"So steep is it now, and so sharp the 'hairpin' turns, that although one hears the voices and sees the heads of troops on the winding road forty yards below, yet these are possibly half a mile ahead in the column! 'Down' and 'down' we go, _hotter and hotter it grows_, dustier and dustier the atmosphere! "Great difficulty is now experienced in keeping touch with the regiment in front, for in such cases it is always the Machine-Gun Squadron that is in rear of the column and 'enjoys' the dust. In action or danger--quite another thing; up, then, just behind the leading regiment.... "Arrived at Talat-ed-Dumm, too tired now to eat or drink (having fed our animals) we lie, or rather, fall down on a blanket. In two minutes we are dreaming that we are back in the 'old country,' sitting in that cool breeze under the great sycamore tree; drinking that fine old 'home-brewed,' and talking to the sweetest of all women. Far away in the distance is the rumbling of a coach; round the corner it comes into sight, the horses' hoofs thudding on the hard old Roman road! The guard raises his long coaching horn to his lips and blows a stirring call. Someone shakes us from behind! Lo! we open our eyes and--gone is the lovely green country, the shady trees and the coach! 'Get up! Reveille has gone'. "All day we rest here, and shall move on the latter part of our 25-mile journey as soon as dark has fallen. Horses to water--but luckily not far to go, and though two men have fainted with the heat already, the majority are still 'merry and bright'. "About 11 o'clock Talat-ed-Dumm becomes literally an oven; no trees, no water, nothing but rock and dust--dust six inches deep; the only protection, a single piece of canvas between one and the pitiless sun! Gasping for breath, one reaches for the water-bottle, but it is quite warm. Still, a warm drink brings perspiration, and _that_ is cooling to a certain extent--in its after-effects! "Night falls, welcomely, and saddled up the Squadron waits for the advance to begin and to drop into its place in the line of march as the Brigade moves past. Voices in the darkness, then shadowy forms, and, their horses' hoofs muffled by the dust, Brigade Headquarters passes by. Then the three regiments, one British and two Indian, each of the latter followed by crowds of donkeys looking ghostly white in the gloom. At length it is _our_ turn, and behind the last regiment we 'walk march' and once more get the clouds of dust for our portion. Now, along the level for a time--and then down again, down towards the valley, to many a valley of death!