_Private Hugh H. Mortimer--January 18._--“Round about the back of beyond. Yours of the 5th ulto. duly to hand about five or six days ago. I say about, because one has no idea as to days and dates, &c., out here, Sundays included. Sometimes we get a volunteer Church parade when things are quiet, but that has been very seldom of late. The last one we had, last Sunday but one, I volunteered for one the night before, but what ho! the parade was for 11 A.M., and we had been on the trek reconnoitring and Arab-chasing five hours by then. We are quite seasoned hands at these quick turn-outs now; often we’re all bivouacked down, giving it the bells in Snore Land, unless it happens to be your turn for guard, then somebody strolls round in a quiet hurry, kicks the sergeant in the ribs, and whispers, ‘Turn out at once; parade two hundred yards west of camp midnight.’ The kicks, &c., are passed on, and we are all saddled up, transport packed, &c., &c., and perhaps three or four miles away in less than an hour, and all that done in the dark, and no noise above a whisper, unless somebody gets a kick in the seat from a bobbery horse, and then there is some excuse for letting it rip. “Yes, one day is much of a muchness with the next, unless it is that one has no time to think about what day it happens to be. Often I have asked five or six chaps the date to put in a letter, and then had to consult the orderly sergeant at the finish. Still, I don’t suppose it would make any difference to one’s destination if one happened to snuff it on a Friday or Sunday. We get in bags of warm spots now ever since we came right up, about two months ago. Sort of places that make the short hairs stand out on the back of the neck, and wonder if the next 12-pounder or so on has your number on it. I thought I knew a bit of what it feels to sit in a trench with them coming over in France, but galloping about in open country with shrapnel flying about licks it hollow. I saw one drop in a machine-gun section about fifteen yards on my right some fortnight ago, and that one bagged four men and three horses, and then several pieces hummed past me.... Then again the cod was galloping across a hail-storm for a mile from cover to cover. I took the Hotchkiss gun across--I am a nob at Hotchkiss guns now--and the remainder of the section followed some thirty yards behind at the canter. We got five shrapnel quick, and not more than thirty or forty yards away, and two of them in front of me and one behind the two parties. I looked round after the thud, having a good horse, and you talk about dust-flying--well, I thought ‘There’s only me in this section now,’ and made a lightning spurt for a deep donga, dropped into it with a crash, and pulled up. About six seconds afterwards two more crashes, and there appeared the rest of the team, a bit pale and smiling rather sickly smiles, but not a scratch on either men or horses, so you may judge of the luck of the mob. The worst of this