We prepared everything to that desirable end. The cooks built a cunningly-contrived kitchen in a section of one of the old Turkish trenches and firmly announced their intention of cooking for us every kind of delicacy that could be made--out of army beef, onions, and potatoes!--for which pleasant piece of optimism we were duly grateful. Then we heard that an E.F. canteen had set up house about a day's trek to the south-west, whereupon a limber went forth and returned on the third day heavily laden with tins of fruit, biscuits, various meats, and something in bottles that maketh glad the heart of man, especially if he has a Palestine thirst. Most of us had one from Egypt in addition. After about four days of comparative peace and quietness the blow fell--in fact, two blows. As a trooper in the Yeomanry said, when he found a frog in his boot: "There's allus summat in this dam country." He spoke a great truth. It is unsafe to trust Palestine very far, fair of aspect though she be. The first blow fell, literally, while we were having dinner one evening, when a Turkish aeroplane arrived and dropped bombs first on the horse-lines and then on us. Fortunately his aim was as bad as his taste was deplorable in coming at a time when decent folk were having a meal. Neither men nor horses were hit and we had the ironic satisfaction of sheltering from his bombs in the trenches his countrymen had made. Even that failed to keep the dinner warm, however. The second and heavier blow was that the inhabitants of our little spinney suddenly and unmistakably made their presence felt. Just as at Belah the mosquitoes battened shamelessly upon us and the frogs burst into mighty paeans of welcome, so at El Chauth the scorpions extended the glad hand--if I may venture thus euphemistically to describe the spiked atrocity they wear lengthwise on their backs. Apparently on strike for better conditions of living they decided upon an army blanket as a desirable residence and were quite indifferent as to whether you shared their quarters or not. Often they were already in possession when blankets were unrolled for the night, and if not then, one was usually to be found in the morning nestling coyly in the folds. The moment you touched him with a stick he elevated his poisonous battering-ram, which was as long as himself, and struck and struck again in an ecstasy of rage, until sometimes he actually poisoned himself and died from his own blows!