These words, I believe, are by John Masefield, the poet.