ok at a bursting
shell.

I must say khaki drill uniform is not a good hiding colour. In the
sunlight it showed up too light. I believe a parti-coloured uniform, say
of green, khaki and gray would be much better. Therefore the Scout
who wears a khaki hat, green shirt, khaki shorts and gray stockings is
really wearing the best uniform for colour-protection in stalking.

The more scouting we can introduce the better.

Carry on, Boy Scouts! Bad scoutcraft was one of the chief drawbacks in
what has been dubbed "The Glorious Failure."

CHAPTER XXVI. THE BUSH-FIRES

There are some things you never forget...

That little Welshman, for instance, lying on a ledge of rock above our
Brigade Headquarters with a great gaping shrapnel wound in his abdomen
imploring the Medical Officer in the Gaelic tongue to "put him out," and
how he died, with a morphia tablet in his mouth, singing at the top of
his high-pitched voice--

"When the midnight chu-chu leaves for Alabam!
I'll be right there!
I've got my fare...
All aboard!
All aboard!
All aboard for Alla-Bam!
... Midnight... chu-chu... chu-chu..."

And so, slowly his soul steamed out of the wrecked station of his body
and left for "Alabam!"

One evening, the 25th of August, bush-fires broke out on the right of
Chocolate Hill.

The shells from the Turks set light to the dried sage, and thistle and
thorn, and soon the whole place was blazing. It was a fearful sight.
Many wounded tried to crawl away, dragging their broken arms and legs
out of the burning bushes and were cremated alive.

It was impossible to rescue them. Boxes of ammunition caught fire and
exploded with terrific noise in thick bunches of murky smoke. A bombing
section tried to throw off their equipment before the explosives burst,
but many were blown to pieces by their own bombs. Puffs of white smoke
rose up in little clouds and floated slowly across the Salt Lake.

The flames ran along the ridges in long lapping lines with a canopy of
blue and gray smoke. We could hear the crackle of the burning thickets,
and the sharp "bang!" of bullets. The sand round Suvla Bay hid thousands
of bullets and ammunition pouches, some flung away by wounded men, some
belonging to the dead. As the bush-fires licked from the lower slopes of
the Sari Bair towards Chocolate Hill this lost ammunition exploded, and
it sounded like erratic rifle-fire. The fires glowed and spluttered all
night