g, I saw the gun carriage, alluded to in my last,
being used; going past our ward, in slow time, with reversed arms, went
the perspiring and, let us hope not, but I fear 'twas so, the angry
Tommies told off as the escort. Then came the gun carriage with its
flag-covered burden. Only another enteric, only another broken heart or
so at home, another vacant chair to look at and sigh, and the small but
strictly regimental and unsympathetic procession had passed; and the
half-interrupted conversation in the ward went gaily on. Having paraded
and answered to our names, a doctor strolled down the ranks questioning
us, "Are you all right?" All those who answered said "Yes." The question
was supposed to be put individually, but by the time he got to where I
was, the worthy man was slurring over about three or four at a time. I
didn't trouble to reply, it being obviously unnecessary. About
half-an-hour later, the ambulance carts came up, which were to bear us
to Rondebosch, and we were ordered to carry our kits down and get in. So
the halt and the broken picked up their kits--some of them were very
heavy--and staggered with them to the carts, a distance of about fifty
yards.

In particular, I noticed one poor fellow, a gunner of the 37th Battery,
R.F.A. A water cart had gone over him at Mafeking, and fractured three
ribs and affected his spine. The poor, emaciated, bent figure of what
had once been a smart soldier lifted a rather heavy kit and tottered
towards the carts. I felt disgusted at seeing such unnecessary labour
thrust on a man, who never should have left the hospital save to go
home. But he had been turned out by the powers which be, and--I was
going to say shouldn't, but the R.A.M.C. are all honourable men--when I
saw a sprightly, well-fed R.A.M.C. Lance-Corporal walking smartly after
him, and in a relieved voice I remarked to the man on my left: "The
Corporal is going to carry it for him," to which my neighbour remarked:
"He can't, he's got a stripe." And, begad, he didn't! He passed him,
apparently not having noticed him. I shall have a little more to tell
you of the gunner presently.

The drive to Rondebosch, through Wynberg, Kenilworth and Claremont, was
lovely beyond words. I had a box seat, and as we drove through the
avenues of trees, down the roads, with the gardens of the
comfortable-looking bungalows a mass of green foliage and tropical
blooms on either side of us, I felt like a gaol-bird escaped from his
c