it
upright.

I trudged away towards the beach and lay down to sleep at last among the
other men of the ambulance, who were lying scattered about behind tufts
of bush or against ledges of rock.

When weighed down with sleep any bed will serve.

And this was the end of our first day's work on the field.

CHAPTER XIV. THE SNIPER OF THE PEAR-TREE GULLY

We used to start long before daylight, when the heavy gloom of early
morning swept mountain, sea and sand in an indistinct haze; when the
cobwebs hung thick from thorn to thorn like fairy cats'-cradles all
dripping and beaded with those heavy dews. The guard would wake us up
about 3.30 A.M. We were asleep anywhere, lying about under rocks and in
sandy dells, sleeping on our haversacks and water-bottles, and our pith
helmets near by. We got an issue of biscuit and jam, or biscuit and
bully-beef, to take with us, and each one carried his iron rations in a
little bag at his side.

So we set off--a long, straggling, follow-my-leader line
of men and stretchers. The officer first, then the
stretcher-sergeant--(myself)--and the squads, two men to a stretcher,
carrying the stretchers folded up, and last of all a corporal or a
"lance-jack" bringing up the rear in case any one should fall out.

Cold, dark, shivery mornings they were; our clothes soaked in dew
and our pith helmets reeking wet, with the puggaree all beaded with
dew-drops. We toiled up and up the ridges and gullies of the Kislar
Dargh and the Kapanja Sirt slowly, like a little column of ants going
out to bring in the ant eggs.

Often we had to wait while the Indian transport came down from the
hill-track before we could proceed, and we always came upon the
Engineers' field-telegraph wires on the ground. I would shout "Wire!"
over my shoulder, and the shout "Wire!... Wire!... Wire!" went down the
line from squad to squad.

From the old Turkish well I led my stretcher-squads past the gun of the
Field Artillery (mounted quite near our hospital tents) along a track
which ran past a patch of dry yellow grass and dead thistles--here
among the prickly plants and sage-bushes grew a white flower--pure and
sweet-scented--something like a flag--a "holy flower" among the dead and
scorched-up yellow ochre blades and the khaki and dull grey-greens of
thorns. We went along this track, past the dead sniper which Hawk and
I had so carefully stalked. Near by, hidden by bushes and rank willow
thickets lay a dozen more d