I see the Yeomanry now marching steadily in open order across the Salt Lake. It is the first time that they have been in action. Several years ago I was a trooper in the Warwickshire Yeomanry, who are now with the rest marching into battle. The Worcesters, Gloucesters, Middlesex, Sharp-shooters, Sherwood Foresters, Notts and Derby are there, and I think several other regiments, all troopers and troop leaders on foot, their horses left in Egypt. Little did they think, when they trained on Salisbury Plain for cavalry work, that when the hour came for them to go into battle they would go in on foot as infantry. When they did their regular fourteen days’ annual training, some of their friends used to laugh at them, saying that they were playing at soldiers. What I see before my eyes now is no play. Yet they look the same as they did on Salisbury Plain. Ah! the real thing for them has come at last, though many of them only landed this morning, for I see a white puff of shrapnel burst over their heads. It is quickly followed by another and another, developing to a rapid concentrated fire. They run the gauntlet without losing their Salisbury Plain steadiness, except for an occasional bunching together here and there. Soon casualties occur and prostrate khaki figures can be seen lying on the sandy salt of the lake for the stretcher-bearers and ambulance-wagons to pick up—the harvest of war. At last they are at Chocolate Hill, where they nestle under its slopes for protection till further orders. At 6 p.m. Way returns, and tells us that Chocolate Hill was “Red Hell” while he was there, smothered in shrapnel and flying bullets; that an officer in D.H.Q. has been killed quite near him, but O’Hara is safe. It was not safe for Way to leave until five o’clock.