It is amusing to watch them standing waiting their turn, with keen anticipation, for a pull at the bottle under the superintendence of their watchful sergeant, who regulates fair play in the length of the drink by interrupting an extra long one by snatching the bottle from the man’s mouth, now and again. As we go away, several of the men shout, “The blessings of Jasus be on you, sir!” in a Dublin brogue, and we leave the poor devils to shiver in the camp the rest of the night. We are delayed in our return by a chase after two mules, which we capture after much difficulty amongst gorse-bushes, trees, and boulders. Calling in at the Australians’ dugout on Kangaroo Beach, we see them sitting round a welcome log fire, and as we warm ourselves, a figure covered in a blanket, his head swathed in a cloth, creeps in stealthily like a cat. He is a half-frozen Drabi, edging towards the fire to warm himself. An Australian makes him understand that he had better go back to his camp, and orders him out. He creeps out, but after a pause I see him come back stealthily once more, unnoticed by the others, and sit at the back of the stove on his haunches, his hands spread out for warmth. He is at last noticed, but some one says, “Let the poor devil be!” and we go on talking, taking no notice of him. _November 29th._ The gale is still heavy, but the blizzard has stopped. The sky is clear overhead, but it is freezing hard, and the steady stream of casualties from the storm still continues to be evacuated. The whole country-side has frozen hard. All day we are hard at work sending up comforts to the line and to the C.R.E. nullah, and nursing the casualties who have arrived in our little camp. The wind is slackening a little, and in consequence the sea is going down. Advantage is therefore being taken of this to thin down the overcrowded casualty clearing station and the many improvised shelters, which are overflowing with cases. The hospital ship is standing close inshore, only five hundred yards off West Beach. My visits to D.H.Q. on the top of the hill above our gully are made to-day with great exertion in the teeth of the bitterly cold gale, and I arrive at the top each time absolutely exhausted. Before I go into the D.A.Q.M.G.’s little dugout, which is his office and bedroom combined, I have to sit down on a boulder to recover my breath.