w kit, might have been done
in half an hour; but we took from nine till three doing it, most of
which time we were standing waiting. However, about three we found
ourselves in a covered cart with five others and our kits, bound for
the Convalescent camp. We had said good-bye to the Sisters and our
mates. Old Daddy, I am glad to say, had "worked it," as they say, and
was radiant, having been marked up for home. No more of "that there
veldt" for him. Jock had already been sent out and given a post as
hospital orderly, and was now spreading the fame of the Highland
Brigade in new fields. We both felt, on the whole, that we had been
looked after very well in a very good hospital.

The mules jolted us across the valley, and landed us at a big block of
tents, and we took places in one; mother earth again. Tea, the
milkless variety again, at 4.30, and then we went to Henry's old tent
in the General Hospital, which adjoins this camp, and talked to a
friend of his there, a man in the Rifle Brigade, with a bad splintered
knee. He was shot about the same time as Henry in a fine charge made
by his battalion, which I remember reading about.

Both much depressed to-night; the atmosphere of this camp is like a
convict settlement. The food and arrangements are all right, but
nobody knows any one else; all are casual details from every possible
regiment and volunteer corps in the Empire. Nearly all are "fed up;"
nearly all want to get home. A vein of bitter pessimism runs through
all conversations; there is a general air of languor and depression.
Fatigues are the only occupation. I should go melancholy mad here, if
I stayed; but I shall apply to return to the Battery. Even then there
is another stage--the Rest camp--to be gone through. We sat up late
this night outside the lines, talking of this strange coincidence of
our meeting, and trying to plan future ones. He feels the same about
this place, but is still too lame to rejoin his corps.

_September 18._--We washed in a stream some distance off, and then had
breakfast. Then general parade. There must be some two or three
hundred of us, and a wretched, slipshod lot we looked. A voice said,
"Those who want to rejoin their regiments, two paces to the front." A
few accepted the invitation. I gave in my name, and was told to parade
again at two, with kit packed. The next moment we were being split up
into fatigue parties. Fatigues are always a nuisance, but I don't mind
them under my o