I imagine _Punch_ will have something to say on this. We shall be represented as fielding for loaves and cakes and fishes and whisky bottles, Mellins' Food, and some of us charging towards the Tigris under fire from the opposite bank and endeavouring to recover our balance on the edge as we watch the priceless articles falling into the water. The coming of the Turkish armada down the Shat-el-hai is evidently postponed. They are possibly frightened of John Bull on the water, even if it is only the river. The Catholic padre and Square-Peg are playing chess. The Pope in other lands is probably entering in his diary that he has had a tiring day and that Kut must fall. Not because God has forgotten it, but because the garrison has no provisions. Equally well advised is our mess bombardier, who has invented certain rhymes which he repeats over his cooking as no soothsayer ever did. "Hashes to hashes! Bust ter bust! If Gorringe cawn't 'elp us the Lord Gawd must!" _April 15th._--This was the day beyond which we were assured it was impossible to go. We are evidently out for records. The floods are steady. They can scarcely fall. Will the Turk attack to-day? Will Gorringe? There is a tide in the affairs of Kut That taken at the flood will let through Gorringe-- Omitted, all the voyage of the survivors is bound on donkeys or on camels. On such a full sea we are now afloat And we must chance the Tigris at the curves or down go Kut debentures! Shelling now is a regular thing on and off the whole day. The Arabs are preparing to flee. Last night the thunder bellowed her despair, or rather ours, according to Kipling, and Square-Peg talked horribly in his sleep, and was putting up a masterly defence in his best English against some Arab hordes--women were in it--who had him at bay somewhere in the gardens. Having lulled them into inattention he shot clean off the bed and out of the door, when he pulled up and said something sheepishly. Of course I pretended to be asleep; and after examining my face carefully he lay down again. Square-Peg is quite touchy about his nightmares. I heard him say "Damn" softly once or twice under his breath, and then fall asleep again. This time he was in an attack, and behaved shockingly, tossing about the bed in a most ghastly manner. Suddenly it dawned on me that he was taking cover. He knew the road to the door too well not to manage an advance or retire at the double. I think it must have been the former, because he hesitated a second this time before he moved, but I gave such a terrific roar that he immediately collapsed on the bed and swore horribly. "Don't do it again," I said. "If you do, I'll put a bucket in your way. I swear it." "What the devil do you mean?" "Mean! Why, don't go after cigarettes with such enthusiasm again, that's all. Have one of these." Then he called me names, at which I laughed the more.