--I must break this off to describe what is going on, which is too interesting to ignore. For the second time this afternoon we are shut up in the dark tent, everyone having fled before a pelting shower. We were first aligned for calisthenics, but were dismissed on account of Shower No. 1, a driving rain that lasted half an hour. Now we were just ready for parade--think what it would have been on that slimy, soggy ground!--when the approach of Shower No. 2 sent us all to cover. It is pelting furiously; Pickle and Knudsen, with the intrenching tools which luckily were served out to us this afternoon, are digging frantically to keep the water away from their suit-cases. Through the tied flaps of the doorway Clay has been yelling at Squad Nine, our opposite neighbors, and there is the greatest joy and confusion. Knudsen having finished his job, is jeering at Pickle, who had promised to be first. And now he has taken Pickle in hand, and is showing him his mistakes. It is thundering and lightening. "I don't see," says David with slow wonderment, "how it can rain much harder." Now Knudsen, at the door, imitates the first sergeant's whistle and alarms our neighbors, who peer anxiously out. "Corporals, get your men out!" cries he, laughing heartily as the others consult. "They look like a bunch of dogs," says he, "with their heads sticking out of their kennels." Now it slackens, I hear laughter in the street, and in comes a neighbor. "Boys, it's a scream! There's four inches of water in the next two tents. Their baggage is all afloat."