We cross a canal, turn to the left, and pass along to another--“Rest Camp No. 6.” The leading company turns in at a gate in the wire fence; we see American uniforms and campaign hats; one or two officers in overseas caps, strange looking to us then; then we pass in through the gate and realize that this is our temporary destination. We were billeted in tents, about 12 feet in diameter--and about 20 men to a tent. Sand everywhere. A hideous open latrine next to the mess hall. After the usual hurly-burly and confusion, we finally kick other companies out of our tents, are in turn kicked out of theirs, and, after a long wait, get--“tea.” Oh, how Americans did love that word! The officers were lodged in luxury--the five of us had a whole tent, with some boards to sleep on. We ate at the British officers’ mess, where meals and very good beer and wine were served by Waacs. The next thing was an officers’ meeting, and that night a talk by an English major. He cheered us up by telling us that very few ever came back, and narrated several choice tales of sudden death in unusual and gruesome forms. He was apparently bent on removing from our minds any impression that we were in for a pleasure trip. We afterwards heard that he was severely criticised by other British officers for trying to get our wind up first thing. The next morning our equipment was cut down. We could only keep what we could carry on our backs. The contents of our barrack bags, the extra equipment, the complete outfit that had been subjected to so many inspections, upon which we had turned in reams upon reams of reports at Camp Dix, were ruthlessly collected, dumped into trucks and carted off to Heaven knows where by a Q. M. 2nd Lieutenant. No count was taken, no papers signed. The omniscient powers, who had deviled our lives out to collect this stuff, hadn’t told us anything about this little ceremony. So underwear, socks, extra pairs of shoes were a drug on the market; and we simply couldn’t give the cigarettes away. A great quantity were turned over to the Y. M. C. A. canteen. Of course, we never saw our barrack bags again.